THEY HAVE EACH OTHER.

Before leaving the United States for Mali, I remember extensively researching the country online to learn as much as possible about the place I would call “home” for the next two years. Through all the information I found and the facts I discovered, the one feeling that remained with me (other than excitement) was that life in Mali must be difficult.

The United Nations Development Program’s 2006 Human Development Index ranked Mali as one of the world’s three poorest countries; a 2005 estimate put the percentage of the total population living below the poverty line at seventy-two; life expectancy at birth is very low and infant mortality very high. Adult illiteracy is around fifty-five percent.

As I began telling friends, family, and acquaintances about my upcoming adventure to the West African country, including some of the statistics above, I received the same response that had initially filled my mind: Malian life must be tough; perhaps primitive. How do they survive?

Yes, life is tough—no matter what part of the globe you may find yourself in—but after being in Mali for a few months and seeing the people, the land, cultural practices, beliefs, and way-of-life, I can now easily see how the people here survive: they have each other.

It is an unfortunate fact that a significant portion of the twelve million Malians that inhabit this country are living with very few of the basic resources and needs that most in the developed world have never lived without: paved roads, clean drinking water, electricity, access to adequate health care, a solid education system, an ever-present supply and variety of nutritious food, and the right to freely choose one’s profession, partner, or path in life. These are the basics, and they are in serious short supply. If you are wondering about available luxuries, the answer is that, in the rural areas of the country (where a majority of the overall population lives), there aren’t any.

But what Malians lack in luxuries (and unfortunately, basic needs) they more than make up for in family. No, they don’t have Starbucks on the corner, a shopping mall down the street, or a good friend named Google that they can go to at any time for answers, comfort, and advice, but they have each other, and the value of companionship and genuine human-to-human connection far outweighs that of any latté I’ve ever had.

In fact, I would even argue that in many areas of the United States (mostly urban, but some rural as well), if you looked past the Starbucks and Wal-Mart, past the 105-inch flat-screen Plasma TV, and in between the millions of pixels on the computer screen that you sit in front of for far too long every day (reading this blog, of course), you would see that we don’t have each other. How do we survive? In a culture that is completely over-saturated with luxury goods and services, we, as Americans, have a serious shortage of what matters most, and with what Mali appears to be wealthy in: real relationships with the people around us. Sure, we have our family, close friends, co-workers, and acquaintances, but beyond that, we are virtually isolated from those that surround us—too much so to even offer a friendly “hello” to the person we pass on the street.

In rural Mali, very much a communal society and atmosphere, everyone is viewed and treated as family and a friend. Walking through the village, you will be warmly greeted by virtually each person you see, and not simply those that pass nearby—friendly greetings shouted from afar are as common as those spoken softly and within close distance. Greetings, it turns out, are an extremely important part of the Malian culture, and are constantly and consistently exchanged between everyone in the community. The mentality: a friend of yours is a friend of mine.

When you enter a family’s compound, whether your relationship with them is long and well-established or not-yet existent, you will be treated with kindness and generosity. If you are hungry and ask for food, you will likely be fed, and if the family happens to be eating a meal at the time, you will definitely be invited to join them at the communal bowl. The mentality: the food that I prepare is not only for me, it is for everyone.

In the rare occasion that a serious crime is committed within the community—theft, assault, harassment, etc.—the people will swiftly join together and organize a plan for dealing with the problem and reaching a solution. The mentality: a threat to you is a threat to the entire population.

It’s easy to look at the resources, money, goods, services, and luxuries that a community, country, or continent doesn’t have and to feel sorry for the people that live there—to wonder how they survive. But what is more challenging (and more important) is to look closely at what it is that the people of those places do have which keeps them generally happy, satisfied, and surviving despite the severe shortage or absence of the important resources on which you may believe that happiness, satisfaction, and survival are dependent (but in fact, as I have seen, are not).

The people of Mali have each other—something that I believe the United States, which has a ridiculous over-abundance of everything else, could use a whole lot more of.