4th of July in Bamako

It is hot like any other fourth of July however this year there is nothing to make me jump up, scurry to the downtown boulevard, throw my blanket or chair between the masses, and shout hurray America, while watching the parade flap by. This time I wake up, do my sit ups, eat some cereal, enjoy the fresh milk, and step outside to admire the explosion of white and red flowers that push up against the street. A brief three minutes of quiet before I hop on my bike and pick my way through the puddle strewn street to my office.

It seems strange that today is the first day I notice the sticker on our guardians motorcycle: a smiling Bin Laden with his fist in the air. Underneath it, there is something written in Arabic and another sticker that seems to imply something about uniting Muslims. Though I respect his choice of religion, I recognize a certain ruffling of my patriotic feathers looking at this sticker. I think today I understand a bit better why Mustaphes’ greetings to me have been so short and why he rarely looks me in the eye.

Today, the day speeds past and I do my best to ignore the fatigue that pushes against my eyes, I try to gracefully hear my officemates comments about Bush and Libby and all the other crazy fucks who come from my country. Today is the first fourth I have ever experienced with an urge of my life to wave a flag.
Instead, I say quietly ‘ you know, today is my countries birthday’. My comment is immediately answered by ‘of course I know, its all over Yahoo, I never see July !7th marked all over the web…’ Bashfully I ask if July 17th might just happen to be Belgiums’ independence day. ‘Yes, but do you think Yahoo is going to post that all over? I mean there are so many countries, why do the states get… I tune out, try to focus on my spreadsheet.

The day rolls on and I look forward to the end with anticipation. My boyfriend has just arrived from Ouaga and I have decided to grill up some fish and drink some beer in celebration of his arrival. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much I also want to celebrate the fact that I am American. With the deepening of my experience here, and the progressive acceptance of the not so positive world reputation, I feel increasingly more and more American. Today more than ever I am more inclined to want to celebrate this day, one that I have only enjoyed as a party in the past. Since I was old enough to understand my nations role in the world I have turned my nose up to the flag waving and audaciousness of this day.

After work, I ride home, joyous after having sweat and happy to see my boyfriend. We take cold beers up to the roof and joke, popping peanuts into our mouths ( I like the way the dry brown skin slips off between my fingers) and admiring the green spreading over the hills to the north. With the help of my roommate and his girlfriend, the fish gets grilled, (Yann is ecstatic to get the head, while we are all happy to avoid it). When we finally sit down at the table, and lift our glasses in a toast, to good food, arrival of friends, celebration together, I again quietly say it is my countries birthday. I am here and I am for some strange reason, proud to be an American.