"The Beauty of the First"

By Sahar Muradi, Program & Trek Coordinator

July 2008

A "first" can be an extraordinary thing — an achievement, an example, a precedent. For Asatou, it was her first time on an airplane, the first time, seated and buckled, she was elevated 30,000 feet into the air. For Krystal, who relishes being a "mama’s girl," it was the longest amount of time she was separated from her mother and role model, her best friend, and weekly nail salon companion.  

For Ms. Klarl, a diligent school counselor and one of three advisors on the trip, it would be the longest time she stepped away from her desk and its manic ringing telephone. And for Ian, the group’s gifted singer, it was a test of his ability to survive two weeks without his iPod.  

But most importantly, for this team of eleven students and three teacher advisors from New York and Connecticut, this summer’s Trek for Knowledge to Mali represented an opportunity to do a most novel thing: to help a community halfway across the world build a school and improve their lives.

As teenagers, most of the group knew a thing or two about a good party, but none of us were quite prepared for the incredible welcome we received upon arriving in the village of Sokela in the southern Sikasso region.   

A massive group of women, men, and children gathered to greet us singing and dancing. A group of children held signs with greetings in Bambara, the local language, while others held large calabash bowls filled with things grown in the village like corn, sorghum, and beans. One young girl held a beautiful and wispy branch of cotton, the country’s biggest export. Each of these was presented to a member of our group.  

Students and teachers left every inhibition behind and joined in dancing — arms in the air and feet tapping the ground. Denissa, a student who had long dreamed of coming to Africa, turned to me in the midst of all this energy and said excitedly, "I can’t believe I am here. This is Mali! We are in Mali!"

Indeed, we were in Mali. Absent were the tall concrete buildings of Bamako.  Villagers lived in mud brick huts with thatched roofs. Gone were the street lights and television sets. In place of running water there were deep wells and water pumps, from which the women and girls would emerge with large bowls effortlessly balanced on their heads.   

As for the current school, it entailed three small classrooms that accommodated less than half of all the children in the village, with no options beyond the third level. Most of the adults, too, could not read or write — not surprising in a country with a 24% adult literacy rate. With a stark reminder of why we were there, we set out to build the school!

One of the most challenging "firsts" was the labor at the school worksite. For many of us it was our first time working that hard, and under a powerful sun no less. However, we took our example from the incredibly hardworking people of Sokela. Most of the villagers were farmers and worked the land with their hands.  

From sunup until sundown, the men were in the fields, ploughing, planting, harvesting, and herding. Women also worked in the fields, in addition to cooking, cleaning, and caring for their children. They were accustomed to using the tools that we used on the worksite, including pickaxes, hoes, and shovels.  

For some of us, though, it was the first time we had ever seen a pickaxe! When the villagers saw Emely, the smallest member of our group (by age and height) prepare to push a wheelbarrow brimming with bricks, they cupped their mouths with skepticism. But Emely’s small frame veiled her incredible strength and she left everyone gasping.

Soon, the women of the village had their own memorable “first” experience.

Relative to the United States, gender roles in Mali are very much defined, as we learned in the variety of cultural education workshops we attended. For example, collecting shea nuts and producing shea butter was a task designated to women, while the position of dugutigi, or village chief, was reserved strictly for a man.  

Meanwhile, on the worksite, the women were primarily responsible for bringing water for the cement mixing and brick-making, which was done by men, along with leveling the foundation, making rebar and digging the latrine.  

One day, not long after I had visited the rice fields with the women, I was leveling the foundation when I noticed I was using the same kind of hoe that the women used in the field. I thought, well, if they can do it in the field, why couldn’t they do it at the worksite?

With the help of one of our translators, I called over to one of the women who I had become close with, Wurukia, and asked her if she wanted to help me level the foundation. She smiled shyly, turning to the group of women behind her, almost asking for permission. They considered my proposition, and she got up to join me.  

I picked up two dabas (small hoes) and handed one to her. I demonstrated, bending down and scraping the rocky red earth into a flat surface. Wurukia easily followed. The group of women sitting watched eagerly, and then broke into a wide laughter. Not because she could not do it — she quickly surpassed me — but at the sight of her doing a "man’s job."  

Of course, this caught the attention of the men as well. A group of them looked up curiously from their pickaxes. I began chanting, “Mali muso akani!”  Mali women can do it! Everyone started cheering — women and men. In fact, Salaam, one of my favorite people in Sokela, walked over and raised his arms in solidarity and continued chanting, "Mali muso akani!" And one by one, the women walked over to the foundation and each asked for their turn on the daba.

A wave of "firsts" was now in motion. For many of the children, this will be their first school. For others, it will mean advancing beyond where they are. For adults like Salaam and Wurukia, who cannot read or write, the school represents the first opportunity to learn. For the village clinic, which is staffed by just one person who is trained only in midwifery — it could eventually produce the first doctor. The lives of women, men, and children in Sokela had changed for good. Our lives had changed for good. And the best part, the beauty of the first, is that it implies it is just the beginning.