"Fatim, sit down, you can't go en brousse tomorrow."

She had a rare, serious look in her eyes, and I sat, waiting to hear what my neighbor, Cha-Cha, had to tell me.

"Alaima came this afternoon, and she said Komo is coming tomorrow. You can't go in the bush tomorrow, you can't!"

I was warned about this by the previous volunteer, and now I knew the extent of how serious everyone was about it: Komo is a Bambara (animist) religious holiday which occurs once during the dry season, and again near the end of rainy season. My village is nearly entirely Muslim, with a handful of Christians. One neighboring village has a fairly large Catholic minority. But as soon as you head even 1 km into the bush, Muslim, Christian, Bambara--everyone practices animism to some degree.

What Komo is exactly is what's more difficult to articulate: as described to me, the Komo comes to a village for two or three days. Women can't see it, otherwise, they'll die. Men can go outside and see it. I'm told there is beer involved, and that some villages eat dog meat, except in some villages where eating dog meat is prohibited and lizard meat is the animal of choice. I get the gist that the Komo is one man who wanders from village to village with a giant mask, and some women have demonstrated the strange noise it makes outside their doors.

What is strange, almost disconcerting, is how seriously this is believed: Alaima walked into my village, 3 km, to tell me to be sure not to come out in the unfortunate instance that I would "see it" and die. The Komo has ceased in my own village since traditional animists were nearly entirely converted to Islam or Christianity, but if you even mention it, there is the same stock warning: "You can't go into the bush! You can't see it or you'll die!"

But a more general animism runs deeper than one or two traditional celebrations. I always wear this hemp necklace that I made: it means nothing, just something that I always wear and as a result, is now one of my distinguishing characteristics by people who know me. The questions started slowly, first the family I ate with, then Ya, the girl who takes money when I call people at the phone cabine--"What is that around your neck? Why do you wear it?" I would look perplexed, saying something to the effect of "no reason, I just like it, the same reason you wear earrings or bracelets."

Finally, I asked someone in the next village over of the significance of the Malians' dry grass necklaces which happened to look quite similar to mine: "If you're hurting in that area, say your wrist or your ankle, you wear this, and the pain is gone." Several more people confirmed it: the Malians thought my necklace had medicine or special powers that gave me good health.

Similarly, Malians wear silver metal rings, not as a sign of marriage, but "as a way to protect themselves against sorcerers, which during the day turn into cats." I have been told other stories of someone who lives in the village, who knows if you steal or trick people, and at night, he changes, and if you're walking alone, he will kill you.

This is my American rationalism, shocked by the absurdity that women must stay inside for two, three days, while men drink beer, and that objects like dried grass and rings have special powers.

But of course Christians and Muslims have their own superstitions too: Friday the 13th always has a drop in airline passengers, and the number '13' is generally thought to be unlucky: there were thirteen people at the Last Supper. I talked with my language tutor, asking why Friday mornings, right before Mosque let out at noon, were particularly quiet: "when unfortunate events happen, they always happen Friday morning (the Islamic Holy Day) right before Mosque. People don't like to travel, to come out of their house until they are sure any danger or possible mishap that is beyond a person's control has past."

Malians wearing metal rings or shirts, thought to protect from harm, have ceased to have any real connection to a specific religion: these practices are now cultural attitudes that respond to the unexplainable like, say, our own irrational fear of going into a graveyard at night (ditto for Malians) or that a black cat is bad luck. I do reflect the American culture's reverence of rationalism, but I am fairly sympathetic to any culture's attempt to deal with the unexplainable and unfortunate--I've studied Jungian symbolism, tarot cards, astrology, and honestly, there are moments in Philosophy, especially metaphysics, which I felt pushed up against the bounds of rationalism.

I have yet to wear a cotton shirt or metal ring to protect myself from misfortune.

But I am certain to stay inside at night, with my window shut, and to never go into the bush without asking first, "The Komo is gone, right?"