Frapper

To hit~ Sardined into our white van with the windows open and the dust blowing in, we were making our way to Koulikoro, a village about 60 km outside of Bamako on the Niger River.  I had carefully placed myself next to Lamine, the amazing "student activities coordinator" who pretty much does anything and everything to help us make the most of our experience.  He also happens to be my "joking cousin," (as he is a blacksmith and I, because I live with the family, Bah, am a cowherder) part of an ethnic group that historically shares a unique bond with my own, allowing us to joke with each other, saying things like "you are my grandson/granddaughter" or "you eat beans."  From him, we learn how to joke, speak, and generally interact in the Malian way.  Therefore, I am ALWAYS asking him questions.  That day, I began with, "is it normal here for older family members to hit younger ones as punishment?" because that in particular had been making me uncomfortable in my host family lately.  Apparently, "beating is part of informal education here," but not to the point that the other person is seriously hurt.  However, if it really bothers me, I may be able to say, "yes, he was wrong to do that, but you should stop hitting him," always agreeing with the older person, and he or she will usually listen. 
     Feeling empowered, I went on to ask an all-the-more nagging question: "what about violence between young children of the same age?"  I had not been able to stop mentally replaying the moment from the day before when my host brother (8 years old) started yelling at all of the girls his age who were painting their nails in my room...and then hitting them.  One of the girls was almost in tears, and another looked at me, laughing, and said "he is going to be just like his father."  My gut reaction was too much, and feeling like I had real power, being 12 years older than everyone else in the room, I fixed him with an angry stare and grabbed his hand...my strength against his...keeping him from moving away from the room or toward the girls.  "Why are you hitting them?!!!" I yelled, in French.  He pointed to a bottle of nail polish that the girl he just was hitting had knocked over on the ground, and I said "no, she knocked that over because you were hitting her, not before." He looked at me in disbelief.  Who was I to stop him?...me, the random white person who cannot even speak his first language and who never keeps the rest of the family from hitting him? But he stopped...and left the room.
     After hearing my story, Lamine looked at me with approval: "you did the right thing; I am proud of you," he said.  Apparently because I am older than my host brother, I as the adult am always supposed to break up fights between him and his friends.  But I was strangely unappeased by this explanation.  It still feels unfair to me that I can stop one person from hitting others but no one from hitting him.  However, Lamine brought me back to Earth...and that particular piece of it called Mali... by asking about what parents usually do to discipline their children in the U.S.  Apparently time-out would be considered abuse here, but beating is not...