I am my own best friend and I don’t need a man to be happy.
I don’t need him to miss me or write to me or want to talk to me, like my roommates’ boyfriends and girlfriends.
And I couldn’t have realized this without being confronted by his complete lack of interest in me or in my life.
When my roommates go to the internet cafe every other day to talk to their eager boyfriends and girlfriends, I stay home, because I have no one on the other side of the Atlantic who cares or who actively wants to hear my voice.
This made me unhappy and sad at first. But you know what? I don’t care!! I’m actually happy!
Why? How? Because I KICK ASS, that’s why. I don’t need him! Those extra hours that my roommates waste on Skype, I spend them partying with my Malian teenage girlfriends dancing on my terrace to Magic System or doing jumping rope contests until we all fall from sweat and exhaustion, or giggling and talking about school.
Who needs someone who promises you eternal love only to disappear from your life the second your feet touch foreign ground? Distance shows one’s true allegiance.
Distance. His coldness and indifference are making me involve into a true superwoman For real. Because he wasn’t there for me, I basically fought off malaria in a foreign country ON MY OWN. I’m the one who gave myself the moral strenght to walk to the doctors after my breakdown and have them hurt me even more in order to save me, as opposed to giving up and letting my tube fill up with blood entirely.
I freaking SURVIVED being on a motorcycle in Bamako!!! Nothing bad can ever happen to me after that! I feel so strong! In case you don’t understand, traffic is so crazy here that going on a motorcycle is basically taking a foreign gun, putting it to our forehead and pressing down the trigger, ”hoping” that it’s not loaded. And I’m still alive. Haha
Every day, I have to wash my tube of toothpaste and my toothbrush case to remove the bat poop from them before brushing my teeth. Meanwhile watching and fighting off moquitoes (or THE motherfuckers, as I call them. Vulgar, but as I shall explain later in another post, I basically OWN the right to call them ‘the motherfuckers.’ And I’m not one for profanities, usually).
I take my showers COLD to the point that it cuts my breath. And I master those cold showers. Because I’m not a princess.
I mudered my insomnia. I can now sleep through this insane Bamako traffic without ear plugs. Unless you’ve lived here, you cannot understand how KICK ASS this makes me.
I became friends with Malians from all ages; old widows, 4-year-old boys, teenage girls, my bosses, and old, crazy, yet highly-educated men.
I can cross a street and make traffic stop just for me, without losing and arm or a leg.
I do my own laundry. I can survive on fruits and vegetables, and plan on eating just that for the next 4 months (plus homemade peanut butter for protein).
I’m not even afraid to have babies anymore. In fact, I want them. Lots of them.
In the light of these accomplishments, I think you will agree that a boyfriend back at home who only gives sporadic signs of life and who never asks to talk to me is the least of my concerns. When I come back, I will obviously be transformed. I will be a better, improved, stronger version of the insecure Seaofcurls who left.
We will see what decisions I make for the rest of my life. Whatever they are, they will not be based on fear, insecurity or need.