I witnesses one of the most vicious beatings in my service this week.  It was horrible. 

Now beatings, almost always inflicted from adult to a child, are something that I have become a little bit lax too.  I, myself, have struck a child more times than I want to admit- and that's probably because I have lost count.  Even a missionary friend of mine, who is one of the most compassionate, moral Christians I've ever met, has admitted to hitting kids here.  It's not something I am proud of, but I do know where to draw the line. 

One thing about Malians that I haven't really gone into yet is that there is so little parental control among the children here.  The parents are all so busy, and honestly they have too many children to keep track of all day long.  So the kids are free to roam, play, run errands for other adults, etc.  There can be some days when parents don't see their kids until night, and vice versa.  Usually, people hang around their concessions, and since my village is so small, everyone is always within shouting distance. 

Therefore, because children don't really have their parents to discipline them during the day, well, let's just say that they can test your patience.  They push your buttons- and wait until you lose your temper.  For example, outside my house, kids love to play soccer.  Whatever.  I have no problem with that.  But when the ball gets kicked high in the air and comes crashing down onto my loud tin roof while I am reading, listening to music, or worse, sleeping...well let's just say, it gets a little annoying.  I call out to the kids to go somewhere else: once, twice, five times.  I then go outside to take their ball away.  After I do that, I return feeling accomplished, and then just because they know it annoys me, and that I am less inclined to hit them, plop plop plop, they begin to throw pebbles and rocks onto my roof.  I am about ready to go through the roof myself, and I wonder- why are they still doing this?  And the logical question that comes to any Westerner's mind: where are their parents??  Answers: because they can, and their parents are nowhere to be found.  It's the same case as when I tell kids to not come into my gwa, the straw roof outside my door.  They respond to this by taking baby steps closer, closer, wating for me to lose it, so they can run away laughing.  Ugh, just thinking about it makes my patience wear thin.  So long story short, I have become far more liberal to a smack every now and then.

What happened this week, was much worse.  For Malian parents, who don't have the luxury of self-help books, fancy child psychiatrists on The Today Show, or frankly a shining example to follow set from their own parents, the only type of discipline they resort to (when they can actually find their children) is a full-on beating.  I mean, at least that grants short-term compliance and obediance.  Right??

Now, I have had many psychological and sociological inner dialogues with myself, about where Malians' stresses go?  When they bury their third child in a row, and can't externally grieve for more than 2 days, where does that pain go?  When they can't feed their family of 9 because the harvest hasn't come in yet, where does that stress go?  Malians are such a good-natured people- always wanting to dance, sit, chat, or share their food with you.  One certainly wouldn't expect this when living in the 3rd poorest country in the world.  I mean, they almost seem lethargic, or worse, apathetic to life's difficulties.  So maybe they take their frustrations out on their children?  I don't know- it's just a conjecture.  Or maybe, I'm just too in touch with my emotions to understand such a different culture than mine. 

Regardless with the beating this week, I got really upset at what I saw.  It was between a father and his 13 year-old daughter, who was in the wrong.  But it was just so intense and violent, that I couldn't justify a single thing about it.  I mean, my village knows that I don't agree with beatings- I have threatened to leave and return to Bamako on a number of occasions because I have witnessed too many.  Well this time, I lost my cool, burst into tears, and starting ranting in English about what a country of monsters Mali is, and that's why they are under-developed, in addition to several four letter words.  This was made much worse, because my Malian friend from Bamako, who studies English, was there, and understood it all.  Ooops.  But I was furious about it- and I mean, they didn't need to do it there.  I have been making so many concessions to Malians and their culture, I thought the least they could do was respect this part of me?  That I don't agree with it, and I'll never get them to change their minds, but just don't do it in front of me?  I honestly don't know it that will ever happen.  But I'm leaving soon, so hopefully I won't have to see it again.

I don't really know where I was going with this entry, but I wrote it right after the beating happened, so I think I just wanted to put together my thoughts about it.  Also, and to demonstrate that things aren't always rosy and happy here that I might lead you all to believe with this blog.  That's all.  I hope you are all doing well!  I just got word that I will be home in October sometime.  It's coming up soon!