conflict resolution

A small occurrence blew up into a month long mutual silent treatment between two women I live with. The incident was small enough, but it hinted at resentment and built up frustration that is usually dormant. Ballyl and Mariam Ba exploded into a fighting match on our front porch. The neighborhood came for the entertainment and told the women to stop yelling. I am used to raised voices but Ballyl’s eyes were bright with anger and to see Mariam Ba so riled up made my foundation here feel shaky.

As they yelled and the crowd grew around them, I jotted down vocabulary words quietly, as I picked the words out of their speech like one plucks flowers. That day I learned the verb, “to brag or show off” and it was this tendency of one of them that was the root of their disagreement.

They did not speak for over a month. Two grown women- mothers! They communicated through curt messages sent through the kids. They ignored the Ramadan tradition of forgiving and reconciliation- didn’t participate in the celebration’s lengthy greetings centered on such spirits.

This month of uncomfortable lunches (one bowl, two fighters= no fun) got me reflecting on my elementary school experience with conflict resolution. I used to visit schools’ after-school programs to teach about peer mediation. By the time I was twelve I embraced tendencies like listening to other people’s sides of a story, refraining from hitting and calling names. I was flabbergasted at the lack of problem solving demonstrated in Garly, and by women who were old enough to be my mothers!

But just when I feel superior, I am humbled. I look at my funny clothes and my job building shitters and I think, “Who are YOU, crazy girl with a baby’s vocabulary, to think you know better?”

Maybe this works for them. What do I know.