Recently I have read, “Monique and The Mango Rains: Two Years with a Midwife in Mali” by Kris Holloway, for my Cultural Anthropology course. Kris Holloway served as Peace Corps volunteer from 1989-1991 within a West African country named Mali. Normally, Peace Corps involves 3 months of training and then 2 years in the country you are volunteering/ living in. In the case of Kris Holloway, after her training she lived within a village called Nampossela. Here she stayed with a native, Monique. Monique was not only her host for the two years, but the village’s midwife and basic health care provider. She possessed the training and knowledge to provide prenatal consultations/ care, deliver babies and the after care of both the mother and baby. She provided additional care to villagers whom experienced cuts that were prone to infection, treated malaria, and consultations on safe sex and remedies that can be made at home, et al.

Kris discusses her time in Mali. She relays the country’s rich cultural flux and the everyday life of Malians within Nampossela and Koutila: planting seeds, carrying water from wells (not necessarily clean), religious practices (native religion, Christianity/ Catholicism, Muslim), attire, et al. She manages to bring to life the customs and traditions of their people. She speaks of how death is not feared but a part of life in which God will grant peace. Death here happened not by freak accidents but by everyday things that we normally take for granted: quality of water, access to treatments or western medicine, access to food, et al. Death is celebrated once everyone has said their good byes, reminiscing on their laughs and elated with nostalgia of a life that will never be forgotten.

What made me really connect with this true story was the woman Monique. She managed to deliver more than 10 babies a month and provide care for the whole village all while taking care of her children, her husband and his family and her own family in another village. On top of that, she found herself in a marriage that she did not want to be a part of. She managed every day to be optimistic and derived her energy from all the people that needed her and were grateful for her existence. The bond that blossomed from Monique and Kris was equally shared. Despite Kris’s higher “social status”, they both had something to offer and contribute to one another, the value no less or more than the other. They both shared open minds and shared their homes and hearts with one another despite the two distinct cultures. Kris and her husband (whom she met in the Peace Corps) funded a trip for Monique to come to the US and she was able to travel on a trip she more than deserved.

There were two moments that I caught myself tearing up. The first was when Monique thought that people rode on the outside of planes. It made me upset and reminded me of a luxury it truly is to travel. I could not imagine thinking this and she said yes even before she knew that was not the case. The second was when she passed away from childbirth. People from numerous villages came to her service or funeral to pay their respects. Monique understood the importance of the health of her people and aiding the next generations. She continuously shared her knowledge and self-less hands and heart to everyone around her. I do not think I could thank Kris Holloway enough for sharing her and Monique’s story. A woman of her presence and soul should not be overlooked and is above every and all borders.