Retired Master-Sergeant Jean Guitay wrote from France:

   That was the time when I was posted in a Ségou, Mali in Africa.
Hear of Gold

   One afternoon as I was walking down the road, I saw a ruthless local African guard beating a kid of about ten. With a baton. I pushed my way through the onlookers, kicked the beastly guard away and rescued the helpless kid. The kid ran away without uncovering his face, which, curiously enough, he kept covered with a black mask.

   Weeks passed. I forgot about the kid. One night I heard a muffled sound from the porch. I sneaked quietly to the veranda to have a glimpse of the Intruder. It was the same kid with his mask who had found a warm place and had dozed off to sleep. I tapped him on his shoulder. He startled and looked up. "Why do you wear a mask?", I asked him. Before I could make out anything out of his garbled words, he ran off.

   The next week I discovered him in the same place on my porch who had stolen in for a cozy doze off. However, this time his mask had slipped while he was fast asleep and the sight I saw was incredibly horrible and repulsive. Most of his nose, lips and lower jaw were shattered. His tongue was visible through the wide hole on the right side of his check which seemed crushed. I let him sleep and slipped away.

   I extracted more information about the child. The African community members told me that his name was Mamadou. Around two years back, he was playing with his uncle's gun and fired himself accidentally in the cheek. His father was blind. He could hardly feed his family from his meager pension, not to speak of providing any medical aid to his child. Mamadou used to hide his face using a mask, although he was the subject of ridicule and mockery by his community. He was expelled from the school. Some feared he was infected with leprosy. He was, sort of, an outcast.

  It now became a routine for Mamadou to spend his nights on my veranda. I started keeping a bowl of food for him every night. He used to eat every grain of food that we provided. I increased the quantity of food. And still, there was never any left-over. Intrigued, I followed him one morning and discovered that he used to carry spare food for his family members. No doubt, he had a golden heart!


   A soul can't be nourished by food alone, love is an essential, even if unidirectional to start with. Hesitant initially to enter our house, Mamadou was well at home within six months interacting happily with the members of my family. My son Georges and Mamadou became inseparable brothers. They wrestled and rolled together, shared a bed, and read stories. My daughter Carole who had shrieked at the first sight of my Mamadou's eerie face, now played with him, took care of our pet with him.

   Our neighbors and other battalion members disapproved of our mingling with Mamadou. It was Christmas time and the air was thick with the rumor that Mamadou was a leper. When I registered for the camp's traditional Christmas festival, others withdrew. That year we had our own family celebration, we couldn't have done it without Mamadou.

   At last, our army doctor, Paul, carried out Mamadou's thorough medical examination at the orders issued by the battalion commander. The social outlook towards Mamadou and towards us changed dramatically after Paul posted the following report in the community hall - The facial disfigurement of Mamadou is caused by an accident and there is no sign of leprosy whatsoever. He is permitted to roam freely inside the military campus.

   One day, Mamadou was taken seriously ill with malaria and needed medical supervision. Paul managed to get him admitted to the Battalion Medical Centre. We were not allowed to see Mamadou frequently. There was some plan cooking in Paul's mind which he didn't want to reveal to us, at least then!

   Then one day, Dr. Paul abruptly declared that Mamadou had left for his native village. Months passed. There was no news.

   One day, Mamadou materialized suddenly! It took us a few seconds to recognize him. This chap had undergone remodeling and plastic surgery. The nose, lips and jaws had been reconstructed and the gaping cheek hole was obliterated. He was in such high spirits! He told us later that Dr. Paul got his surgery done through one of his surgeon friends, furtively, just to surprise us! Refaced, Mamadou now surfaced with confidence. He tramped with confidence, people invited him to their homes.

   My stay of around two years in Mali came to an end and I was transferred back home. My children were heartbroken when they came to know that Mamadou was not coming with us. They implored so much. My wife Jacqueline was so sad. Mamadou consoled her as she cried. Two years before we used to console Mamadou and today, it was he who was consoling the members of my family at a tender age of twelve! Farewell was agonizing.

   Years rolled. Six years later, my eldest son and Mamadou's co-brother, Georges, died of leukemia. Those were the moments we missed Mamadou so much.

   Then something wonderful and unexpected took place. The Christmas story which we had shared with our local radio station was rebroadcast by Mali Radio Station in its capital, Bamako. Somebody heard it and wrote about the whereabouts of Mamadou to the Mali Radio Station. The station wrote back to us and the connection between us was reestablished.

   Mamadou's letters were full of gratitude. He was 28 and serving as the head of the maintenance department in a factory. How can we remain at ease without inviting him to France to visit us?

   The evening Carole wedded, Mamadou was present with us. As Mamadou stepped forward in his native Mali attire, signed the register and hugged Carol in his arms, tears flowing down his scarred cheek, cameras flashed from all around. For us, one flash was enough to lighten up our memories of the past 17 years.



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