[47] Look Forward, You Must

There I was with the blue of indigo, copper wire woven to perfection, and the Niger River's winding bed in the distance, in the Malian heart of Bamako—in a land made magical by stories told.

The ancient 'City of Gold'—where banco clay used to cover the pale and golden mangos that dotted the lands before the conflict reigned its mighty hands—was many miles away.

So work I did, with days full of handmade things, skillful hands, creative minds, and warmth, and smiles and nods when no language was found. The narrow alleys, open markets, mud cloth, and wooden doors with intricate carvings beckoned me around each bend. Hellos and goodbyes, and tell me about your atelier's strengths and all of its needs till the conversations and days crawled so beautifully to the end of the deed.

The time had come, I hopped into a taxi with my dear and now departed friend—a magical French designer with generous hands—and a speedy taxi driver determined to get me to the airport on time.

We chatted and chatted along the way—my eyes still full of all things new and blue and experiences that brought truth into my view.

And on we went until a big thug was felt that should have brought the car to a screeching end. But it persistently continued to move down the road, and I looked back aghast to see two legs of a cow sticking out from under the frame of a very old car, like the Wicked Witch of the West from my childhood days.

I gasped and begged to return, to take care of all, but was politely, yet adamantly informed, "Look forward, Mademoiselle, you must!”

I was told that if we stopped, the villagers would gather, hours would pass, hearts would be torn, and, of course, money would be spent to honor the cow and a culture's norms.

It was out of my hands, he said, and onward he went. I sat mortified with the vision well-planted inside of my head.