An experience like none other 

Let me preface my story by establishing that I’ve been riding my bike in Koutiala for almost a year now and have grown somewhat accustom to how traffic flows and the rules of the road.  I’m not a newbie anymore and I’m sure if it weren’t for my white skin, blond hair and all the children calling out “tubabu” as I rode by them, you’d never even be able to spot me as I passed by on my trusty iron horse.  June 29th, however, I was easily spottable.

That fateful day I was riding home from meeting with my morning language tutor when I decided to stop by Sotelma (one of the telephone companies) to set up my internet service.  I looked over my left shoulder to see if it was clear for me to turn.  Seeing no one directly behind me, I put out my left hand to signal I was turning, moved out into the middle of the road, and waited briefly until there was an opening in the oncoming traffic.  Just as I was turning I heard a horn behind me from one of the motorcyclist.  Seconds later I was unpleasantly greeted by said motorcyclist as he crashed into me knocking my bike out from under me and tossing me onto the road.  It all happened so quickly I didn’t really have time to think, although two things became suddenly apparent.  1) I was wearing a skirt and was pretty sure it was in need of some adjustment after my fall.  Especially since there was a rather large crowd quickly gathering and 2) I was laying in the middle of the road… what if a car or truck came barreling down the road while I was still lying there…  I threw my skirt back down to it’s normal position and started to get up.  I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking at the time, but I guess I thought it was important to get off the road at all costs.  Also I don’t especially like being the center of attention so I think I thought I’d look less conspicuous on the side of the road rather than in the middle of it.  As I painfully started limping off the road I’m lucky I wasn’t hit again since I don’t remember looking to see if anyone was coming.

As I hobbled off the road I was greeted by a police officer and several others who started rattling things off in French and Bambara.  I heard a few recognizable words here and there.  Someone told me to sit down which I did briefly but then got back up since it felt a little better to walk it off (must be the years of soccer injuries that I felt that was the best response to an injury).  Someone else wanted my name and phone number to give to the police officer.  I searched through my bag for a pen and paper.  As I started writing, my emotions started to catch up with me and I began crying.  I wasn’t crying so much because I was hurt, but more so because of the shock of the whole thing.  At that point someone led me to a chair so I could sit down.  The police officer came over and told me I should go to the clinic to get checked out.  I told him I didn’t think that was necessary.  He asked me if I could ride home and I told him I thought I could, but then I started tearing up again thinking about what had just happened.  He told me I should call someone to come pick me up.  - - Is it weird that I’m 29 years old and still want to call my mom when I get hurt or when I’m sick?– Well, since it would have taken my mom a while to get there, I decided to call my friend Angela who came right away.  

All in all I was very fortunate with my injuries.  Aside from a few scrapes on my left foot my only other injury was this lovely bruise.

My left hip.  Prettiest bruise ever!

CS Lewis once said “Experience: that most brutal of teachers.  But you learn, my God do you learn.”