Mali

At the time of my visit, Mali had been deeply affected by extremist violence and political instability, leaving much of the country beyond the capital, Bamako, inaccessible to travelers.

Despite the security concerns, I still wanted to see something outside of Bamako, so I planned a couple of day trips. On one, I visited the village of Missirikoro, home to a sacred mosque built inside a cave. On another, I traveled to the town of Siby, known for its dramatic sandstone cliffs and striking rock formations, with my Canadian friends Masha and Rob, whom I had met months earlier at the airport in Guinea-Bissau. They were also nearing the end of their journeys to every country, and it was great to reconnect in such an unexpected place.

My most meaningful experiences, however, came in Bamako. My friend Barry, whom I had met in Yemen, had spent years working in Mali through his nonprofit, Caravan to Class, building 17 schools and providing scholarships for girls and young women to attend universities abroad. While I was in the capital, he connected me with two of his scholarship recipients, both named Fatouma. Their English was remarkable, but I was even more impressed by their intelligence, ambition, and determination to make the most of the opportunities they had been given.

Barry also put me in touch with Ahmed, a guide originally from Timbuktu and a member of the Tuareg, a traditionally nomadic people whose culture spans much of the Sahara. Once celebrated as a legendary center of trade and scholarship, Timbuktu had endured years of instability and occupation by extremist groups. Ahmed eventually moved to Bamako with almost nothing and built a new life for himself there.

Ahmed had an infectious energy, and on the back of his motorbike, he took me around many of Bamako’s most famous landmarks. He even brought me to a local tennis center, where I played with one of the coaches. But what impressed me most wasn’t the city. It was getting to know Ahmed himself. When we stopped by his apartment, I noticed a photo of him standing in front of the U.S. Capitol hanging on the wall. A few years earlier, the U.S. Embassy had selected him from thousands of applicants to travel to Washington, D.C., for a leadership program. He spoke proudly about representing his Tuareg heritage and described visiting the United States as a life-changing experience. Listening to him reminded me how easy it is to take the privileges that come with an American passport for granted, and how much a chance to visit the United States can mean to someone else.

Near sunset, Ahmed and I sat together overlooking the city as he prepared traditional Tuareg tea. The tea is served three times, with each glass carrying its own meaning: the first is bitter like life, the second sweet like love, and the third gentle like death. As we drank and watched the sun disappear over Bamako, I thought about the extraordinary people Mali had introduced me to. In a country so often defined by conflict, Fatouma, Fatouma, and Ahmed showed me another side of Mali, one defined by education, resilience, and hope.