Doing laundry in Mali is typically not my “thing”. It’s a complicated process that involves buckets, water, a bar of soap, and a special touch that most tubabus don’t have. Two summers ago I had a traumatic experience struggling to wash my clothes in front of a hoard of Malian children, feeling like an incompetent outsider.
Today I did my laundry again. Update: I’m still incompetent, but I feel like much less of an outsider. As I broke out my buckets and dirty clothes, another woman in my compound was incidentally doing the same. I started scrubbing separately from her, across the courtyard. This setup did not last very long, since I felt a bit self-conscious of her watching me with amusement and pity. In response I picked up my buckets and relocated next to her – a non-verbal request for instruction.
She walked me through each step: soak, lather, scrub, dip, squeeze, scrub more, dump water out, repeat, something or other, wring out…okay it’s still a little fuzzy for me. She had so many more suds than I did, and I think she was concerned for the ultimate cleanliness of my clothes. Still, I heard her make multiple clicks of approval (similar to tsk-tsk’s, but with the opposite meaning). Go me.
My laundry experience of yore made me feel alienated; today’s made me feel included. Maybe it’s because there are fewer curious children around this time, or nicer people around to help me out. Maybe it’s because I’m getting more and more comfortable here?
Homecoming
15 years ago
1 comment:
Jules, good for you to go and stand next to her! What a great place to be, where it is okay to non-verbally say, "I need help because I haven't a clue what to do!" I hope you feel accomplished. I feel accomplished for you. I too did laundry this week and did not fall down the wooden stairs that lead to the laundry room on top of the dining hall. Not quite the same, but it makes me feel connected to you in the far-away land. Thanks for sharing! xoxo.
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