It is a Saturday afternoon in Bamako
and
we are gathered in my boss Thelma's living room. Mom and I spent the
morning with the photography club at the National Museum and then met
Cassie for lunch in town. Abdoulaye and his mom, Foulé, spent the
morning shopping for bazin fabric in the
grande marchée for
Foulé to take back to Guinea as gifts and for small commerce. Everyone is looking thirsty and so Abdoulaye and I excuse ourselves to the
kitchen to get some hibiscus juice for the crowd. I take his hand as
we enter the kitchen. I love these private, albeit brief, moments
with him after days that are so public.
Our brief moment is briefer than usual
when Bobo enters the kitchen behind us and says with a smile and a
shake of his finger “Vous deux, allez dehors!” You
two, outside! I look at Abdoulaye who purses his lips and nods his
head and I follow him through the living room; I guess the hibiscus
juice will have to wait.
Cassie looks up at
us from the couch as we walk by. Foulé sits with her hands in her
lap in a chair opposite my own mother who is perched on a loveseat,
playing with Bobo's baby girl,
Aminata. Bobo takes a seat on the chair
opposite Cassie and subtly encourages Abdoulaye and I outside with an
exaggerated nod of his head towards the door.
Of course I know
something is up as Abdoulaye closes the glass door behind us and we
settle on the patio outside. I think Abdoulaye knows something is
up, too, but he is avoiding my questions and feigns ignorance of what
is going on inside. “Come on,” I plead in my usual, charming
fashion, “tell me what is going on!” He shakes his head and
segues the conversation to our respective adventures with our moms
that day. That boy knows how to switch my train of thought! Then Cassie
throws open the door and passes us baby Aminata. “Your mom needs
to concentrate!” she says before quickly returning inside. I turn
to Abdoulaye for an explanation but his attention is on the baby and
I find myself quickly distracted by her baby gurgles, too. Aissetou,
Bobo's wife, appears from behind the house and takes Aminata away for
a feeding. Then Bobo opens the door and waves us inside. I feel a
strange expectation build in my stomach and try to smile it away.
Abdoulaye takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
I re-enter the
living room and take a seat on the couch next to Cassie. Abdoulaye
sits on the loveseat next to my Mom who is wiping away tears that are
spilling down her cheeks. A few thoughts run through my head.
First, I definitely missed something. Then, 'Oh my goodness, I bet
someone in Guinea passed away and this is the culturally appropriate
way to share the news.' And then, wait a minute, how come Cassie got
to stay? I look from my crying mother to a solemn-faced Foulé to a
grinning Bobo and finally to Cassie whose face is giving nothing
away. “OK,” I finally say after the awkward silence becomes too
much, “somebody spill.”
Bobo begins the
conversation, situating his body and his words towards my mother. He
begins by telling her what he thinks of Abdoulaye. He says, among
other things, that he sees a lot of people passing through Bamako and
that Abdoulaye, who he did not know before coming to Mali (both Bobo
and Abdoulaye are from Guinea), is someone special. I have heard
Bobo's touching words before but they still give me a little thrill
each time; Abdoulaye really is someone special.
At
this point in the conversation I am pretty sure I also have something
to do with all of this but my Mom is still crying on the loveseat and
I still think someone may have died. Then, Bobo turns to me and my
Mom's tears begin to taper off. He talks about how in Africa a
marital union is not only between the couple – it is also between
families. I sit up a little straighter and try to make eye contact
with Abdoulaye who is looking intently at Bobo and only briefly
catches my eye. I definitely have something to do with all of this.
Foulé
begins to speak again in Susu and Bobo translates for me into French
while Cassie translates for my Mom into English. Foulé talks about
how pleased she is to see her son so happy and continues on with a
laundry list appraisal of what she thinks of me now that she has seen
Abdoulaye and I together this past week. The list is a good one and
I blush and squirm in my seat. Abdoulaye says nothing but looks at
me and flashes me one of his heart-melting smiles. I laugh awkwardly
at pauses in the conversation. Mom stands up to get another tissue
and I brush my hand against Abdoulaye's. “Won tannara,”
I mouth to him in Susu. We are together.
Foulé takes a
breath and Bobo clasps his hands. His gaze moves expectantly between
my mother and I whose own glistening eyes are moving between me and
Abdoulaye. Foulé starts up again in Susu and Bobo grins even larger
than before. I sense that the conversation is quickly reaching its
apex, at least, I hope it is since I am still unsure if the pauses in
the conversation are meant as opportunities for me to respond or
simply dramatic pauses meant as opportunities for Foulé's words to
settle in.
“As the
representative of Jenny's family,” Bobo continues in French while
looking at my mother, “do you accept for Abdoulaye and Jennifer to
join in marriage?” Mom looks at me and tearily shrugs her
shoulders and nods (Dad, Sheri and John – I hope you guys are on
board!). I smile until it hurts and give Abdoulaye's knee a squeeze
before standing up to give hugs all around. I thank our translators
– it means even more that Bobo and Cassie, two of the people
dearest to Abdoulaye's and my hearts, were there – before I give
Abdoulaye an extra squeeze. We head back to the kitchen to get the
hibiscus juice we originally came for – this time to toast Part I of our engagement.
