There is a country song that Keith Urban wrote that I like to sing along to, called “Where the Blacktop Ends.” I thought of it today while driving through the bumpy, dusty dirt roads of Bamako after a long Sunday afternoon of lounging in the home of my World Vision colleague Pierre and his family. The chorus says this:
“Gonna kick off my shoes and run in bare feet, where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet. Goin’ back to the well, gonna visit old friends, and feed my soul where the blacktop ends.”
What Urban describes as an ideal weekend, is everyday life for Malians. There is very little pavement to be seen, and this slows life down. People are busy working, cleaning, constructing, but all of this is done with a simple, peace-filled kindness unlike anywhere I have experienced on earth; As one of the five poorest countries in the world, they may not have much to eat, but their way of life feeds the soul.
Yet pavement has its benefits. It makes a rough road smooth and lays a foundation for progress.
Since arriving Tuesday night, I have spent my days here in the care and company of my World Vision colleagues Pierre and Peter, meeting World Vision staff, planning our schedule, and meeting with researchers and Ministry of Education staff to discuss the state of education development in Mali. In case you ever doubted the importance of education for poor nations, Mali points clearly to the need. With an official literacy rate of only 50% (and, in actuality it is much lower – closer to 30 or 40%), most Malians lack basic skills to read, write or do math in either their native or national language. This means that they cannot ever make a living or provide for their families. Mali’s history as an independent nation is very brief. They are celebrating 50 years of independence in September. What this means is that only 45 years ago, after France withdrew its colonial grip from the region, did Mali begin to write their tribal languages. Prior to this they did not have an alphabet. For many years, schools only taught in French – the national language – leaving the majority of children unable to access a basic education. Now the ministry has created teaching materials in Bambara and 12 other tribal languages, and schools are bilingual, but many Malians lack schools in their villages, cannot afford the fees, do not have qualified teachers, or have over-crowded facilities (maybe three classrooms for 400 children).
In the Bamako Urban Area Development Program, I visited two functional literacy programs for village women this week. These women, between the ages of 20 and 60 spend three to six months learning the alphabet and basic literacy, then put their new skills to use to start businesses making soap or textiles. It’s a simple yet foundational element of development that we too easily take for granted in the West, where education is automatic. When asked how the program has helped them, the women told us matter-of-factly, “Before the program I could not add or subtract numbers, and now I can do that so I can calculate costs, make a living and dial a phone.” Imagine not being able to read numbers or add them together…or call a friend!
It’s a layer of pavement.
Saturday we attended a rally hosted by the Ministry for the Promotion of Women, Families and Children to raise awareness of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) and to stop its practice. The minister, doctors, and Imams spoke out against it, children performed skits illustrating its horror, and a movie was shown portraying a village woman who courageously stood against cultural tradition. As I mentioned in my last post, FGM scars upwards of 92% of Malian girls and women, an unhealthy cultural practice rooted in folkloric animism and oppressive in consequence. The fight to stop it has been going for nearly a decade now, and no doubt it will take more time still, but it was so encouraging to see women, children, and even some men, taking a stand against this unnecessary cultural practice.
It’s a layer of pavement.
Today, after a lively African church service, Pierre invited us to his home, where his wife and children had been preparing a delicious traditional Malian meal of stewed cabbage, carrots, chicken and spices with cous cous. Upon arriving, he immediately took off his bright green tunic and layed horizontal on his couch. “You are family,” he said as he extended his arms across the room and invited us to relax. And relax we did. For five hours we ate “lunch” and talked about philosophy, politics, theology and development. His wife slept in the chair next to us, and the cups were continually refilled with jus d’ananas (pineapple juice), water, and arabic sweet tea.
At one point in the afternoon, we talked about the long process of building his home – which he said he began doing back in 1994. He saved enough money to buy the land, then bought the land. Then he saved more money to lay the foundation, and laid the foundation. Then little by little, he built the house. “This is the way we do it here in Mali.” And as you drive around the city of more than 2 million people, that is exactly what you see – half-built houses and buildings waiting to grow.
I suspect this will be how Mali develops in all ways. Slowly, quietly, patiently, they are laying foundations of pavement that will become roads to progress. They are adding infrastructure and capital one brick at a time and over time they will grow.
It’s still dusty land now, but they are laying the pavement little by little and soon we will look and find a house built strong and tall.

UNESCO’s Education for All coalition recently released their 2010 Global Monitoring Report, which focuses on educating the most marginalized populations. Check it out 




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