the mali men's last visit

i found out the mali people were actually from niger, but nobody seemed to care. they still referred to them as "the mali men". just like everybody still believes sofie is from germany.

as i was exploring the village one early morning, on my way to work, taking pictures of kids and dogs and baby ducks, one of the mali women ran across the road over to me.

she grabbed at my dress and inched up uncomfortably close to my face. then she spoke her language. i had no idea what language it was.

i tried to back away, but every time i did she grabbed my dress tighter and got closer.

she smelled like dirty goat and smoked cheese. she didn't smell ghanaian, and i hadn't realized until that point that there was a distinct ghanaian smell. it was anything other than what i was smelling now.

everything about her was different. she had unusually pink gums. they almost looked edible.

i didn't particularly like her gripping me the way she was, but it seemed desperate, so i tried hard to understand what she was explaining.

she was pointing to her dress, it had different colored swirls all over it. she singled out a red swirl and counted to 7.

what was i to think?

"wote twi?" i asked.

she said yes she speaks small twi.

"yeka twi. let's speak twi."

she told me about blood, and months, and medicine, but none of it made much sense. "i'm sorry" i said "i don't understand what you are saying. do you want medicine?"

she said yes yes yes she wants medicine.

"then come today to the clinic." i said.

she told me she would see me soon.

then i summoned up the courage and asked if i could take her picture, because she was unusually beautiful, and she said of course. then she modeled, and pressured me into taking 3 pictures, instead of 1.

well that was easy, i thought as i walked away.

when i got to work i told Maame Vic the mali people would be coming for a visit, and when they came walking down the road towards us, we sat and stared at them. they walked in long strings of pairs, husbands and wives.

they were taller and leaner and boneier. they dressed in more clothes. they were muslim.

we brought the woman i had just met earlier that morning into Vic's office. she sat down and spoke in a clippy blunt accent. it was my first time hearing twi in a foreign african accent. i could barely understand it, but Vic could.

she responded "no, no, we don't do that here."

"do what?" sofie and i asked.

"she's asking for medicine to get blood. she says she hasn't had her period for 1 month, but she's had it the past 7 months, and she wants it. so she's asking for medicine to get the blood back."

"she wants an abortion?" i asked.

"oh no, that's not in our services." sofie said.

"but she doesn't think she's pregnant." vic said.

"but she hasn't had her period for 1 month?"

we all gave each other a dubious look.

"does she know about birth control?" i asked. "we should at least council her in that. for the future."

vic explained this to our mali friend.

she was enthusiastic and wanted an injection of depo provera right away.

"first let's find out if she's pregnant." one of us said.

she left, peed, and came back in to wait with us. kingsley brought in the results.

positive.

again, the mother was unhappy with the news, but coping better than the last. i was already growing frustrated with my emotions regarding unwanted pregnancy. i wanted her to want it. i wanted to be supportive to her. i was already imagining talking to the unborn child 35 years from now. hearing his amazing life tale, telling him about his beginnings.

"well no depo for her i guess."

"let's at least get her some folic acid."

vic called the husband in the room and talked with them both. he smelled like smoke from a wood fire and wore a funny red hat. the kind a circus monkey might wear, boxy-made of felt. he had a neck full of leather jewelry dangling down to his chest. it looked special, like the charms were loaded with secret spells. i had to ask once they were through talking. i asked a few other things as well.

i concluded with "... and why exactly are they here in boama, what do they DO?"

"they walk around and sell their medicines." vic said "do you see? they have medicine there in their bags, you see? it is special from mali, they sell it from village to village. they walk everywhere."

they both were sitting, contemplativly in their chairs, trying to engage but unable to devote much energy to conversation. they just found out they were going to have their 6th child. they seemed like a wonderful couple, close and caring.

working in the clinic is strange. i'm not used to this sort of work, the kind where you know people's most intimate affairs. sofie is used to it. and really, the village is SMALL, so one begins to feel they know too much.

we walk through town together, we pass the man who is being treated for his urinary tract infection, we eat dinner with the woman who has a spleen so large it resembles another breast, i play soccer with the cute guy who comes in every day for an injection in his ass. (all the girls have a hard time with that one, figuratively and literally. the guy is fit. he is one big muscle. they all tried pawning it off on me.)

"since you love injections so much, you take the cute guy."

"it's not in my job description." i say. "looks like you'll have to do it."

i buy rice, bread, eggs from women i've seen naked, frightened or brave, lying supine on the bed in the ward. i sing in church, my voice mixing with the 20 other members, half of which are grandmothers of children i've seen be born.

i interviewed a few midwives before i came to ghana only because people said skeptically (but lovingly) "you've never seen a birth before and you're going to work in a birthing clinic, in africa? can you handle all the blood?"

every time i agreed with their statement, and said i don't know if i could handle the blood, i felt foolish and unwise, because all i could go off of was a "feeling". a feeling that this was something i would love. so to combat my insecurities stemming from other people's insecurities i engaged in some personal research. i tried to do something smart, tried to somehow prepare, so that i could prove "i was prepared."

all of this was entirely against my nature, and was only to appease those questioning me. but... i started by calling midwives in various cities, all but my own. i was too intimidated to talk face to face with a real life midwife.

i remember one of the women i called saying her least favorite part of the job was that she became so close to these pregnant women and their families. she took part in such a milestone of their lives, such a raw-intimate-now-we-know-eachother-forever-moment, but then they sort of just vanish. the baby gets older, everyone gets busier, naturally they don't see much of each other again. she saw it as a sense of loss. she didn't like that part of the job, these intense one year relationships. she wanted them to last.

i should have told her to move to a village. to practice midwifery work in boamadumase. your clients won't ever forget you, you'll get to see them every day. like a fine kente weave, you come in and out of their lives, each day, every day. there is really no way around it. you depend on them as much as they depend on you.

village life is symbiotic.

but not with these mali folk, and ultimately not with me either. we have our own tribes. although i'd like to think i will have a lasting relationship with this place.

the mali folk will travel on, and who knows what will happen, with them, or the baby.

all we could do was offer her a little advice and a handful of folic acid.

when they were leaving, Maame Vic asked the woman to do her hair, and mine. the lady said she would, but they left town that afternoon, and walked onward.

"oh well." we both said, the next day when we realized we'd been deserted. "at least efreeyeh and sofie are looking beautiful."

"but weren't they cool?" everyone said.