Just like home

Having grown up on a farm, living in the country all of my life prior to college, I took for granted all people were "neighborly." In my hometown, people might argue with one another, but they form a community in which people help each other when help is needed. They wave when they meet on the road; they always speak when they see you (and when it's been a long time, you may get a hug). Half way around the world, I found the same atmosphere in the African village of Bancouanan.

Bancouanan is generally south of Bamako, and it has more people than my hometown. The villagers are cotton farmers; they probably always have been and probably always will be. The only reason they had time to meet with us was because they are between cotton seasons. You could tell from their weathered faces they knew hard work. And I honestly don't think they would consider doing anything else. Maybe it's that rural people have to work hard to survive. Or maybe it's because there is not as much to "do" in the country. But what I observed, more than anything else, was the friendliness and passion for agriculture I find in my family -- my father, my brother, my uncles and their families -- in Adair, Oklahoma, USA. Rural people are rural people whether in Oklahoma or Africa, if the villagers of Bancouanan are any indication. I only wish I knew more of their language so I could have communicated better with them. I didn't have to know French to know they were pleased to have us visit their radio station, their community building, the NIH research facility, their cropland and THEM.

The best part of the day is best described in the photo. A Malian mother allowed me to hold her 40-day-old little girl. What a privilege. Of course, it only made me miss my own boys that much more. She seemed to enjoy seeing the pictures I brought of Jacob and Matthew; she had a big laugh about the snow in some of them. Snow is definitely something she had not seen before yesterday.

Life is about sharing moments in time. I appreciate the time we shared with each other and with these Malian villagers (in spite of the heat, red dust and two flat tires). I would do it all over again.