Of all the new and unique things I have experiences and seen in Mali—people, places, animals, ceremonies, culture, climate—one of the most interesting, which I have spent a lot of time observing and thinking about, is the dynamic of “love” (specifically the relationship between a man and woman within the context of marriage) and the primary qualities that are valued and desired in a potential long-term partner.
If I were to make a list of all the different characteristics that my ideal partner might have—the person I may spend the rest of my life with—I have to admit that it would probably be rather long and complicated (
hey, in an ideal world, we can have
everything we want, right?!). But at the very top of the list, above the abundance of less important items like
must love ice cream and
will sing with me in the shower would be those relatively few qualities that I respect, and am attracted to, the most—things like honesty, sensitivity, a compassionate and caring heart, genuine respect for one’s self and others, a craving for mystery and adventure, a sense of humor, firmly held beliefs and values, goals and dreams (and the motivation to chase both), and a set of interests that are at least slightly in accord with mine. These are the traits that are most important to me, and whose presence or absence are, at least in some part, the basis on which a potential long-term partner is judged. And although this “list” is mine personally, I assume that a vast population beyond myself would settle on very similar (if not some of the same) qualities—that is, that they are nearly universally valued and sought. After all, they are
human characteristics—respect, honesty, a system of beliefs and values, humor, kindness, compassion—and therefore transcend race, gender, class, culture, and geography,
right? Perhaps not entirely.
What I am beginning to realize, after noticing a much different and smaller set of valued and desired qualities among Malians, is that many of the traits just mentioned are, in fact, largely shaped by one’s culture and environment, and are at least partially dependent on both the availability of resources and opportunity, and on a knowledge of the expansive world beyond one’s own.
A closer look:
It would be very difficult (and in fact, probably nonsensical) to develop and keep a sensitive, soft heart when the environment surrounding you is saturated with struggle and inadequacy. Disease, death, very little (if any) health care, a severe lack of clean drinking water, and a harsh, flood- and drought-prone climate characterize much of Mali—such conditions demand resiliency and create tough and hardened individuals. And so Malians, as far as I can see, are generally not sensitive or soft people—the trait is both valued and sought by few. The result:
sensitivity does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.
When a serious lack of resources, money, and knowledge keeps you firmly locked in your poor, routine daily life, it becomes extremely unlikely (although certainly not impossible) that you will develop dreams and goals that lie beyond such an existence—either because you don’t expect to ever break free of poverty or because you simply don’t know what exists in the larger world that you could possible dream about or strive to make a reality. Your goals, in effect, are limited by the absence of the resources that would be needed to achieve them. Here in Mali, where resources and opportunities are scarce and where knowledge of the outside world is rather limited, it appears that goals and dreams are in serious short supply—their existence is both valued and sought by few. The result:
goals and dreams (and the motivation to chase both) does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.
A shortage of resources, money, and knowledge also severely limits the hobbies and interests that a person could potentially have. Some of my own interests include photography, music, the studying of psychology, reading, and writing. But the existence of each of these as an interest of mine depends entirely on an environment and a host of resources that, together, have (
thankfully) provided me with the opportunity to access and enjoy them—such conditions are clearly not present in many parts of the world. You won’t find reading or writing on a list of the hobbies of someone who never learned to do either; photography is not going to be the interest of a person who hasn’t ever seen a camera; and the studying of psychology (or any other subject/discipline) will not be the favorite of somebody who is the product of a broken education system that never taught, among many other things, the value of knowledge and discovery. And so your interests are both defined and limited by the quantity and quality of the available resources in the environment around you. The result:
a set of interests that are at least slightly in accord with mine does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.
So what does all of this mean? Well, besides the fact that I will almost surely
not find my future bride in Mali, it means that in the absence of the qualities discussed above, each partner in the rural Malian romantic relationship, interestingly, is both sought and valued for having one primary (and in my opinion, meaningless) characteristic.
The details:
Thanks to the rules and dynamic of the religion of Islam, marriage in Mali (a country that is nearly ninety percent Muslim) can almost entirely be described in terms of rigid, firmly established roles. For the man, it is to work—perhaps in agriculture, small commerce, or government service—and earn enough money to support himself and his family completely. He is the sole money-maker, and all the financial needs of each family member depend on him. The woman’s job, in contrast to that of her husband, is to stay home every day and cook, clean, and care for the couple’s children. Her duties likely include sweeping and cleaning shortly after waking up in the morning, walking to the market (where you will rarely spot a man) to buy food, cooking each meal, washing clothes and dishes (by hand, of course), walking some distance to a well to collect water, and bathing her children. When her husband is home, she has the added responsibility of bringing him food and water (or anything else he might want) whenever he demands it—a sort of servant, the way I see it (and one who rarely, if ever, disobeys her husband’s orders or questions the subordinate role she is in).
The dynamic of this typical marriage, although often male-dominated, seems to be one of mutual dependence—men, who never cook and rarely clean or take care of their children, inarguably rely on their wives to do these things each day. Women, who generally do not earn money, depend on their husbands for any need that is financial. And so it is precisely these qualities—in a woman, obedience and the ability to cook and clean well; in a man, the means to make money—
and nearly nothing else, which are valued and desired in a potential long-term partner. Their presence, in the eyes of many Malians, seems to create “love” and signal the likelihood of a quality, successful marriage.
But one of the many problems I have with this dynamic is that these qualities can be found in almost
any Malian man or woman—
yes, she is obedient and can cook and clean well- she has been taught the importance of such things since youth, and
yes, he can support you financially- he knows that men like himself are obligated to work and earn money. And so what you have, it appears, is “love” and the conditions necessary for a quality marriage within nearly every person you look—
not at all the special and uncommon kind of love that I would like to believe in.
When love and marriage are primarily based on such things as money and the willingness of one partner to be the obedient servant of the other, I believe that they become cheap and meaningless. But this is only true because I am not the product of a society in which love and marriage are commonly this way. For many (perhaps most) Malians, this dynamic is simply life and love the only way they know it. For me, however, it seems rather unfortunate and empty.
