Love and hate

There are times that that I love Mali and a few times when I hate it. I think anyone in any culture, even their own, can have these moments but sometimes with the change of cultures you become more aware of the differences.  The other day was one of those days.

I went to the government hospital with our new pharmacist to show him around. We were walking around various places trying to get medicines that we needed. We waited and waited for this one doctor to be available. When we finally saw the doctor there were several people in the room. We entered anyway to have our paper signed for the medicines. I commented to the lady sitting beside where I was standing that I liked her bracelets. They were woven bracelets which were very common when we first arrived but aren’t as popular anymore. I have been in search of them which was probably why I noticed hers in the first place. I only meant to compliment her but she took the bracelets off and gave them to me. I was shocked. A woman I never met just gave me her bracelets. Granted they were old and three of the five have already broken, but still I was so touched. Without hesitation she gave them. This is historically a normal practice. If one comments on something and says they like it, you give it. While I don’t see this happen often, I do see a culture built on sharing and caring for those around them. Nothing is theirs alone. They will always share. I love that.

Later I worked with a lady who had been hospitalized at our hospital from complications that were found to be from HIV. I told her of her diagnosis and gave her the option to tell her husband but made it clear it was not obligatory. I have several women that we now support monthly because they told their husbands and they were abandoned.  There are no government services to care for these women once they are abandoned so it falls on us. Therefore we no longer mandate that women tell their husbands but let them decide. This particular lady was quick to say it was ok to talk to her husband. I went and got him and shared what we had found. He refused to accept the diagnosis. He told me she had sickle cell disease and not HIV. I told him again that regardless of the sickle cell, she definitely had HIV. He refused to believe. He made his wife leave and told me to tell her it was only sickle cell and not HIV. He wanted me to lie to her about HER health. Feeling quite pushed into a corner, I called a pastor who often helps me in counseling ladies. We spoke to the man alone, then again as a couple. The husband refused to accept while the women interjected from time to time, “Please give me medicine. I want to take the medicine”. I couldn’t give her the meds, though, because she lives 60 + kilometers away and would only be able to come to our hospital with her husband’s knowledge and permission. But he wouldn’t give it. He would rather let his wife die than accept the shame of HIV. There is a proverb in Bambara “Death is better than shame”. We see that played out again and again. This man chose the death of his wife rather than shame to his family. It was so sad to see her leave knowing she would never, aside from miraculously change of heart from her husband, be able to come and receive treatment. And that I hate.