The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2004

A wa moans softly, and her shoulders tense in pain. She is increasingly unable to hide her discomfort. Mon, or “grandmother,” lays her weathered hand over Awa’s and closes her eyes, seeming to draw Awa’s pain inside of her. The dark crevices, hollow cheeks and long eyes of Mon’s face are testament to the harsh con- ditions of her life. Mon has borne 12 children, of whom seven survived. She attended the births of all of Namory’s children from his two other wives. She is the vigilant mother, overseeing the household, helping the co-wives with their work, restoring peace among them when they argue, and caring for the youngest children while the able-bodied go to the fields. I usually see her at midday, slowly and methodically pounding dried palm nut kernels to make black palm soap, surrounded by a dozen young children attending to their own games. Now she sits beside Awa, watching over her protectively, holding her hand. It’s been over an hour since the driver disappeared. My anger and frustration are growing. Every second feels like an eternal minute, and it’s all I can do to restrain myself from screaming out, “Why here? Why now? This would never happen at home!” I begin to feel as though ghosts are surrounding me, and I want nothing more than to be away from here, as if my disap- pearance will prevent this scene from being real, or my ignorance of it will bring me peace. My own scene had been too unreal, too quick; I almost believe it was imag- ined. I was too young and naïve when I quietly withdrew three hundred dollars from my well-padded college sav- ings account, to go to a nearby clinic. I disappeared from my classroom for a day, and was back the next Monday, as if nothing had ever happened. My parents and my boyfriend never knew. If not for the sound of the stifled cries rising inside of me now, I might, perhaps, still think it had never really happened … At last, out of the gray shroud of dawn, two men appear, walking briskly. Without a word or signal, the driver sits in the cab of the dilapidated vehicle and waits. Aminata and I help Awa to her feet, her neck too weak to support her head. We place her in the deep indentation of the torn cushion, ready again for the F O C U S 30 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 4 Home Suite Home The next time you’re going to be in DC for an extended stay, make yourself at home at Georgetown Suites. With our discounted monthly rates and large, comfortable suites, you’ll feel right at home. Plus we’re near the State Department. Call today! Georgetown Suites the fun place to stay in DC 1-800-348-7203 www.georgetownsuites.com sales@georgetownsuites.com