Soukeyna Pitroipa, Grade 11
UWC Costa Rica
2020 sucks! It is not debatable this year has proven the inequalities within our society and exposed the ugly faces of our irresponsibility toward societal issues as climate change, racism, and political leadership. Every month has its own catastrophe, and the only wish I would like to make is to get out of this awful year. I want to get away, close my eyes, imagine another world, be out of quarantine for at least a moment. It is past midnight, and I need some sleep to be ready for the next day because I still have IB work to achieve. As I lay on my bed, withholding my teddy bear strongly, I wish my dream will be nice enough to send me in another time frame.
I wake up by hearing a shrill scream, and it seems that my aunts are visiting us today. However, this scream wasn’t familiar to me; my aunts’ voices are not that sharp. My eyes are half-opened, I am a bit dizzy, I am laying in my pajama outfit on a dusty reddish floor, and my head hurts from this brutal awaken. A dusty floor? This doesn’t seem like home; my room is not that dusty, maybe I forgot to clean up a bit for the past two weeks. I try to hold myself together, and I find the courage to finally open my eyes, get up, and sit on the floor. This is definitely not home. First, I am not in a city. I am in a village because there are several huts organized in a sort of circle, nearby I couldn’t miss the big baobab tree. Some children are playing around it, and elders are discussing or playing Kora (An African Malian music instrument). The sun is up in the sky, shining, brighter than ever. It was the hottest time of the day, midday, the time to rest and eat lunch by the shadow of the trees. Did my parents decide to punish my stubbornness by sending me to the village? Without even telling me, they sent me in the middle of the night and put me in the middle of the road. Then I recognize some words in Bambara/Dioula (an African language), it can’t be my home village. Where am I? I decide to finally stand up on my two dusty feet, and I don’t forget to take my teddy bear. I start walking and explore around, I smell spices and feel the heat of the burned wood ready to cook some delicious African meals. I am starving from the small quantity of pasta I ate for yesterday’s dinner. I just follow my senses in order to find a household that would be willing to spare my flemish self some food.
I walk toward the small village and accidentally shove a woman carrying a basket on the top of her head. I rushed to excuse myself in Dioula, but it seemed she didn’t feel anything, she continues walking straight, she seems in a hurry for cooking lunch or other businesses. This little incident reveals an important fact: no one in this world can see or feel my presence. For them, I am invisible, and yet, I can interact with their surroundings. I continue my journey and arrive at a big hut decorated with beautiful African designs, which may be the noble’s hut ruling the village. This also means that this household is rich and has plenty of food left; I can just sneak inside and take some. I try to enter by the hut’s main entrance, and I witness a clash between 2 women, one is nobly dressed, amazingly beautiful with her smoky black eyes and her gold jewelry. She may be the wife of the village’s king. In front of her, a humpbacked woman begging on her knees while holding a calabash. According to my standards of beauty, she was really ugly. She was even wearing ripped clothes; she may be a servant or peasant. However, the ugly woman said something in Dioula, which proves the contrary “Please Sassouma, my sister, spare me some baobab leaves to allow me to feed my child’’. Sassouma?!
Like Sassouma Bérété, the evil and power-thirsty wife of Naré Maghann Konaté king, father of Sundiata Keita the future Malian Lion king!? If what I think is true, the ugly woman kneeling is Sogolon Kondé, the second-wife of Naré Maghann Konaté and the mother of Sundiata Keita. I get closer to listen to the conversation, Sassouma standing strong and powerful, said: “No! Go ask your useless disabled son to climb the baobab tree and pick up some for you!!’’ Everything started to make sense. I went way back in time to when Sundiata Keita was not yet a king, the day of his awaken after the injustice Sassouma did to his mother. Is Sassouma mad? Even I, who isn’t disabled, can’t climb a Baobab tree, it is too tall. For a disabled man, then, it’d be impossible. The only way to get the leaves to cook is to wait for them to fall on the ground. Sogolon is still begging on the ground, hoping her co-spouse to spare her with generosity, but Sassouma is not the type to be generous. She pushes her with her feet, and Sogolon is projected on the ground. Dusty and hopeless, she tries to wake up from the humiliation, but, with her hump, she was struggling. Sassouma observes her while laughing hard, in a mean manner. It is one of the meanest scenes I have ever witnessed, but I am not worried; the best part of this day is yet to come.
Five minutes Sogolon is still on the ground. After I perceive a young boy silhouette slithering like a snake coming toward his mother to help her, it was the seven years old Sundiata. I see the rage of his eyes growing onto his face, his young features contract infuriated. He whispers something in the ear of his mother and tries to push hard on his weak arms to wake him up. He tries hard, the pain showing through his veins, but he thrives through, pushing harder and harder. At last, he lifts one foot and tries to do so with the other one. The sight of Sassouma shifts from an evil smile, to pure fear. It is as if She is observing the awaken of a monster. However, Sundiata is no monster. Sassouma is witnessing the awakening of the successor lion king of the next becoming Malian empire.
I hear screams everywhere in the village, claiming: “The prince is standing… he is waking up… call the emperor griot (storytellers, musicians, praise singers and oral historians of the community)’’ or “Soun-diata!!... Soun(humpbacked reference to his mother)-diata(lion)!!... the lion of Sogolon has awakened!!’’. I see a man dressed in a beautiful Bubu, holding a stick running toward Sundiata, he gives the stick to the boy to help him stand up, with the encouragement of the griot. The boy finally made it! He stands up on both feet, and with the help of the stick finds his equilibrium, to start walking. The first step is the greatest event of the century; the whole community is amazed, speechless to see that the one who was insulted minutes ago is making the impossible. From one step, he does another one, then another. I can’t believe that I am witnessing the young prince’s first steps, rising up from his ashes like a phoenix. I am almost at the point of tears.
He walks towards the Baobab tree next to the village entrance, and I already know what is going to happen next. My mother told me the story: he is going to lift the tree and bring it in front of his mother hut and declare: “From now on, anyone who wants Baobab leaves will have to ask my mother for her permission before picking up any. otherwise, you’ll have a problem with me.’’
I can’t believe I witness such a beautiful scene, full of strength, resilience, and passion. This is the part of Malian Lion King’s story, which pulls the trigger of epic victories and traditions. My mother, as someone who has a strong link to the Malian culture, had told me this story with so much inspiration, but witnessing it takes my breath away. I almost forgot that I had been away from home for far too long, and I am starving. I wish I was in my cold and comfy bedroom. As I hold my teddy bear, I squeeze it strongly, and a powerful wind surrounds me. Then, the village of Niani vanishes to let my bedroom closet appears with my Blackpink posters on the wall. I lay down on my bed, feeling grateful and amazed by what I witnessed.
My take away from this scene is that despite the struggles, the laughs, the mean comments you can reach your goals, thrive through the obstacles to make it to the top when no one doesn’t believe in you. I can do the same in quarantine, thrive through the struggles that surround our society and make it to the top even at home.
I wake up by hearing a shrill scream, and it seems that my aunts are visiting us today. However, this scream wasn’t familiar to me; my aunts’ voices are not that sharp. My eyes are half-opened, I am a bit dizzy, I am laying in my pajama outfit on a dusty reddish floor, and my head hurts from this brutal awaken. A dusty floor? This doesn’t seem like home; my room is not that dusty, maybe I forgot to clean up a bit for the past two weeks. I try to hold myself together, and I find the courage to finally open my eyes, get up, and sit on the floor. This is definitely not home. First, I am not in a city. I am in a village because there are several huts organized in a sort of circle, nearby I couldn’t miss the big baobab tree. Some children are playing around it, and elders are discussing or playing Kora (An African Malian music instrument). The sun is up in the sky, shining, brighter than ever. It was the hottest time of the day, midday, the time to rest and eat lunch by the shadow of the trees. Did my parents decide to punish my stubbornness by sending me to the village? Without even telling me, they sent me in the middle of the night and put me in the middle of the road. Then I recognize some words in Bambara/Dioula (an African language), it can’t be my home village. Where am I? I decide to finally stand up on my two dusty feet, and I don’t forget to take my teddy bear. I start walking and explore around, I smell spices and feel the heat of the burned wood ready to cook some delicious African meals. I am starving from the small quantity of pasta I ate for yesterday’s dinner. I just follow my senses in order to find a household that would be willing to spare my flemish self some food.
I walk toward the small village and accidentally shove a woman carrying a basket on the top of her head. I rushed to excuse myself in Dioula, but it seemed she didn’t feel anything, she continues walking straight, she seems in a hurry for cooking lunch or other businesses. This little incident reveals an important fact: no one in this world can see or feel my presence. For them, I am invisible, and yet, I can interact with their surroundings. I continue my journey and arrive at a big hut decorated with beautiful African designs, which may be the noble’s hut ruling the village. This also means that this household is rich and has plenty of food left; I can just sneak inside and take some. I try to enter by the hut’s main entrance, and I witness a clash between 2 women, one is nobly dressed, amazingly beautiful with her smoky black eyes and her gold jewelry. She may be the wife of the village’s king. In front of her, a humpbacked woman begging on her knees while holding a calabash. According to my standards of beauty, she was really ugly. She was even wearing ripped clothes; she may be a servant or peasant. However, the ugly woman said something in Dioula, which proves the contrary “Please Sassouma, my sister, spare me some baobab leaves to allow me to feed my child’’. Sassouma?!
Like Sassouma Bérété, the evil and power-thirsty wife of Naré Maghann Konaté king, father of Sundiata Keita the future Malian Lion king!? If what I think is true, the ugly woman kneeling is Sogolon Kondé, the second-wife of Naré Maghann Konaté and the mother of Sundiata Keita. I get closer to listen to the conversation, Sassouma standing strong and powerful, said: “No! Go ask your useless disabled son to climb the baobab tree and pick up some for you!!’’ Everything started to make sense. I went way back in time to when Sundiata Keita was not yet a king, the day of his awaken after the injustice Sassouma did to his mother. Is Sassouma mad? Even I, who isn’t disabled, can’t climb a Baobab tree, it is too tall. For a disabled man, then, it’d be impossible. The only way to get the leaves to cook is to wait for them to fall on the ground. Sogolon is still begging on the ground, hoping her co-spouse to spare her with generosity, but Sassouma is not the type to be generous. She pushes her with her feet, and Sogolon is projected on the ground. Dusty and hopeless, she tries to wake up from the humiliation, but, with her hump, she was struggling. Sassouma observes her while laughing hard, in a mean manner. It is one of the meanest scenes I have ever witnessed, but I am not worried; the best part of this day is yet to come.
Five minutes Sogolon is still on the ground. After I perceive a young boy silhouette slithering like a snake coming toward his mother to help her, it was the seven years old Sundiata. I see the rage of his eyes growing onto his face, his young features contract infuriated. He whispers something in the ear of his mother and tries to push hard on his weak arms to wake him up. He tries hard, the pain showing through his veins, but he thrives through, pushing harder and harder. At last, he lifts one foot and tries to do so with the other one. The sight of Sassouma shifts from an evil smile, to pure fear. It is as if She is observing the awaken of a monster. However, Sundiata is no monster. Sassouma is witnessing the awakening of the successor lion king of the next becoming Malian empire.
I hear screams everywhere in the village, claiming: “The prince is standing… he is waking up… call the emperor griot (storytellers, musicians, praise singers and oral historians of the community)’’ or “Soun-diata!!... Soun(humpbacked reference to his mother)-diata(lion)!!... the lion of Sogolon has awakened!!’’. I see a man dressed in a beautiful Bubu, holding a stick running toward Sundiata, he gives the stick to the boy to help him stand up, with the encouragement of the griot. The boy finally made it! He stands up on both feet, and with the help of the stick finds his equilibrium, to start walking. The first step is the greatest event of the century; the whole community is amazed, speechless to see that the one who was insulted minutes ago is making the impossible. From one step, he does another one, then another. I can’t believe that I am witnessing the young prince’s first steps, rising up from his ashes like a phoenix. I am almost at the point of tears.
He walks towards the Baobab tree next to the village entrance, and I already know what is going to happen next. My mother told me the story: he is going to lift the tree and bring it in front of his mother hut and declare: “From now on, anyone who wants Baobab leaves will have to ask my mother for her permission before picking up any. otherwise, you’ll have a problem with me.’’
I can’t believe I witness such a beautiful scene, full of strength, resilience, and passion. This is the part of Malian Lion King’s story, which pulls the trigger of epic victories and traditions. My mother, as someone who has a strong link to the Malian culture, had told me this story with so much inspiration, but witnessing it takes my breath away. I almost forgot that I had been away from home for far too long, and I am starving. I wish I was in my cold and comfy bedroom. As I hold my teddy bear, I squeeze it strongly, and a powerful wind surrounds me. Then, the village of Niani vanishes to let my bedroom closet appears with my Blackpink posters on the wall. I lay down on my bed, feeling grateful and amazed by what I witnessed.
My take away from this scene is that despite the struggles, the laughs, the mean comments you can reach your goals, thrive through the obstacles to make it to the top when no one doesn’t believe in you. I can do the same in quarantine, thrive through the struggles that surround our society and make it to the top even at home.
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