The threads of Mali

I thought about my Mom and my Nana today, about the hours they spent making clothes for me, clothes I never fully appreciated. That is until today.

Yesterday, we visited the poorest of the poor in this city of 2 million people. They live in conditions worse than those in which our livestock on our family farm. For that matter, I am pretty sure our cattle eat better food to eat than they do most days. In spite of the dirt, they exhibit genuine, generous smiles, sharing cold soft drinks with their American guests. These strong Malians eek out an existence by purchasing white cotton cloth and dyeing it with the most vibrant colors I think I have ever seen. The unique patterns they create are sometimes breathtaking. Once the dyed cloth is dry, it goes to a hut where young men (probably about mid-20s) press it with large wooden tools that look like mallets turned sideways. (I will never complain about ironing again.) They pound with a hypnotic rhythm that should be reserved for jungle drums. It echoes through the village, a captivating song of intense work.

Fast forward to today. Rachel and I traveled with Mamado and Assoumane back to the village. We retrieve our “pressed” cloth and travel to the tailor, who is a friend of Mamado. The tailor’s shop is about half the size of my office (or less), has a door but no windows, and includes a small, wooden bench on the left for customers and an older sewing machine on the right. It’s about as old as the sewing machines Mom and Nana had when I was a small girl, but in this area with little or no electricity, it is powered by using a large foot pedal like the sewing machine my great-grandmothers would have used. In the small open space (Did I mention the temperature today probably 100 degrees F? Imagine what it was like in that small space!) , the tailor measures us for our boubous (traditional African dresses). He tells Assoumane we are crazy for the length of shirt we want, but he agrees to meet our requests for, get this, 3000 CFA each (that’s $6 of U.S. cash). Yes, only $6 to cut and sew a top, skirt and headscarf! You cannot get a McDonald’s combo for that in some places!

So what, you may ask, does this have to do with Mom and Nana? After this visit to the Malian tailor who lives in the midst of poverty, all I could think about was the countless thankless hours Mom and Nana sat in front of their sewing machines creating beautiful garments for a challenging little girl they loved very much. They were passionate about caring for their family, and so is the tailor. I hope his family members appreciate the work he does to provide them with what little they have. I know I do.