Last week I wrote about how the time I spent in Mali comes to mind most often when I’m by myself or pass someone on the street without so much as a g’morning or hey, how’s it goin’? That’s because it’s next to impossible to get a moment alone there and failing to exchange proper greetings with acquaintances and strangers alike is a major faux pas.
Another trigger—quite literally—for memories of Mali is the latest mass shooting in America, a weekly if not daily occurrence. I recall Mali in these moments because the carnage here contrasts so sharply with the tranquility there. When tempers flared in the village, guns were not drawn, knives were not pulled, punches were not thrown. Over the span of a little more than two years, I never even saw a good shoving match.
Those recollections of the place I briefly called home over 30 years ago together with the spate of mass killings across our country have my thoughts straying to the stresses of learning math and any foreign language, of all th…
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