So it all started the other day when our neighbor boy Brahima asked to borrow my bike to run an errand. Brahima does a lot for us, from watering our trees to taking care of our cats while we're gone, so I didn't hesitate to let him take it and run his errands. However, our definitions of being back “in a few minutes” differed slightly, and I found myself irritated when he arrived back over an hour later, as I myself needed to run errands now.
“Where's his bike?” I thought to myself. I knew that his family had a bike, so why couldn't he use their bike for errands. As it turned out the front tire had chunks of rubber missing and the air chamber had seen better days as well. The situation wasn't new, but the family just hadn't fixed the bike yet. I thought about the situation briefly. Should I just fix it for them? Should I just leave it for their family? It is their bike after all, and I can't fix it every time it breaks. Well, after all the ghosts of Christmases past, this scrooge decided to fix the bike. What kid shouldn't have a bike to ride?
Well the bike tire fix turned out to be more expensive than I expected. It cost $6 for the new tire and $1 for the air chamber, which adds up to a full day's pay for me here. This family, like many others around us, lives off subsistence farming and sells peanuts and grain on the side to pay for their kids education. They might make $7 in a week.
So I brought the tire and air chamber back home, and the kids were thrilled. Like most 10 year olds here, they knew how to take off the old tire and install the new one. When all was said and done they had a working bike, at least to Burkinabe standards. (I noted that one of the pedals was missing as well, and that the chain falls off the bent gears. Next time...) Brahima rode off to show his dad that the bike was fixed.
As is customary here, his father promptly came over to thank us. But it was no small thank you. He held his elbow as he shook my hand, which is a sign of respect. He lifted my hand up in the air above his head as he wished blessing after blessing upon Jessi and I. This was certainly the most extravagant thank you I'd ever seen, but it didn't stop there.
Brahima's dad told the whole neighborhood that we fixed their bike, so every time we ran into someone they stopped to shake our hand and thank us, even though it wasn't for them or their family. We even had some of our other neighbors come over to our house to thank us and give their benedictions. Phew! I guess it's sort of a West-African thing. If someone does something nice for you but you can't repay them you tell everyone about the good deed. It's a form of social credit. I guess we've just never seen it to that level.
The day after he came over again to thank us (to let us know that he really appreciated it and hadn't forgotten it). We said it was no problem, that the kids do a lot for us and that we're happy to help.
He told us that the kids aren't just his but the whole neighborhood's, and thus ours. The village is responsible for the child, but the child is responsible to the whole village as well. It's another way people are intimately connected with their neighbors here. Its a good thing.
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