The detour was a bit longer than we all expected I think. The road a dusty dirt road that seemed to go on and on, very little traffic and lots of open fields and expired farming tracts. Dry. We had to pass two villages before arriving at the one we were searching for. The remoteness of the villages is hard to describe.
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| We passed many dry fields |
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| Red road to the village |
The villages we passed were an assemblage of mud houses, lots of traditional round granaries and the usual assortment of children playing games - tree climbing, rolling tires and mucking around. We even passed an official village playground which was a new sight for me. It was surrounded by a mud wall and shaded with a few large trees. Inside children were see-sawing, swinging, climbing and having a good time on equipment made from tree limbs and natural forms. Delightful.
Finally we arrived. The third village. We asked a few people sitting in front of their stores or workshops who were easily able to direct us to the right house. A few children ran ahead serving as extra guides. We left the cool climate of the car interior to sit under a thatched roofed stall. Some men were having tea, a few children loitered around and this magical horse ate from a nearby trough.
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| One of the best fed horses I have seen since arriving in Mali |
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| Village view from the shade |
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| Bricks at angle make an interesting pattern on a hot afternoon |
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| A few loitering animals pass by |
The marabout himself was seated on a prayer rug on the floor of a small cement room. The walls were almost blue and there were two couches on either side of him. A small TV sat caddy corner on a dusty table and it wasn't clear if it was useable or not. A child with a round belly and runny nose wandered in and out.
Our colleague was along for translation purposes, which was necessary but also made the session less private than might have been helpful. I inquired about general things, health, relationships, the state of my future. And I reserved one question of a particular nature concerning a family member.
I watched him write squiggly lines on a piece of paper and then go back and add vertical lines here and there and here again. After some time he began to share his impressions with me. Overall, nothing too surprising, nothing too personal, and yet things that fit me exactly. He was pretty adamant that I worry too much, and even gave a cluck of his tongue and a shake of his head. His words didn't need translating. Really, he emphasized, you worry too much.
His remarks were helpful to hear, helpful to remember. He took me a bit by surprise with two particular things he mentioned, but again, it is good to keep these things in mind and perhaps I had gotten too comfortable. Too blasé about some things. Take nothing for granted.
He assigned me a few tasks- sacrifices, in a sense. We had been discussing the assigning of sacrifice. Our colleague's son kept repeating, "Oh, you just have to kill a goat or something," (actually this is a lot less severe than it sounds. Sacrificing a goat in Africa generally means you buy a goat and take it to the place where they slaughter them - with prayer, halal style- and then donate the meat to a mosque or to a family or share it at a gathering of people. Essentially, you are providing people with food.)
My sacrifices were not so dramatic. I've been tasked with offering someone 100 red and 100 white kola nuts and bringing a kilo of dates to 4 different mosques. In order to do this, I have to find the person who calls the prayer and offer them to him.
I didn't really have to think over whether I would do this or not, after all, feeding people is never a bad thing and offering gifts to the mosque can't do any harm. It can only be positive, so I set about my new quest.
Acquiring the goods was fairly easy. My nounou was able to buy four packs of 1kg dates in the market. And my drum teacher agreed to go in search of the red and white kola nuts. I have a feeling I need to be the one to take care of delivery.
My drum teacher helped me to lay out a plan. Apparently each neighborhood has a mu'addhin. And my friend assured me that the mu'addhin wouldn't think it strange at all if I showed up with gifts. He would know what to do. I didn't need to explain anything.
After my dance class, I asked Makan, the proprietor of the studio (the amazing Maison des Arts, of which I have yet to share the photos- a beautiful design of architecture and decoration) if he knew where I could find the man who calls the prayer. I'd forgotten to bring a scarf and was lamenting this while he went to see if he could send me with his wife. In the end, I didn't go with her because she was lamenting her clothes ( a modern style dress.) At least I had on a pagne, Makan observed.
We rounded a corner and walked a block and found the mu'addhin reclining on a mat under a large tree, a baby girl sitting next him. Makan offered greetings and introduced me. I handed over my package of dates and that was that. Kind of un-ceremonial, but positive.
Later that afternoon, in another neighborhood with another artist friend, I went again in search of the neighborhood mu'addhin. We waited under the shade of a tree exchanging small talk hoping to run into him on the way home from prayers. It seemed an uncertain method of encountering him and so we walked a bit and asked around. We were directed further down the main road (I say main road, but lest your vision get too grand, we are still talking dusty, red earth, donkey carts and motorcycles.)
Walking with Drissa, walking with any artist in their neighborhood actually, is a bit like walking with a superstar. Everyone wants to say hello and it's actually quite difficult to make progress, and this is with him choosing who to stop and exchange extended greetings with. I heard him promise a few people he would be back to talk properly and a few more beckoned from the opposite side of the road, which were easier to evade. We stopped to exchange real greetings and introductions with 3 people, the most important or the ones he knows best, I assume.
Eventually we arrived. There was an older man sitting on a mat outside his home. He had on a crisp, white kufi and traditional flowing robes. A set of prayer beads lay just to the side and a stove for tea off to the back. He was much older than the first mu'addhin I had visited and a bit friendlier. He offered me blessings and we tried a little exchange, Drissa translating the Bamankan and helping me with the expected responses.
This definitely felt more ceremonial, more formal and yet friendly too. The kind of welcoming friendly you expect from a spiritual person. A relieving friendly. We said several goodbyes which left both of us grinning.
My sacred mission is not yet complete (I am not actually sure how secret it is supposed to be) but I am well on my way. Purpose is good and it's inspired all kinds of other thoughts about simple deeds I could be undertaking. This is probably the real meaning of the sacrifices. A gentle reminder that it is easy to do good work and we should probably do it more often.
