Reflection: On being a woman in Mali…

At first I saw downcast eyes. curtseys. barely audible mumbled greetings. tired eyes. constantly cooking. constantly on call. a baby tied to her back. a few toddlers sitting at her feet. giving up her seat to the first man that walks in the room. fetching firewood. fetching water. sitting only long enough to breastfeed her child. serving tea to a chatting group of men sitting in the shade. Washing clothes by hand in the hot Malian sun. A bowl of produce balanced on her head. A baby on her back. Walking for miles to sell produce at market. Parents who thought that school ruined a girls chances for marriage. But I waited and looked closer. And then I saw…..bright eyes. a group of women chatting vivaciously as they pound millet. laughter. loud laughter. women in charge of their house. joking insults. complaints. gossip. opinions creep out of their hiding places. anger. love. energy. fatigue. curiosity. intelligence. jealousy. bitterness. hope. contentment. Strength. But when I ask why?  They look somewhat dumbfounded and say. Men and women. We aren’t the same.

This was my general impression of Malian women over the first few months of life in village. However, I say that this is my impression because it truly is only as much as you can glean from observation. I am not treated as a Malian woman would be because at this point in their history, Malians have decided that for some reason American/Western women are different. They wear pants, speak when not spoken to, will look a man directly in the eye, eat with their male coworkers, and heaven forbid, even challenge their ideas in public. Therefore, though they are still not considered to be quite as important as a male, most Malians treat American women with much greater respect than they would a Malian woman. In Peace Corps we call this phenomenon “the third sex,” because American women are not treated the same as either men or women here,  but instead find themselves somewhere awkwardly in the middle.

Because of the “third sex” factor, many PCVs don’t experience much of the gender inequalities; however, unlike many other PCVs I am married, and therefore I constantly have a point of reference. One of the first places it became obvious was our first Malian baptism. In Mali a party consists of the following: the men will sit, drink tea, and play cards in the shade, while the women cook huge amounts of special food (meat and vegetables) for the entire day in a separate location. Trying to be respectful of Malian culture, Jim went with the men and I went with the women. Half way through the morning, Jim came and found me, letting me know that the school director and teachers from the neighboring village were here and he wanted to introduce me to them since I am an Education volunteer. Eager to make some connections for work (and to get a break from chopping onions in the hot sun), I went over to the group of men and introduced myself. I had assumed that following such an introduction, I might be offered a chair and the opportunity to chat with them. Instead, the baby’s father – the party’s host - looked me in the eyes and said  “Ok, Aissata, you can go back to cooking now.”  After spending the entire morning cooking in the 100 degree heat, I was even more surprised when the women filled bowls of food and brought them only to the men. Making sure every man had eaten his full and had enough of the expensive items (meat and veggies). Two hours later, the women ate their leftovers.

Now, in the States, I have never considered myself a feminist. In general in the US, it seems that all a woman has to do is yell “sexism” or “gender discrimination” and she has an army of people at her back ready to crusade for the cause. But arriving here, where all of the sudden, people started looking past me, excluding me, judging me based on my performance of classic feminine roles, it did not take long for this behavior to get under my skin.  For example, I am not an expert chef by any means, but in general I don’t mind cooking. I really could go without doing the dishes though. So in the States, I would generally cook while Jim did the dishes. However, here, when Jim does help me to cook or do dishes, people generally agree that it MUST be because I am an incompetent and/or lazy wife and can’t do those things myself. They stop by the house and, after shaking their heads disapprovingly, offer Jim the option of taking one of their daughters as a second wife since I’m obviously not able to fulfill my duties.

In general, its something we have gotten used to. And it helps to have a wonderful husband who sticks up for you and women in general when these situations arise. For example, every market day, we go through the same conversations countless times after people order Jim to “Give me your wife” and he must explain that I am not an object to be given, but a person who can make my own choices.  Its a great opportunity really. To show people how a husband can love his wife even if she asks him to do laundry every now and then. How a woman can respect her husband and still have the power to make choices about herself and her family. How educating women doesn’t mean spoiling a marriage. We’re a living example of this to our village and we continually have to remind ourselves of that.  We also must continually assess the messages that we’re sending about gender based on our behavior. Its a fine line. For example, at first we were determined to show equality by Jim insisting I eat with the men and be respected as a man would be.  But I slowly realized that I was leaving behind the Malian woman, and separating myself from them when I really wanted to empower them. Now we’ve realized that if Jim eats with the women, it sends a more powerful message that they are just as important to us as the Malian men.

Its a work in progress if nothing else. Some days you notice it much more than others. And we’re constantly learning from our mistakes.  But overall, its been a very eye-opening experience.

~Joye