I am getting farther and farther away from things I know and understand. This is supposed to be a good exercise in growth and personal reflection. Instead it's become something of a circular road. Drissa and I have been working on a painting series for many months now. It began as a tribute and recording of traditional dance- the why, the how, the when. Our series of paintings is meant to be transformed into children's books that detail the history of traditional dances.
But as the first project nears an end, we have travelled far from things I find familiar. Drissa must start the skeleton outline of each of these compositions, as I can't even begin to imagine the scenery. I am tasked with writing the story to accompany our paintings. A children's story. Somehow, I must find the child words to talk about the tradition of jabbi- painting henna on the hands in a certain color before the wedding- this color to be revealed at the big dance ceremony- this color to signify if the woman was 'innocent' before marriage or.....not. Who would say they weren't? I wonder.
But Drissa assures me that the women know if they start their marriage with dishonesty, it will bring bad luck. I suspect he doesn't really have the answers to my questions, and if I am going to be able to write the book, I will need to find a woman to pose my many questions to.
We are on the last of the images. Currently we are working on the seclusion. A period of 3-5 days when the woman must stay in the house of her husband. She can receive visitors, but she can't go out.
As Drissa fills in the details, my questions mount. How am I ever going to turn this into 'kid-friendly?" He tells me normally the woman wears a cloth but not much else. I suspect this is so she will be "ready" for her husband, at any moment. He also talks about the displaying of the sheets- the blood stained cloth that is hung outside the hut to prove her innocence to everyone in the village. Except he explains it as a cause of celebration- she is passing from a young girl to a woman.
I am of two minds here, as so much of tradition inspires. It is good to celebrate passages of age and life stages, something I believe America has lost. I believe this lost rite of passage has become the cause of much confusion and disrespect in youth. But the public airing of your most intimate life? I am not sure I can get behind that one.
Isn't it really a way to control women and keep a firm male dominance in place? I think it will be better to leave this part out- of the painting and the story. Instead, we have a woman sitting on her mat, wrapped in white cloth sharing oranges with someone who has come to offer gifts.
"She is like a queen," Drissa insists. "She sits and doesn't do anything but wait patiently while others serve her." I don't see it quite that way. Prisoner is what comes to my Western mind. Or maybe it is my female mind. I wonder how Malian women view this tradition.
He agrees that it is something that happens rarely now. He laughs a bit, saying young girls don't always wait for their husband. But I know that, too, is a perspective he can't really offer with truth. Young girls these days are coerced by their school professors and strangled by the poverty that faces them. They often have little choice, and the choices they do make, don't really belong to them.
Last year his own sister was married off- at the tender age of 18. Perhaps even a bit old by Malian standards. The brothers protested, but I imagine it was a feeble attempt to get their parents to permit their sister to continue her education. There isn't much of a promising life at the end of that road.
Schools in Mali still need a lot of positive PR. The university system is even worse, spending more time closed than open. Students, like Issa, Drissa's younger brother, may find their names on two lists at the end of exams. If they pay a little something, they can get their name off the failing list and permanently inscribed on the passing list. And if they don't...? They take the course again, or drop out altogether.
Isssa has chosen to continue his studies, but he concentrates on painting for a future. They find a lot of mural work for restaurants and embassies, and Issa has secured a few small jobs painting ads on the outside of barbershops and groceries.
As for our painting series, we hope to be finished by February. The paintings really are beautiful and likely to garner much admiration- that Western kind that ogles over day to day scenes of ordinary life, finding a charm on the surface that may not exist in reality.
If we do a second set, I would like to focus more on the dance and the movements. A kind of abstract expression of the beauty of human form and capability. The dances are beautiful, and powerful. There is a transformative effect when one takes up the traditional movements- and it complicates the real life details.
I am getting better at living in two minds, accepting conflicting details of beauty and oppression. Because sometimes, life is just that way. I think it might help to look at it as history. Transcribing the past traditions. But it is a challenge to write about something that I disagree with. I admit the pages sound stilted and factual. I find it difficult to infuse passion and magic. I am not sure if the story is beautiful, or if it is even meant to be beautiful. Maybe it is just meant to be history. Without judgement or comment or personal interpretation. Maybe this is what I need to remember to transform this ritual into a child's book - I am merely recording lessons of their history, their culture and their country. Perhaps they will view it as a record of their progress. One day.
