les hauteurs

the rock outcropping we climbed...

Heights~ SIT study abroad is nothing if not dynamic in its own way.  One day we are taking exams, the next we are climbing cliffs, and the next we are embarking on a month of research.  Or at least that is how it feels sometimes.  My long absence from this blog and from internet in general is due to our 10 day "grand excursion," a vacation period of sorts during which we traveled to Selengué, Sikasso, and Teryabugu-- not necessarily the most popular tourist destinations in Mali but some of the only ones without travel warnings keeping us away.  It was very strange experiencing a bit of tourist life in this country where we have been doing our best to let ourselves be immersed.  Air conditioned rooms and poolside lounging is practically a culture shock compared to my now habitual nights of drowning in my own sweat and days of which the highlight is my favorite peanut sauce that my host mom makes or a simple interaction with the children who live down the street.  However, it was nice, certainly more relaxing than any other period here has been.  Along with this "height" of relaxation, I certainly found my own personal height of physical fitness during my stay here, running three mornings out of 10 for MORE than half an hour each time. 

     In Sikasso, though, we found our highest of highs; we began by checking out some of the caves at the bottom of a rock outcropping, including one that is considered to be a natural mosque and another that serves as a holy place for animists.  Then, with no warning of what exactly was coming (in normal Malian fashion), our guide told us that it was time to climb up the outcropping.  Steeling myself against my normal fear heights to be expected at the top of a mildly rigorous hike, I followed the rest of the group up the first ladder, only to find another ladder awaiting us and then a 75 degree rock wall that we were expected to climb free hand, followed by a vertical one with a chain hanging from it that was supposed to help us reach the top.  I did not even notice it hitting me, the wave of fear and anxiety that I should have expected but hoped to hold off.  The tears flowed nonetheless, pouring from a place I did not even know existed.  There I stood, at the top of a pile of rocks in Africa sobbing from an uncontrollable and only slightly rational fear.  I did not even notice the sheer drop in front of me, only the sheer climb awaiting behind.  However, Lamine, as always, was right there, assuring me that as my "joking cousin," he would help me climb down, that I was brave (even though I am anything but), and otherwise making me laugh through my helpless tears.
     But we made it back down...and to a few more historical sights that day, a waterfall the next, and finally, the pristine village of Teriyabugu, built by a French ex-priest gone rogue and fostering several environmentally friendly projects.  Thus, I would never refute the fact that my fear of heights is as raging as ever, but only that of literal ones.  Heights of laughter, rest, friendship, fitness, food quality (yes, Teriyabugu had PUMPKIN SOUP), and comfort are periodically important for refereshing the soul, and that is what we found.  Even those tears, in a way, were refreshing.  They probably constituted the first "rain" that rock outcropping had seen in a long time during this dry, dry season.  And finally, I found the time again to read, so I leave you today with a quote from my reading, hoping that in leaving from and coming back to Bamako, France, the U.S., etc., I am beginning to let the wild woman flourish within me:

"Where is [the wild woman] present?  Where can you feel her, where can you find her?  She walks the deserts, woods, oceans, cities, in the bar-rios, and in castles.  She lives among queens, among campesinas, in the boardroom, in the factory, in the prison, in the mountain of solitude.  She lives in the ghetto, at the university, and in the street.  She leaves footprints for us to try for size.  She leaves footprints wherever there is one woman who is fertile soil... She is the maker of cycles.  She is the one we leave home to look for.  She is the one we come home to."  ~Women who Run with the Wolves (Clarissa Pinkola Estés, PhD)