Finding Shivon

I started writing the Fried Green Tomatoes review, but I'm not commited enough to finish it tonight, so I'll make a regular blog post. I want to post about my life as it is currently, but honestly, most things that have happened since I got out of CWY have either been too uninteresting, or have not complied with my policies as to what I should publicize on this blog. Therefor, I'll tell you another story about Mali, and if my writer's block continues, I might even be pushed into speaking on some of the stuff there that I wasn't sure I should publicize.

So, one time I was in Sirakorola. One of my Canadian friends, whom I was hanging out with, told me that, should I pass another Canadian participant's house, ask her to come visit the place where the rest of the Canadian participants were. The name of the Canadian I was supposed to find was Shivon (It's not a Canadian name, I know, but it's not a Malian one, either).

So, they told me she lived in a big yellow house. I passed by there, and even been inside, but, I'm ashamed to say, my sense of direction was bad enough that I wasn't sure of the exact location. So, after passing every house in the direction I was informed her's was, I asked a local woman who resided in the biggest, yellowest house in the neighbourhood, for Shivon.

She started asking neighbours and people who walked by a variety of questions in Bambara. A huge number of village women showed up, and eventually they presented me with a woman that they referred to as Shivon. She was certainly a local, so I asked, "This is Shivon?" They said "Yes" and I explained that I wanted "Tubabu Shivon" or "White Shivon". We all laughed and they brought me on a walk.

We moved far away from the village as I knew it. We moved by a variety of exotic structures and through some really cool-looking places. I wondered why Shivon would be so far out, and in such an interesting place. I also began to wonder, since so much time had passed, and since I'd troubled so many village women, and since I'd moved so far out, if this was even worth it for the offhand request I'd received. If I'd known she was so far out, I wouldn't have bothered asking for her, and once I met her, I would probably play down the importance of her needing to visit her friends, since she was probably out here for a reason. But since I came out all this way, I thought I might as well complete my search and not devalue the efforts of these women.

Eventually they brought me to a halt, and one of the women moved on ahead. She brought back some raw eggs and offered them to me, for a price. I said "No thank you." They all looked confused. I said, "I just want to meet with my friend Shivon."

There was a moment of confused silence. Then, suddenly, I got hit with an idea, and I asked the woman who could speak French, "What is the name of these eggs in Bambara?" She said, "Shivon".

I told them that, when I'd asked for a "White egg" I had meant a white person with the name Shivon. They said they understood. I told them that I was sorry to waste their time, and offered to buy their eggs, but told me that it had been a misunderstanding and that they weren't bothered at all.

It was awkward at the time, but a lot of good came out of this experience. I learned that, even if it wasn't market day, I could ask anyone for anything and it would be found for me. I also made lots of new friends in the community. It was awkward at the time, but I shared enough time with them on the trip and the return that I made friends with the women I'd traveled with, which would stand until the end of the program. And after telling this story, the woman that I'd tried to find would be nicknamed "Egg".