Where Is The Glory In Africa? Loving Rural Africans is the Glory

It was a bit of a surprise to see just how sparse, grey, & brown the Malian landscape looked under the wings of the Air Senegal plane. I landed in Bamako three days earlier than expected so the room bookings were of no use to me. I tried to find another room for the night, finally settled on the idea of taking the nine hour bus ride west to Kadiolo instead.
I waited at the Bus depot for hours. Extremely hungry, I began to peruse the street cooks and bought several tasteless things boiled in oil, but they would hold me over. As I ate I nodded “no” to the hundredth sales person carrying various items on their head, trying to scrounge a living.
Muslim prayer time came, so down on the mats for prayer first, and then loading began. I was positioned in the second last seat of the bus; on top of the sizzling hot motor, with all the sickening fumes. Though I desperately needed sleep, I could not sleep because every time my leg touched the steel wall of the bus it would get badly burned on the hot mettle, and my feet were cooking on the floor so I had to keep lifting them up to cool them down. It was as close to hell as I want to get. After eight hours of this I could not take any more, so I got out 100 km before Kadiolo, in the town of Sikasso.

It was 2:30 am in the morning. I spent the next hour trying to locate a man named Pierre Diara I was given his name on a piece of paper as a good information contact. No one seemed to know Mr Diara. I was about ready to give up and sleep on a table right there in the market. Around 3:30am I checked with another lady- no Luck. I thanked her and she turned back and asked in French; “Could that be Pierre JAR-A?”. I was so tired that I had forgotten that they pronounce D as JA. Forgive me for not remembering the intricacies of Bambara language. “Yes!” I said, “Peirre Jar-A (Diara)”

I knocked on his gate at 3:42 AM and this man, whom I never met, let me in and took me to a room and gave me a bucket of water to get cleaned up with. I thanked him, washed, and then just stood in the bucket of water to cool my baked feet. I fell exhausted into bed after a 26 hour sleepless journey from Agni to Banka Territory. But I was relieved to finally be in the region of the Banka people.

I fell into bed making a mental note that Bambara language was essential as French would not do here. I drifted off to sleep, thankful for the room - this is exactly the Africa I know and love. I had only four hours to sleep, and I would have to be up and going again. The Work was just beginning.

There are a few exciting adventures, and then there is the exhausting reality of daily living and working in Africa, and that is not very glorious. When you meet these rural people at the daily level in which they function, you will find no glory. No one ever sees what you do-some don't even care about what you do "out there". Others don't understand why you do it, and few understand how much it takes to be in these obscure places.

Sometimes my work means sleeping on a bug infested bamboo bed, sleeping on the ground, burning your legs on a hot motor, miscommunication. Other times it's laughter & joy.

However, my life is always allowing indigenous people to lead me to understand their life experiences, hopes and dreams, so that we can share authentically.

Life is not always about telling; it’s very much about listening. Took me some time to figure that out. Indeed, there is no glory in listening and sharing with people in unknown places and I am OK with that. These people are worth much love; worth infinitely more love than I alone can give. Still, we receive so much love in return, and that alone is quite enough - Far more precious than vain glory.