We Are Fighting

My husband is the rather large man who works at the post office. I forget his name, but we banter in order for me to be sweet to him. I rarely flirt, even with Americans, in this case there is a counter between us which prevents creepiness. He is a gentleman, however, and he knows I'm not just there to see him, so he usually gets to the business of giving me my packages pretty quick. When I haven't been around in a while he'll say he's mad at me and the direct translation is "we're fighting." I will apologize and pretend to feel guilty and then take my leave.
This phrase "we're fighting" is a common thing people say in Mali. Fighting is usually done in the most childish manner possible and often very loud and public. Very different from Americans. It's not usually violent, mostly just yelling and gesticulating. Nothing in Mali makes me feel more uncomfortable than fighting.
Two times I have witnessed horrible fights among my host-family members and I do not look back on these moments fondly. It's not something that's funny later.
Tonight I was again faced with an awkward situation. I went to my homologue's concession, which is now my host family. I've decided. I eat lunch there now and my favorite 20- something, Fatim is there. She's my only friend who isn't married, my homologue is her aunt. I walked into their yard this evening and there was this obvious thick silence. There were several old men and a couple of women sitting in a circle having a very serious discussion. No one greeted Mariam (me). I went to find Fatim and it turned out they were discussing her. This is normal in Malian culture, to have other people sort out a problem for you. I didn't figure out what they had been fighting about, but I sat there for an hour listening to them because I felt weird leaving without saying anything to anyone. No one except Fatim even paid any attention to me. I think she got into a fight with another girl in the family, a cousin. I don't know what happened, but the people having a discussion were saying Fatim's name a lot. I could only follow it a little bit, either way, I was restless. I left with a lump in my stomach. I'm so glad Americans don't fight like that. Or if they do, they keep it hidden from me. If you ever want to fight with me, please do so without involving the whole village. :) also, I'm very strong, so it would not be wise to provoke me.