This is a true story. Many laughs have stemmed from this experience. I thought I would write it down and share it. Enjoy!
It was another day in the remote village of Kenieba, Mali. Myself, along with four students from California Baptist University, and my African friend Bala Musa, were driving down a narrow side street in the village. We came to Mali to paticipate in a short-term mission project. For some of these students, it was their first go at international travel and a crosscultural encouter.
Bala Musa was driving the brand new Toyota Land Cruiser. It had been borrowed from a partnering agency that was so generous in aiding us in taking the two day trek to our village. Bala Musa is a character. He and his wife Jiita are dear friends of mine. Bala Musa often drove me to my village three hours away when I lived and worked in Mali. He is known around town by his outgoing and free spirited personality. His laugh can be heard for miles accompanied by a smile as bright as the sun.
As we approached the main dirt road that dissects the village of Kenieba, I caught a glimpse of a gray blurry object approaching us from the right side of the Land Cruiser. Before I can process what this object was, I hear muffled screams and see bits and pieces of twigs from a fence being projected through the air. Then I see it, but I do not believe it. A gray donkey moving at the speed of light is running through a neighboring courtyard fence and headed straight for us. BAAAM! Before I could even warn Bala Musa, the donkey plows head first into the right front fender of the shiny new Toyota and then falls over dead-like in the road next to the truck.
Silence.
Shock.
More silence.
My mouth is now open wide wondering what just happened. No one is speaking in the car. My first gut reaction is not concern for the damage to the Land Cruiser, but it is concern for the donkey I just killed. I envisioned a mass of people surrounding our car accusing me of murdering someone's livelihood. Still, no one has said anything in the car. I slowly turn and look at Bala Musa. I am sure he could see my tonsils because my jaw was laying on my chest. My eyes were bulging as were his. Bala Musa then broke out in the loudest laughter I ever heard. I turned and looked at the poor students in the back seat. All of them looked like their kitty cat just died. I did not know whether to laugh or cry.
I said, "Bala Musa, what just happened?" Between the laughter, he sputters out, "Fatoo Faloo!", which means 'crazy donkey'. I was still sober and on the verge of getting angry at his laughter. I jumped out of the car to see this large donkey laying limp on the ground next to my door. Bala Musa comes around still laughing hysterically. We both stood over this donkey. It was the largest road kill I had ever seen. At this point, I am discussing with Bala Musa, between his giggles of course, about how I am going to need him to explain to the owner that this was a suicide mission and not murder. This made him laugh even harder.
In that moment, the gray blur returned. The 'dead' donkey laying between us begins to stir and kick. A cloud of dust arises and the donkey jumps to his feet like Lazarus from the tomb. All I could do was jump on the hood of the truck while Bala Musa scrambles to keep from getting kicked or trampled. The resurrected donkey immediately took off in a flash and made a beeline for a group of women cooking under a baobab tree. Through the cloud of donkey dust, I could hear screams and clanking of pots. Then a stampede of women, with children and cookware in hand, scatter like ants. The donkey zoomed right through the middle of their encampment running full speed. It finally disappeared over the hill with nothing but a trail of dust and a dented fender to show for.
I was later informed by Bala Musa that it was mating season for the donkeys. He stated that they actually announce on the radio station this fact and instruct parents to keep their children close to keep them from being trampled. I missed the memo.
To this day, I laugh thinking about the kamikaze donkey of Kenieba. The moral of the story? Always look both ways at a crossroad because you never know...a frisky, suicidal donkey may just be coming straight for you.
