With Open Arms

"Welcome to Mali", the security guard didn't say, as we arrived bedraggled at 1 am on Saturday, having left the Port Authority bus station in New York City at 3pm on Thursday. "Enjoy your stay", he didn't add. He did say, however, in what he will forever swear was French, that he needed to inspect two particular bags. This was not exactly what I wanted to happen, because the second of the two bags contained a pipets, bubble-wrapped centrifuge tubes, 4 bottles of a bright red science-juice that blood cells like to grow in, and various peculiarly-named scientific instruments.

And condoms. This many condoms

Of course we had all our customs papers in order, but I was in a position where I would rather deal with a blanket and pillow than a state apparatus. So in I go with a box and a suitcase, and wait with six officials in a room roughly the size of the wheelchair-accessible stall in the airport bathroom, and wait while they say very little, stare at nothing in particular, and smoke. A full quarter of an hour into the invisible episode of Seinfeld, the man in charge glanced in my direction, and shooed me away with a half-hearted flap of the back of his hand.

This, i'd like to believe, is the Malian equivalent of a Hawaiian girl waiting for you on the tarmac with a lei for your neck and a kiss for each cheek. It is a perfectly synchronized, inspiringly genuine display of utter indifference. There's no malevolence, no ill-will, they just wanted to let us know that they truly could not be troubled to give a half a shit.

Let me add a caveat. While most people are overwhelmingly pleasant and hospitable, this is true only in genuine social interactions, especially after the proper introduction and pleasantries. And one of the beautiful things about Mali is that human interactions have not yet been industrialized. A store clerk, for instance, is a person, that happens to be operating a cash register, rather than the remaining parts of a cash register that have to be made from flesh and blood because we haven't yet figured out how to automate them.

Without recognizing the basic humanity of the people we deal with, charging into an office all business-like with an official air about you and an important dossier in your hands will produce nothing. No anger or resentment, nor goodwill or progress. Only absolute, unshakable disinterest, tinged with a bit of doubt as to the truth of your existence. Not a bad first lesson - if you're not friendly and social, you're not human. If you're not human, what the fuck are you doing here?