tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13244331677020248012024-03-18T20:45:09.975-07:00Madame Toubab or My Life in Peace Corps MauritaniaMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-57038162877823751062014-04-19T15:02:00.000-07:002014-04-19T15:02:02.102-07:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Today I attended a Peace Corps event for a send off to 30 or
so San Diegans ready to head off for their Peace Corps service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt smug because I had earned the right to
be blaisse to their angst about their not knowing if they would be accepted; if
nominated, where they were going; if invited, what to pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have the heart to say, don’t worry
what you pack, if it gets there, and it might not (Nick), you won’t use half of
it anyway. </div>
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<br /></div>
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After the lovely East African lunch, the 30 or so men and
women, young and old were brought onstage to introduce themselves and tell
where they were headed to: Cambodia, Togo, Uganda, China, Cameroon, Sierra Leone,
Thailand, etc , etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was sitting there I was saddened, disappointed
that there was no possibility of anyone heading to Mauritania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a one who I could share/impart a bit of
wisdom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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After that we broke up in to groups, by Region, so that they
could ask us (RPCVs) questions about the place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then we rearranged by sector again to share a little about our
experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my SED group there was a
young woman with SENEGAL RPCV on her badge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had a spark of excitement that another person in that room might have
a slightly similar experience we could share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She had been in Southern Senegal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not the same but close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had
been searching for another Pulaar speaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have been searching these long 5 years for some Theiboudjeun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She laughed and said her too longed for Cheb
or mafe .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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What she said next broke my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she was in Senegal, the Mauritania
program had been long closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long
closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If felt as if she were speaking
of someone who had died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could
something that had been such an intense experience, great joy to despair, no
longer exist?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was bad enough when
Stage moved from Kaedi to Rosso; but now, the whole thing didn’t exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
that work and history of years of volunteers sitting dusty somewhere or
probably, more likely, still blowing around with the winds of the Adrar stuck
on fences or piled deep in empty lots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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<br /></div>
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A
sad day indeed. </div>
Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-62210968314645577122009-08-23T14:09:00.000-07:002009-08-23T14:11:08.477-07:00Peace Corps Suspends Volunteer Program in Mauritania<!--/contact--> WASHINGTON, D.C., August 12, 2009<br /><br />Peace Corps Statement on the Suspension of the Volunteer Program in Mauritania:<br /><br />The Peace Corps has suspended its Volunteer program in Mauritania due to safety and security concerns. All Peace Corps/Mauritania Volunteers are currently in Senegal; they will not be returning to Mauritania. Although it is the agency’s position that the Volunteers are relatively safe in their communities and villages, it is potentially dangerous for them to travel safely in the country.<br /><br />Both the Peace Corps and the U.S. Embassy in Nouakchott will continue to monitor the safety and security situation in Mauritania. The Peace Corps will continue to assess the situation and determine when the security conditions on the ground permit the safe return of Volunteers. The Peace Corps office in Nouakchott will remain open and all staff will continue to report to work.<br /><br />All Peace Corps/Mauritania Volunteers, if eligible, will be given an option to continue their service with Peace Corps in another country. They can also elect to return to the U.S.<br /><br />The Peace Corps has enjoyed a long history of successful partnerships with the communities of Mauritania since 1967.Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-57717466026821061772009-06-25T05:04:00.000-07:002009-06-25T05:06:42.841-07:00African al-Qaeda 'killed' US man BBC<p> <b> Al-Qaeda's North Africa branch has claimed responsibility for the killing of an American aid worker shot dead in Mauritania, al-Jazeera TV reports. </b> </p><p> The Arab satellite channel said it had received an audio message in which the group said it had killed 39-year-old Christopher Leggett on Tuesday. </p><p> Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb said it had targeted Mr Leggett for allegedly spreading Christianity in the country. </p><p> Al-Jazeera said it could not verify the authenticity of the message. </p><div class="bo"> <p> "Two knights of the Islamic Maghreb succeeded Tuesday morning at 8 a.m. to kill the infidel American Christopher Leggett for his Christianising activities," the group was reported to have said. </p><p> Unidentified gunmen ran up to Mr Leggett in the Mauritanian capital, Nouakchott, on Tuesday and shot him several times, witnesses said. </p><p> Mr Leggett, who grew up in Cleveland, Tennessee, taught at a centre specialising in computer science and languages in a working-class neighbourhood of the city, the Associated Press reported. </p><p> Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb is most active in Algeria, where it grew out of the remnants of the country's Islamist insurgency. </p><p> The group has also been blamed for attacks in neighbouring countries such as Mali and Niger, including the killing of a British hostage in northern Mali earlier this month. </p><p> In Mauritania, the former government said the group killed four French tourists in December 2007 - an attack that prompted the cancellation of the Paris-Dakar car rally. </p><p> The authorities also blamed the group for attacking the Israeli embassy in the capital, Nouakchott, in February last year. </p></div> Story from BBC NEWS:<br />http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/8118328.stm<br /><br />Published: 2009/06/25 09:33:50 GMTMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-4641116240794659712009-06-21T07:39:00.000-07:002009-06-21T07:58:01.921-07:00On the Road AgainI am finally back in Atar after taking a little farewell tour across the RIM. I scored the best ride ever. I got to tag along in a Peace Corps vehicle all the way out to Aioun and back. They always have A/C, personal space, seat belts and terrific drivers. Given the scorching heat and humidity we encountered, I consider myself quite blessed to have traveled in the big white <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1245595092_0">Land Rover</span>. <br /><br /><br />However, I concluded my tour with one of the worst travel days ever. Carl, a region mate, really, really wanted to try to the new ,daily, a/c bus that has started between <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1245595092_1">Nouakchott</span> and Atar. It is the same price as a taxi and you are guaranteed your own seat, AC and free, unlimited luggage. I was skeptical. This is Africa and a guarantee works quite different here. A guarantee usually comes with an Inshallah. We might advertise one thing, but you can't really expect to get it. <br /><br />Shockingly, there was no working a/c, just a warm fan slightly blowing. That coupled with a mild <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1245595092_2">sand storm</span> and record heat, made the trip just a little slice of heaven. For some reason, tons of sand was coming through the crevasses of the bus creating a mini sandstorm within, for the entire 7 hour trip. I was coated with a layer of crust by the time I finally made it home. About mid way, I had no clean area of skin or fabric with which to wipe my eyes. I am still trying to clear my sinuses and lungs today but my exposed skin is soft as silk. To be fair, I did have my own seat and all of the luggage I could carry at no extra charge. However, at one of the police stops we had to pull out all of this unlimited luggage for the 55 people on board so that they could search most of it (during a mild sand storm). <br /><br />Have I ever mentioned the power of a Peace Corps ID card? Towards the end of this search, the policeman finally sauntered over to me and asked me which bag was mine. Surprise, surprise it was the one and only REI backpack aboard. Everything else was packed in either rice bags or those big <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1245595092_3">plastic bags</span> that are ubiquitous in travel through developing countries. He asked me to open it. Actually he had to ask me twice because I couldn't understand his French with his howly (arabic head wrap) wrapped around his mouth. Naturally, I complied. I unhooked the top slowly and reluctantly as I really didn't want to unload all of my dirty laundry out onto the sand. I was searching my brain for the french translation of "dirty underwear" because I was sure he was going to ask me what was in the plastic sacks. Then he asked me for my identification, twice, because again I couldn't understand his french under his 6 meters of fabric wrapped around his mouth. All he did was glance at my id and he immediately stopped his request to search my bag and moved on to less well connected folks. (I'm sure gonna miss my quasi-diplomatic status) 1.5 hours later, we were back on the road. <br /><br />The bus cleared out a little at Akjoujt (5 hours later) so that our next 2.5 hours to Atar was far more comfortable. Of course, this trip was exactly what I expected (less the sandstorm within the bus)...It was hot, miserable, and long. But I will admit the other 53 passengers on the bus behaved rather uncharacteristically. They were calm and quiet. Possibly they too were miserable as they melted and were being sandblasted for the long voyage. There was little praying and nearly everyone kept to their assigned seat (truly astonishing). Usually there is at least one person praying, which I find disconcerting, and blaring arabic prayer calls from a scratchy cassette during the entire ride. I feel ill at ease whenever I am in a situation that calls for constant prayer. I assume they are appealing to Allah so that she won't strike them dead in an accident. Or maybe they pray so that if they are indeed struck dead by some idiot driver in one of the thousand deathtraps on the roads, they will be called directly to paradise. I am not sure which and not sure I really want to ask.<br /><br />Anyway, I am alive, no worse for wear and have exactly 14 days left in Atar. <br />Alhumdulilah.<br />Cheers from hereMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-31268262742452466442009-05-02T14:35:00.000-07:002009-05-02T14:38:26.218-07:00The Countdown94 days. <br /><br />I should start making a list of all of the things that I am going to miss once I leave. I could go on a big appreciation rampage. That ought to make the time go a little faster. Of course, an appreciation rampage will be hard to muster up while I am swimming in a pool of sweat. But I'll try.<br /><br />Cheers from hereMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-10508327833475227572009-04-17T04:27:00.000-07:002009-04-17T04:43:27.468-07:00Things are Winding DownMy service is nearly complete. I've just a few more months left. My official Close of Service (COS) date is August 6th. There are a couple little projects I want to complete before I leave, but otherwise, I am done. I will be traveling through Eastern Mauritania into Mali which will take most of June and July will be spend packing up and closing down, then I leave. So really I have only whats left of April and May to accomplish anything. I want to get some more footage of the making of CereAmine so that I can piece together a little movie. Hopefully my ladies will be accomodating and I will be able to do that towards the end of this month. Actually, I guess that is the only little project I want to complete.<br /><br />Now I suppose it's time to focus on my trip home, which will be long, and my job hunt, which I pray will not be long. For anyone trying to pencil in my arrival in San Diego, don't. Where I will end up, what I will be doing is unknown. I am trying to embrace the undertainty. The only thing I know for certain is that I am going to have to mouch off my dear, dear friends as I make my way home. If you've got a spare bed, a comfy couch or a pulled pork sandwich with a side of broccoli (don't let me get started on menu's) let me know.<br /><br />Cheers from here,Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-89067099671086266162009-03-11T11:13:00.000-07:002009-03-11T11:19:50.639-07:00Remis is an understatementYes, I know it has been a long, long time since I have posted anything. I'd wish I could say that I have been so overloaded with work that I haven't had time. but that would be a lie. Just take a look at my Books Read list....I should add a "movies and series downloaded" list as well. God bless utorrent.<br /><br />So, in the spirit of St. Patty, my favorite Saint next to Nick, I will not only chase the snakes out of Mauritania, I will make a new post soon.<br /><br />Cheers from here.Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-71828500657272457922009-01-05T07:19:00.000-08:002009-01-05T07:21:26.423-08:00Happy New YearWell, you would have thought I'd seen it all by now but,<br /><br />Yesterday, I was at the Hotel Mermoz, the place I am consider switching to (away from my darling Hotel la Residence) during Jazz Fest because they have a lovely pool in a tropical setting where I spent much of my time last year. It will be very hot here in May. <br /><br />So, I'm in the bathroom at this upscale resort with it's tight security against the riffraff. I walk out to the common sink area to find a man washing his penis in the sink. To answer the standard questions I have received so far. Was he Senegelese? I don't know, I didn't ask for his ID, but he was black and spoke french so I would assume yes. Next, did he seem embarrassed? Answer: he didn't seem to be but he did go back into his stall to shake it off. <br /><br />My reaction? After washing my hands while shaking my head and snickering to myself, was glee that yet again I have another juicy tid bit to share with you. Mind you, this is certainly not the first penis I have seen out in public during my time here in Africa. It's actually quite common. But they are usually attached to the very young or the very old, who have lost all of their modesty and are squatting out in the street doing their business. This is, however, the oddest episode. <br /><br />I think I have been here a little too long.<br /><br />To a Happy, Healthy and Prosperous New YearMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-3131837238621191912008-12-12T11:52:00.000-08:002008-12-12T12:23:59.333-08:00Tobaski in TawazYesterday (Monday) was Tobaski, the fete of the Sheep. Actually I don't think the sheep enjoy it all that much. What, you don't know what Tobaski is? Well here's you Islam lesson meeting my cultural exchange requirement for the PC. Actually it’s probably a Ye Olde Testament tale. Once upon a time, God told Abraham that he must sacrifice his son to prove his devotion. Apparently Abraham agreed to this. Since he was willing to forsake his most precious possession for God, Allah was merciful and allowed him to sacrifice a sheep instead. So on Tobaski, Muslim households slaughter a sheep and eat meat ALL day. Afterward, once the blood has been washed from the streets, they then parade around town in new clothes.<br /><br />I spent this holiday out in Tawaz, a little village just outside of Atar. Kelsea and I arose rather late considering we had a 9 am appointment for Tagine. Why we had to arrive at 9 is a bit confusing as the men were still off at prayer and none of the sheep had been put to the knife yet. After 3 casses of tea and conversation we finally sit down for Tagine about 11am. But before you can have Tagine, which is a meat and onion dish, you must have Mishwee, which is only grilled meat. Our contained some of you and I would call meat as it was still on the bone as well as the liver. I am normally not much of an organ fan, but I could can use the added iron, so into my mouth went the bloody pieces of liver. Please don't send me the hazards of eatting liver rare. Next came the Tagine. A bowlful of delectible morsels (not) However, this is the perfect opportunity to take some candid photos of life here in the RIM....so after I lick my hand clean, I grab my camera. Not long after, we were summoned to the next house.<br /><br />It’s now 1 pm and we are sitting down to yet another plate of Tagine at another household. For some crazy reason, I thought these meals would be spaced out a bit more…I believe a reasonable assumtion considering they were suppose to start at 9. This plate of Tagine contains not only meat but lung, liver, kidney, stomach and intestine. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yummy!</span> One of the habits that I admire and respect here, is that nothing goes to waste. The world could take some lessons on recycling and reusing from Mauritania. That goes for their meat consumption as well. The bits and pieces of the animal that we consume over here could be viewed as rather or extremely distasteful. But darn it, nothing goes to waste. When an animal is slaughtered the only parts not devoured are the ears, tail and hooves. I'll spare you the details of how they crack the lower jaw to get to the tongue (a delicacy).....Or maybe I wont. Honestly, the bones are sucked of their marrow. <div><br /></div><div>At this point, Kelsea has taken to fake eating. However, she happens to mention that I (pointing at me) enjoy the stomach. And in pure Mauritanian hospitality, everyone around the plate pitches their portion of the stomach to yours truly. I could have killed her. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Crap! O</span>kay, I don’t mind the stomach, but if given the choice I’d prefer a porterhouse, t-bone, filet mignon (oh wait that is beef). </div><div><br /></div><div>Shortly afterwards, we are served Maro which is a rice dish with a few carrots yet more meat. I was told that the rice is served after all the meat to keep us from getting diarrhea. Oh goodie. The last time I had tagine in Tawaz I was left rather ill. I had been invited out to dine with the college director for the PC’s APCD visit. After the mandatory Mishwee, we were served Tagine. I took a bite of intestine and the taste was B I T T E R. Clearly it had not been cleaned thoroughly. EeeeGads. I didn’t feel I could spit it out as the meal was attended by the village dignitaries. I didn’t want to embarrass the host and hostess. So I washed the image from my mind and just swallowed (certainly not the first time in my life), knowing that I would have to deal with the ramifications later. Little did I know just how dearly I’d be paying for it. It took 2 weeks for my bowels to straighten the whole mess out and the first 2 days spent with a high fever and frequent dashes to the toilet. Yes a 3rd bout of delirium in as many months. One would think my immune system would be working at peak performance by now. So this time as I eased the bloody liver into my mouth, I said a little prayer. A grace, all ended well. Happy Tabaski.<br /><br />Pic’s to come as soon as I retrieve them from Kelsea<br /><br />Cheers from Here<br /><br /></div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-5778933781064926022008-12-10T08:52:00.001-08:002008-12-10T08:52:43.333-08:00238 Days to goMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-19011828002075961642008-12-05T13:29:00.000-08:002008-12-05T13:30:48.026-08:00The final countdown8 months and 1 day, but who is counting.Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-58986485715634845872008-11-23T08:13:00.000-08:002008-11-24T13:01:21.392-08:00Riding the Storm OutAs you can imagine from my last post, a strategy meeting was necessary to determine the best way to mend the fences. Thanks to my previous incarnation as a sales representative for a big American company, I am fully versed at bring back customers from the edge, fluent in remaining calm while being berated for events beyond my control. Possibly this was the prerequisite for the Zen like calm required here. Kerri and I had decided a class in Customer Service was in order. Our intention was to first define customer service, assess our behavior at the meeting within that definition, and determine next steps. Good lord this feels like my previous profession.<br /><br />We arrive at Mohamed’s office early so we can go over our strategy. It is important to let him in on our strategy as he is translating. Well, let me tell you, it certainly didn’t go as expect.<br /><br />Me: Blah blah blah, listen to your customer.<br />Blah, blah, blah, the customer is always right.<br />Blah, blah blah the goal of a meeting is to resolve (resoudre) issues not battle with your clients about who<br />is right and wrong.<br />Blah, blah, blah, never call your customer a thief.<br /><br />Him: If a customer starts hitting you, you aren’t required to sit and take it.<br /><br />He, who is so calm, so supportive, usually so modern, if he is having such a reaction to the mere mention that possibly we could have behaved better I can only imagine what the women will do. As further proof, his boss walks in and starts lobbing the same accusations about the Responsables. Mind you, he wasn’t even at the meeting. I don’t even think he was in town. Long story short, apparently, one of the Responsbles said something so egregious to the elder of the group that the women had not choice but to react. In this culture, your elders are respected.<br /><br />Kerri and I quickly revise our lesson/meeting notes. Out goes the entire section on “who’s to blame that LEDD is no longer buying CereAmine for the Atar centers. Answer: Us, for not doing a better job of ensuring product adoption” <em>(now that really sounds like my old life)</em> Forget my idea that we offer an apology.<br /><br />I begin by asking the question, <em>how do you treat customers so that they keep buying your product</em>? To that I received a list of terrific answers. I ended that section with <em>“it’s easier to keep a customer then find a new one”.<br /><br /></em>Next, I say “<em>it’s important to evaluate what happened with LEDD and how we can move forward"</em>. I have no idea how to say “move forward” in French, I am sure it’s not a direct translation. I did learn that “word of mouth” in French is “bouche oreille”. (mouth ear) I also explained “to give an earful” to someone the other day. Those crazy idioms. I say, <em>“I heard two problems expressed</em> (amidst all of the name calling). <em>The mother’s said that their children didn’t like the flavor and that some became sick.</em> After the translation, the group eye’d me suspiciously.<br /><br />I can tell that it’s going to be hard to get them to stay calm, to listen and to seriously address to the points the LEDD brought up as problems. Christ, I am not sure I have the language skills to nuance that although this may not be the fault of their product or production it has, none the less, become their problem to overcome. <em>(yes, I am back at MHC)</em> Somehow, we need to try to diminuez la resistance.<br /><br />I need to mention that the day before this meeting Kerri and I had spent some time with Genevieve and she now believes that possibly the problem with the flavor may be that it was overcooked at the centers. Traditional N’sha is brought to a rolling, molten boil for about 30 – 45 minutes. CereAmine, because the grains have been precooked (as you well know by earlier posts) takes about 10 -15….hence the disconnect. At this point, Genevieve has agreed that an in-service for her staff on how to prepare CereAmine is in order.<br /><br />Of course, I don’t tell the ladies any of this yet. First I want us to really examine/explore how we can address the above issues. The point of my work here is to leave behind some tidbit of knowledge/technique that they can translate to other business ventures. I am teaching them to fish before I eventually give them the fish that I once again caught. (is recaught a word?) <em>Man, I want to go fishing in the Sierra’s.<br /></em><br />Next on the agenda, <em>what we can do differently next time to lessen the problems and diminish the resistance to CereAmine?</em> I must confess they liked my ideas. They became down right enthusiastic that yes, indeed, it is our responsibility to ensure that our new customers truly understand the benefits of CereAmine and the correct method of preparation so that they too become converts. They agree that it is important that each woman can explain those benefits as well as the cause of diarrhea. (Flies, lack of soap and sanitation, etc)<br /><br />They have requested a class on the valeur de protein. Well they didn’t exactly ask for a class on the benefits of protein, because I'm pretty sure that they don’t know what protein is. They want to understand why CereAmine is healthful. Their sales pitch for CereAmine is that it is good for you because it has lots of vitamins (pronounced vee tah meen). I don’t think they know what vitamins are either. I am pretty sure they couldn’t name vitamin c, e, or the b complexes. It’s just a handy catchphrase for something healthy. But a lesson in protein is what they are going to get.<br /><br />Finally, they assure me that inspite (despite) of what happened at the meeting; they are capable of going to the centers and giving a lesson, providing we go along too. Unless I am deluded, I believe that all in all, it went really well.<br /><br />Things might be looking up.<br />Cheers from here,<br />Happy ThanksgivingMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-31243001377771756432008-11-15T08:26:00.000-08:002008-11-15T08:28:06.618-08:00Mauritania police: Ousted ex-president freedHere are some current headlines.<br /><br />Mauritania police: Ousted ex-president freed<br /><br /><br />By AHMED MOHAMED Ahmed Mohamed – Thu Nov 13, 8:57 am ET<br /><br /><br /><br />NOUAKCHOTT, Mauritania – The military junta that ousted Mauritania's president released him Thursday in response to international pressure, police and his family said.<br /><br />Mohamed Ould Cheikh, a top police official, said former President Sidi Ould Cheikh Abdallahi had been placed under surveillance at his home in the town of Lemden, south of the capital, Nouakchott. Abdallahi's family confirmed his release.<br /><br />Cheikh said Abdallahi's release came in response to an ultimatum from the European Union. The United States also had called for his release.<br /><br />Abdallahi told Arab television network Al-Jazeera that he considered himself the rightful ruler of Mauritania.<br /><br />"All that I know is that I was elected and the election was transparent and I still consider myself as a legitimate president of Mauritania," he told the broadcaster.<br /><br />The Aug. 6 coup in Africa's newest oil producer came after the president and prime minister fired the country's four top military officials.<br /><br />Coup leader Gen. Mohamed Ould Abdel Aziz had accused Abdallahi of being soft on terrorism and freeing from jail radical Muslims implicated in plotting attacks on Western embassies. Abdallahi's allies say those allegations are meant to drum up Western support.<br /><br />The U.S. was allied with Abdallahi and condemned the coup and suspended aid to the country, including a military training program in the far north.<br /><br />Abdallahi's election marked the country's first free and fair elections in two decades. Mauritania gained independence from France in 1960.Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-21082041746934446042008-11-15T08:18:00.000-08:002008-11-15T08:34:48.945-08:00I wish I was at King's Island riding the Racer instead<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">It's difficult to know where to start. You would think that after having been in this country 18 months that the roller coaster ride would have subsided. Not so. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Last week, after a very fruitful meeting with our soon to be leaving USAID representative, I was stoked.<span style=""> </span>She was very enthusiastic about the success of my CéréAmine project.<span style=""> </span>She was very willing, dare I say enthusiastic, about giving me the names and contacts of other NGO who are working on nutrition here in the RIM. She even spent her afternoon setting up appointments for Douda, the health APCD (the staff person who runs our health education sector), a person from our embassy and me. She scheduled 3 appointments for us on Tuesday starting with WFP, then Counterparts Intl and ending with the French Red Cross. Douda was unbelievably flexible.<span style=""> </span>Whatever he had planned for Tuesday went right out the window to attend these meetings with me.<span style=""> </span>This stroke of luck also bought me a few more days in the paradise that is Nouakchott.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">9 am: World Food Program.<span style=""> </span>Nothing like starting with the big boys. I can tell you this; the woman was very nice, the meeting was completely in French and since after my 5 week sabbatical to America land, (both in America and visiting other volunteers in the Southern part of the RIM when I returned) I understood very little. My French fled as if it were WW2 (sorry frenchies, bad joke).<span style=""> </span>Add to that the fact that I got zero sleep the previous night because I was all atwitter about having 3 such meetings in one day.<span style=""> </span>My French was worthless.<span style=""> </span>I could barely hang onto the conversation.<span style=""> </span>God Bless Douda and his flawless linguistic skills. <span style=""> </span>We left with the promise that we would e-mail her the specifics on CéréAmine.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">People have asked me what the biggest difference between me pre-Mauritania and me post-Mauritania? And/or, what stands out in the US after having been away?<span style=""> </span>What stands out the most is the pace of life.<span style=""> </span>Here, I feel accomplished if I complete one errand a day. <span style=""> </span>« okay, today I must go to the post;<span style=""> </span>today I had better make it to the bank; okay, come hell or high water, today I must absolutely<span style=""> </span>buy soap>.<span style=""> </span>There (where you are) it felt like I was running my tail off. I went on a hike, to the bank, the post, target then met someone for lunch. <span style=""> </span>In truth, I was running my tail off, many people to see, so much food to consume.<span style=""> </span>I felt like one of those geese being prepared for fois gras.<span style=""> </span>I just ate, and ate, and ate, and ate.<span style=""> </span>Ooops, I digressed.<span style=""> </span>But on the other hand, I don’t believe I was going at that much faster a pace then before.<span style=""> </span>I seem to have lost my skills of multi-tasking.<span style=""> </span>America rocked the Zen like calm that has come to me over here.<span style=""> </span>Frankly, if you don’t slow down and chill out while here, you will lose your mind.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">But I digress yet again.<span style=""> </span>The WFP went. They have their own cross to bear with their 530 feeding centers run by 36 ONG’s.<span style=""> </span>If I understood correctly, they are bringing an expert in to try to diagnose why there has been such little impact on nutrition despite these centers.<span style=""> </span>Blah, blah, blah.<span style=""> </span>Same old, sad story.<span style=""> </span>Where do all of the well intentioned resources go?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">I will admit that after that, I was a bit discouraged.<span style=""> </span>If you will remember my email regarding the problems at the center in Toungad, you can imagine the WFP’s problems. (If you didn’t receive it, let me know and I’ll resend.)<span style=""> </span>The gist was how frustrating it is to try to get the development money out of the pockets of the powerful and actuallyreach the lives of the poor.<span style=""> </span>My heart goes out to all of the folks who are devoting their lives to making an impact and the seemingly unachievable, uphill battle they are waging.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">But lets be realistic, 530 centers is probably a bigger nut then I am can bite off with only a few months left and the RIM participation in WAIST to organize.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Next up, Counterparts Intl.<span style=""> </span>Folks, it went brilliantly.<span style=""> </span>Without relaying too many details, mostly because I can’t recall them at the moment, here is the crux of it: <span style=""> </span>they work across the South and East and are trying to create community-specific solutions.<span style=""> </span>The director used another catch phrase, but I can’t recall it without looking at my notes (and I ain’t gonna get up right now while I am on a roll). <span style=""> </span>They want to create incoming generation, nutrition, resource specific (dams to keep the river out/wells to bring the water in) solutions. <span style=""> </span>Speaking of large nuts. <span style=""> </span>The director feels that the CéréAmine/ feeding center/ women’s coop combination may work into their plans. The USAID grain that is sent from the States has a few problems.<span style=""> </span>Apparently, there can be too much time from creation to consumption <span style=""> </span>and after awhile it goes bad.<span style=""> </span>Thusly, a locally produced product (like CéréAmine) fits directly into their goals and is required by their budget.<span style=""> </span>Humdulilah!<span style=""> </span>Douda and I were high 5’ing as we left; my heart was doing a little jig.<span style=""> </span>I knew I was on to something.<span style=""> </span>I am back on track.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Third appointment, the French Red Cross….Again we hit a home run.<span style=""> </span>Currently they are focused on the severely malnourished throughout parts of the South.<span style=""> </span>However, in their goals for 2009 is an integrated program like CéréAmine, Feeding Centers/ Women’s cooperatives.<span style=""> </span>Nutrition and income generation all rolled up into one program says integrated to moi. <span style=""> </span>Inshallah, their 2009 budget isn’t decimated due to the global market crash and the coup d’etat.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>Isn’t it always something.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">All in all, a good day.<span style=""> </span>Life is good.<span style=""> </span>I have another couple of contacts to make thanks to my friend at USAID.<span style=""> </span>One of which actually has feeding centers up here in the North and could turn out to be actual work for me.<span style=""> </span>The southern centers will be for another volunteer to tackle.<span style=""> </span>Time will tell how those connections will pan out. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">At the end of the day, while in Nouakchott I receive a text that I have a meeting set for just after I return with the CéréAmine Atelier and Les Enfants Du Desert.<span style=""> </span>There seems to be a problem with the flavor.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">What?</span><span style=""><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span> </span>Once I return to Atar the reported problem with CéréAmine varies from flavor, to the children becoming ill, to the cost.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">What the hell? Okay, this is starting to feel too much like work.</span><span style=""><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span> </span>The meeting is set for Monday at 4 pm.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">That morning Muhammad, Kerry and I have a strategy meeting.<span style=""> </span>We feel it can’t be the flavor because all of us eat it and none of us have detected a whit of change from one batch to the next.<span style=""> </span>If it’s cost, that is understandable.<span style=""> </span>Between the crash in the global markets AND the coup d’etat, donations to Mauritania are really, really, really down.<span style=""> </span>But, again, I have a strategy for this as well.<span style=""> </span>And finally, children aren’t getting diarrhea from the CéréAmine.<span style=""> </span>They can be getting diarrhea from flies, lack of sanitation and the low usage of soap.<span style=""> </span>Heck, that’s how I get it every other minute.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Okay, lets just say the meeting spirals out of control when one of my women accuses one or all (I am not really sure as most of the interaction was in Hassaniya and the translator couldn’t keep pace with the barbs being thrown) of the responsables (managers) at the center being a thief. <span style=""> </span>Everyone tries to maintain calm at the beginning.<span style=""> </span>Everone tries to keep their composure.<span style=""> </span>In their defense, the women from the Atelier sat there for a long while during which time the responsables cast aspersions at the quality of their product.<span style=""> </span>They were also at a disadvantage and I am sure frustrated, as none of them speak French (always my frustration)<span style=""> </span>so thusly couldn’t address Genevieve directly.<span style=""> </span>My counterpart must have known the meeting would turn contentious because he brought an outsider in to translate so that he would not be accused of misrepresenting what was said (as he works directly with the Atelier) Genevieve came into the meeting determined to keep her commitment to the cooperative.<span style=""> </span>She has agreed to by 100K a month for the Oudane centers and 150 K per month for poor families in Atar, but is dropping CéréAmine,from the Atar centers.<span style=""> </span>After 1.5 hours, the gang from Les Enfants du Desert did their best not to storm out.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Holy Crap.</span><span style=""><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span> </span>How am I going to piece this relationship back together?<span style=""> </span>Douda will be coming up to Atar in a few and I am hoping that we can get an audience with Genevieve.<span style=""> </span>Actually, I am not worried that she won’t see us. <span style=""> </span>She loves me.<span style=""> </span>I hope between our calm and Douda’s perfect French, we can actually get to the crux of the matter.<span style=""> </span>It couldn’t have been the CéréAmine making the kids ill otherwise most if not all would have been ill. We actually had a nurse at the meeting who stated this and the responsables accused her of taking sides. (did I mention that that meeting was something to behold?) <span style=""> </span>If it was just the flavor, I can’t imagine that she’d cut us out so quickly.<span style=""> </span>I am hoping it’s the money issue and that can be resolved by finding some alternate sources for her; a influx of Euros or a years supply of powered milk. I know an awful lot of NGO’s at the moment.<span style=""> </span>If she really thought the product was bad, would she keep buying it?<span style=""> </span>I think not. But she can’t very well turn her back on her responsables.<span style=""> </span>She has invested a lot in them and they have the daily responsibly of running all of her centers.<span style=""> </span>Plus, they have been with her since the beginning.<span style=""> </span>My problem is with the responsables.<span style=""> </span>How can I win them back after the Atelier I represent called them thieves? (or some of them thieves—still not sure) The contention is that the reason some of the responsables are resisting CéréAmine is that before, when they were delivered rice, corn, oil, sugar, powered milk, there was room for skimming off of the top.<span style=""> </span>With CéréAmine, the opportunity is diminished.<span style=""> </span>One, who will remain nameless, said that this rumor has been floating around for awhile, but as it wasn’t his/her affair so she/he never said anything to LEDD.<span style=""> </span>However, now that it has a direct impact, they are quick to accuse.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, now that they have skin in the game, their accusations are less effective because they have something to gain (or lose).<span style=""> </span>Didn’t this logic give me something to ponder?<span style=""> </span>It’s somehow okay to rip off an NGO.<span style=""> </span>Skim a little here; skim a little there is alright. But let it hit home, then the roof comes off the building.<span style=""> I will admit, there have been my fair share of paperclips and post-it notes that were not used for strictly MHC business, I guess people in glass houses.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Needless to say, the last couple of days have been tough for me. The truth, as usual, probably lies somewhere in between the issues.<span style=""> </span>But the Skim here, skim there; take from WFP, LEDD; the endless donne moi cadeaux are weighing heavily on my soul.<span style=""> </span>A woman who I had thought was my friend gave me no warning to this brewing storm so that I could try to avert it.<span style=""> </span>And then, wouldn’t look me in the eyes when she walked into the meeting.<span style=""> </span>(I am not referring to Genevieve; she gave me a wonderful warm hug)<span style=""> </span>It just drove home the fact that I am still a stranger, a nassranyia, a toubab in this place.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">On the brighter note, the heat has broken.<span style=""> </span>I still sleep outside, but in flannel pj’s and under a big fleecy blanket.<span style=""> </span>Little Miss Kitty who I would have thought would have long since met her demise is still here as is her kitten who I have seen since before I went to France in July.<span style=""> </span>We often share a meal.<span style=""> </span>Also, Chateau Deatrick as resume production.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color:black;">Cheers from here,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-893619021845602262008-11-06T08:22:00.000-08:002008-11-06T08:27:02.021-08:00It's been a long timeWow, it has been a long time since I have posted anything. And it's going to be a bit longer. I am still not back in Atar from my trip to the US. I have taken the long road, so to speak. By long road, I mean, extended time in Nouakchott before I brave the rugged Peace Corps life outside of the luxuries of the capital. Due to some brilliant opportunties to present CereAmine to a number of NGO's headquartered in Nouakchott, I have managed to extend my stay for a few extra nights. I actually got the opportuntity to watch the election results live which was a treat as I missed the Olympics, the World Series and the SuperBowl, just to name a few. Fear not, I should get home tomorrow. <br /><br />Until next time. <br />Adieu.Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-85634881404299231592008-10-07T12:03:00.000-07:002008-10-07T12:04:41.175-07:00Phone number while stateside<div id="ms__id14">619-203-6509</div><div id="ms__id13"> </div><div id="ms__id15">Wow is it good to be home!</div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-8144662291840256902008-08-06T07:51:00.001-07:002008-08-06T07:53:12.380-07:00Military Coup in MauritaniaHave no fear faithful readers...I am a-okay. More laterMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-29732079994854558802008-08-05T06:10:00.000-07:002008-08-05T06:13:35.218-07:00Crap It's August<div id="ms__id232">Damn, July did slip by. It's August. Evidently, time does fly by when you are having fun. Being that it's August, let the countdown begin. Just 17 more days will my birthday. Gets those cards and letters in the mail. </div><div id="ms__id233"> </div><div id="ms__id234">Cheers from here</div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-75967808033916484922008-08-05T05:54:00.000-07:002008-08-05T06:21:30.952-07:00Back Safe and Sound<div id="ms__id224">I don’t want to let July slip by without making a post. To be honest, I have not been too terribly inspired. The heat in the Sahara melts away anything cleaver from my brain before it can blossom into a story. </div><div id="ms__id225"></div><div id="ms__id226"> </div><div id="ms__id243">In the last week a number of pcv’s have come up for a visit (why they would come here in July vexes me, but they do) Anyway, to a person, each gets out of the car and remarks on how hot it is up here. Far hotter then their sites. <em>What the hell!</em> Wow is that depressing. I knew it was hot, but I just assumed everywhere here was hot. Christ, everyone is always talking about how hot Nema is. Apparently not. Lucky me living in the furnaces for hell.<br /><br />So as I have nothing witty to tell, let’s just go with some news. Atar utilities are on the border between very challenging and untenable at the moment. The electricity has been out since I arrived back from France coupled with inconsistent Water. To be factual, I now have power from about midnight to 8 – 9 in the AM. However, that isn’t really very useful. So, I have unplugged my refrigerator (that which keeps me sane) until such time that I can actually use it. What is the point of having things cold when you can’t open the door to get them out…or put things in? <em>Grrrrooooowwwwl.<br /></em><br />France was Paradise. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to sit around a table, eating delicious food, drinking lovely wine and talking with friends and family. It has been so long since I have been able to hang out with those of my ilk and it felt great. I went to the Cote D’Azur, Paris and the Cote D’Emeraud. (pull out your maps) All were lovely and picturesque. The French were warm and charming…even the bloody waiters.<br /><br />It was a trip of firsts. I got to sit in the cockpit when we landed in Orly. Holy crap that was exciting. Someday, over cocktails, I’ll tell you the story of how that came to pass. It’s quite good and not fit for prying eyes who read blogs not for enjoyment but checking for appropriate content. A woman needs her secrets and mystery, don't you think?<br /><br />I also ate Stingray wing for the first time in my life. It was quite tasty with a lemon butter caper sauce.<br /><br />At the end, I spent a few days in the Netherlands with my good friends Lydia and William. We didn’t venture far but I had a great time. They live in a bucolic area with enormous Belgian’s as their neighbors. The cows in the Netherlands are incredibly lazy creatures. We passed field and field of ladies in repose which is something I am not sure I have seen before. W & L assures me that that is why Dutch dairy products are so delicious…relaxed, happy bovines. I have to tell you, at first glace I thought the livestock in Europe was quite portly. Each field we past in both France and Holland were full of rolly polly beasts with big butts and bellys. How could they possibly hold up their great hulk with those stubby legs. I suddently realized how accustomed I have become to seeing only severly emaciated animals. My heart broke a little.<br /><br />But back to the food, I have to give a shout out to the best meal that I had while in France. For my last dinner in Paradise, Emmanuel, Janet and I went to a little restaurant that is adjacent to the train station in their village of Gif. Les Sauvages Saveurs. It’s been written up quite a number of times and has some Michelin stars yet my family had not been there yet. We started with Carpaccio soaked in Asian spices (read gingery), followed by a Filet of Lieu (another funny story) on a mound of sweet potato puree, surrounded by gnocchi and drizzled with a creamy ginger sauce………..Oh MaMa! For desert we had a Crème something or other. It was a mound of sweet, creamy goodness with a light ginger glaze surrounded by rounds of candied ginger. Yes I can remember each bite lo these many days later. I pray that they are still around when I next return to Gif.<br /><br />The next day, I hop on a flight back to Nouakchott-got bumped to 1st class again. Okay, coming back wasn’t too bad. I went out for coffee, pizza, beer, wine….all the treats the capital has to offer. I also paid a visit to the dentist to have my permanent crown installed (is that the word). Things were going so far so good.<br /><br />The following day I took a long taxi brousse back to Atar and its useless utilities and storm aftermath. I tell ya, after seeing the sight of my house, which was full of sand and my hyma which was all a kilter from a storm; I nearly headed back to the airport. But I didn’t. I chose the next best thing; I threw a little tantrum. Just for a little bit though as I had to pull myself together what with my new sitemates (5 new in Atar, 10 new to the Adrar) arriving in just a few hours. I felt compelled to greet them with a modicum of enthusiasm. I think I pulled it off. However, they would be a better judge of my success.<br /><br />So now, I am spending far too much time on facebook. Is it me or is it the slowest bloody site on the web?<br /><br />Later today I am off to Nouakchott for a few days for our MTR (mid term reconnect) then down to Rosso to teach a session on CereAmine to the new volunteers.<br /><br />Cheers from here</div><div id="ms__id227"></div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-48608548050221585692008-06-20T02:36:00.000-07:002008-06-20T03:02:50.285-07:00Aoujeft Training<div id="ms__id14">This past weekend I helped with another CereAmine training in a town about 1.5 hours from here called Aoujeft or Owjeft or Aujeft, take your pick. The spelling changes from sign post to sign post. Aoujeft is a town that by my impression, is being engulfed by sand dunes, at least, the old part of town where I spent all of my time. I have not been so physically uncomfortable since I got out of Stage in Boghe, and you all remember how miserable that was. It’s hard to believe that that misery was just one year ago. The year feels like a lifetime and yesterday all at once. The trainer, Zeina and I left on Thursday evening in a very comfy ride. Comfy is defined as the car only having 4 passengers rather than the requisite 6. The ride took longer than expected because it seemed as though we were driving around in circles out in the dunes just a few kilometers out of town. I could see the town but we couldn’t quite seem to make it. The driver wasn’t lost, we were merely dropping some fella off out in the middle of nowhere. We finally arrive and everyone notices that Zeina is 8 months, 4 weeks, 5 days and 36 hours pregnant. How did I miss that? (go to the flickr photos and see if you can pick out the pregnant woman) I know that in the South, in the African culture, one doesn’t mention someone’s pregnancy. You don’t want to attract God’s wrath. It is the same reasoning behind having bridesmaids in a wedding, to confuse the evil spirits. I am not sure if the same goes in the Moor culture, so to be safe, we don’t say anything.<br /><br />First thing we do after we arrive is deposit Zeina at our counterpart, Amenitou’s house. Amenitou is a cross between the Energizer Bunny and Joan Rivers. It felt odd to just leave Zeina at a house of strangers, but I am assured that that is how it is done here. And considering how pregnant she is, I was fairly certain she didn’t want to trudge up and down any more sand dunes than necessary. So off we go, Jolene, Heather and I, to organize for the next day. Thankfully, a Peace Corps vehicle had come through Atar on its way out to Aoujeft a couple of weeks before and I could send the grains along with them. To your door service in and Land Rover is far, far superior to lugging 39K over wretched sand dunes on foot. So the 3 of us take some time, sit down, and go over our game plan. We trudge back up the sand dunes for dinner at Amenitou’s house and then trudge back down to Jolene’s for some shut eye, dripping puddles of sweat all along the way. Amenitou did not join us for dinner as she was orchestrating the movement of a sand dune.<br /><br />Yes, the town is moving a sand dune. Apparently, this particular dune is the route into town and had become too steep which made entering Aoujeft treacherous. As I hadn’t seen the beginning of this project, I couldn’t really wrap my brain around what and how this was being accomplished, or actually if anything was being accomplished. But nonetheless, great hordes of folks would gather on the offending dune each evening around sunset, many with shovels and rice sacks, and many just for what appeared to be moral support. Those with shovels shoveled and those with rice bags dragged them loaded with sand away until late, late in the evening. Mind you, they didn’t move the sand far, just to the side, or bottom of the dune. I suspect that the next good wind storm will put all of the sand right back to where Mother Nature had so carefully placed it before, but what do I know.<br /><br />So we are back at Jolene’s for some shut eye with the alarm set for bright and early. I take a quick shower, in the yard (more on the facilities later) to wash off the sand and sweat and cool myself down so that I can fall into deep slumber. I need my beauty rest as Heather and I are to slog back up the damn dune to pick up Zeina and escort her to the training location. Jolene’s task was to organize the movement from the grains that are being stored at the Jardin des Enfants to the training location.<br /><br />Jolene’s place is astonishingly Spartan. She has no electricity, no source of water (well or robinet) and no toilet; although every other house I visited in Aoujeft had at a minimum of 2 of those 3 luxuries. For water, one must walk across a sand lot to the Jardin Des Enfants to fill your 20L bidon at their spigot and drag the blasted thing back. For nature’s call, during daylight hours, one goes back to the Jardin to use that toilet. During darkness, one merely pees in the yard. God knows what happens if one had to do any real business in the middle of the night. Or worse, what would one do if one was stricken, as we so often are, with some nasty intestinal crud ? I suppose one would just lay in the Kindergarden yard and hope for death or health, which ever came first. Luckily I didn’t have to face that dilemma. She also has no wall to speak of surrounding her compound, so I am rather sure a few of the neighborhood goats cuddled up with me during the night. And lastly, she has no roof. Well, she has a roof, but not one that would hold the weight of a slumbering body. So we had to lie in the yard which is oddly, not covered with sand, but with boulders. I am still asking myself, and anyone else I can find, how she has lived like this for 2 years<br /><br />At any rate, I am clean and damp so I fall asleep. But not for long, as soon as I dry I am drenched in sweat. I haven’t been this hot at night since last summer in my beloved Boghe. Oh how I longed for my rooftop perch. Being up on the roof gets you up into the breeze and up off the sand and its store of ambient heat from the searing hot, Saharan sun. It is easily 10 degrees cooler up on a roof. I pass the night tossing and turning on the rocks, slick with my own sweat and snuggled with my goats. As you can imagine, I sure was bright-eyed the next morning.<br /><br />Day 1: Friday the 13th </div><br /><div id="ms__id16"></div><br /><div id="ms__id17">It was blistering hot. Bright and early, Heather and I trudge up the dunes to fetch the trainer as scheduled. But there is no one home. We trudge to a neighbor’s house where we ran into the rest of the participants the previous evening. No one home there either. We trudge back to Aminetou’s house to pilfer her kitchen equipment and trudge yet again, back down to the training facility. Let me clarify, this training facility is a vacant house owned by Aminetou. It’s 7:30 am and we are drenched with sweat. We arrived at the training locale and many of the women had gathered, quite early by RIM standards. We had suggested that the training start at 8 am but it seemed that Aminetou had scheduled it for 9 am so we waited for the rest of the women to arrive. By that time, the sun had taken over most of the courtyard (see flickr photos) and we were pressed into the little shade left against the walls. With great relief, unlike the first training, these ladies embraced the soap. We had to buy more for the second day. They would rinse, lather and repeat, all the way to their elbows, between each step and before and after each meal. It was such a relief. I only had to become cranky pants at one or two women on only a couple of occasions.<br /><br />We spent the day cleaning, washing, roasting grains and getting to know each other. It was a physically miserable, miserable day. I was filthy and my eyes were red and swollen from the sweat that dripped off my brow all day. I think I made a faux pas though at the end. It’s kind of hard to tell as the women spoke Zero French and I speak Zero Hassaniya (yet again). Also, the cadence and tone of their language makes it incredibly difficult to decipher mood. They might just as easily be telling you off as wishing you a happy birthday; Hassaniya is just harsh on the ears. My error was that I took a bucket bath right next to the cistern. I just threw my BouBou over the doorway for a bit of privacy and rinsed off. As I always have soap in my purse, it was easy peasy. In my defense, I saw one of the RIM ladies doing it earlier in the day…so I figured what the heck. I was desperate to get the sweat, sand and grim off of me and cool down. Add to that the fact that I didn’t want to spend any more time in the toilet at that house then absolutely necessary and you can see my rational and motivation to bath where I did. My clue that I might have done a no-no was that when Heather went to follow suit, she was shooed into the nasty bathroom. Ah well.<br /><br />We finally broke about 6:30. Heather, Jolene and I go back to Jolene’s place to reorganize for the next day, sort out the money and receipt so that every ouguiya is accounted for, and relax a bit. We trudge up the sand dune yet again, for dinner, which was served really late. We weren’t entirely sure we were going to get dinner. While we were sitting around on the natte out on a sand dune waiting, the cook took a 45 minute nap. Also, the women who came from out of town were suppose to be eating with us but they were no where to be seen. We had been told by Aminetou to purchase a kilo of meat to feed everyone, but no one was there. Then when the plate finally came, there was so little meat on it, we were suspicious. Where did all of that meat go? As Aminetou was on Sand Dune duty, there was no way to find out. When I am working with HCN’s I am often confused as to the who, what, where, when and most perplexing, the why of things. For example, we tried all day to explain to the women that we needed more equipment to work with. They had been given a list, in Arabic, of items needed. And further, the PC Staff went over the list again, when he delivered the grains, in fluent Hassaniya. Yet, after all of that, we didn’t have nearly enough tubs, bowls or Marmit’s (the big cooking pots). One of the difficulties setting up a training where the women travel in from surrounding villages is that you can't ask them to lug along all of their kitchen equipment. Therefore you have to rely on the women that live locally to empty out their kitchen. Which didn't seem to happen, Jolene ended up empting out her and her neighbor's kitchen. To avoid this problem for the next day, before we broke for the evening, the trainer explained that we needed more large vessels and sifters for the following day. After dinner, we trudged back home to bath in the yard and go to bed.<br /><br />What happened in during the night? The wind kicked up and a sandstorm took hold. Evidently, Allah wanted her sand back where she put it. Being far too hot to go inside, we just suffered through it. Truth be told, I was too tired to be conscious enough to suffer. I’d just wake up every once in a while, reposition on the boulders and try to keep the sheet wrapped tightly around my head to keep the sand out. In my book, sand and wind are far superior to heat and sweat. Heather urgently disagrees. The direction of the wind was from my feet so it kept blowing up my neck and into my nose. If I would have had any sense I would have turned around….but I didn’t. I just tried to sleep. Besides, I already knew the comfy spots between the boulders. Although I had the sheet folded into 8ths, just to protect my head, every time I moved, a shower of sand would come sifting through the fibers onto me. What a night. What a mess. Another bleary-eyed morning.</div><br /><div id="ms__id18"></div><br /><div id="ms__id19">Day 2:<br /><br />We show up in the am and once again, most women were there bright and early. They had already started the tea and were awaiting a bowl of CereAmine. To that end, they proceed to light the charcoal to heat up two enormous pots. This seemed premature to me as we hadn’t finished making it yet, which we try to convey, but no one was listening. It's like herding cats. Then, in walks Aminetou. She flips out (at least I think she did) about the coals being started and possibly that we were sitting around and hadn’t started working yet. (At least I think those were the problems, as I said, it was all in Arabic). The coals made sense to me but the not starting work did not as the flour had not been delivered from the miller and we couldn’t do anything until after that happened. She was speaking very, very, very harshly to everyone, (or wishing us happy birthday) I tried to calm her down with a bit of success. She calmed down for a bit, but she flared up again. The poor woman needs more sleep, we all needed more sleep. The flour finally arrived with a receipt larger than anticipated. I quickly pull out my phone (it has a calculator) to figure out the problem. This is another tricky part of doing projects. One has to be careful that the resources are being spent and distributed appropriately and not lining the pockets of a favored relative or vendor. And 32kg at 40 um per Kilo is not 1500um. With one issue pending about last night’s meat, I wanted to make sure that all knew that I was keeping track of each Ouguiya. After that, and many a ruffled feather, we started working.<br /><br />And no, there was no more equipment brought for the mornings work. Arrrggghhh. It is so difficult to get a straight answer or give a directive around here. Just trying to record the participant’s names and birth years is impossible. Heather explained that many don’t know their birth year but I am not buying it. Everyone in this country has to carry an ID card and present it at every check point and their birth years must be on that card. My belief is that the women were just messing with us. I will confess, I am not keen to shout out my birth year anymore. So they were probably having a few laughs at my expense. It certainly isn’t the first time in my life that has happened and I am confident it won’t be the last. Honestly, teasing is a way of life here. I suppose they believe that the levity eases the stress. Fo me, on this particular day, not so much. Ir was yet one more straw to the camel’s back of communication challenges. As they say, timing is everything.<br /><br />As for equipment, come to find out that those handy dandy “high tech” sifter (they look like a big can with wire on the bottom) are not used in the villages, that’s only for city folk In the villages, they just tie a mulafa over the tub (see flickr photos) and push the flour through. It all worked.<br /><br />About 10, in the middle of the sifting, they finally start heating up the CereAmine. At this point we have an accident. As one woman was carrying the Marmit to a more protected place, out of the sand storm, she turned and in the process she sloshed boiling water all over another’s hand. I chased the burned hand around trying to pour cool water on it. Said victim finally slowed down and lets me do it. I then had to get some ice. Glace is what it’s called. I try to get someone to point me in the direction of a boutique that has a working freezer. I pulled out a 100 um and they gave it to a kid who hurries off. Kid returns and I get the wounded one to sit and hold the ice on the burn for awhile. No more did we settle down from the burn then one of the little one’s came in the room howling. Lots of snot, crocodile tears and cries of agony. She had been stung by a scorpion between her toes. Poor little thing. I took the ice from the burn victim, she’d had it on 20 minutes, and put it on the little one’s foot. They all looked at me as if I was nuts. I tried to explain that it won’t fix the sting but it will help with the pain, at least that is what our first aid handbook recommends. Scorpion sting care was the first paragraph that I read. I hope to never put it to use on myself. I pulled out the change from the 100um and send another child off for another chunk of ice. The silver lining, all of these accidents provided us the perfect opportunity for a first aid lesson.<br /><br />We finally finished sifting the CereAmine about 11. Time for a little celebration. Drums, dance, laughter. All the while, the sand storm is blowing outside.<br /><br />After that we spend an hour or so going over our lessons: “What is CereAmine and how does it improve the Mauritanian diet”, Sanitation, the all new Burn Care, and Setting the cost of the product.<br /><br />Next we gave out Certificates and the booklets. Interestingly, somehow there were more certificates being written then there were women in the room.<br /><br />These trainings are an emotional roller coaster. Most of the time they are fun, but there is also alot of stress involved in corralling, cajoling and managing a large group of Mauritanian women particularly with no common language. There is also the problem with allocation of resources, primarily food. Within a family or a cooperative every little thing is scrupulously divided equally. It feels almost fanatical they way the portion and reportion the plates of food so that everything is equal. The women spend a good deal of time doing this before each meal. It is so important, that in my family in Boghe, once the plate was portioned, it was then inspected by my Mother who inevitably, moved a tad from here to there. But get outside the sphere of family, coop or tribe and it’s becomes brutal free-for-all. I have had the pleasure to attend 3 GMC closings this spring and each one of them turned to chaos as soon as snacks were served. We serve enough snacks so that each girl can have a piece of fruit, a little cake and a couple of cookies, you know, what you’d normally do at a party. Well at these parties, some of the girls took handfuls. Some were hording. It's not that all or even the majority acted so badly. It's that those who were acting so badly did so unblushingly and with absolutely no shame. I had to ask a couple of girls to open their mulafa and I took back 6 bananas and scores of the little prepackaged cakes. In Tawaz, some of the big girls bullied the younger girls into giving them their portion. Many times, these were their big sisters. The debacle left me so flustered and annoyed with the girls that I didn’t get any photos of the younger girls making bracelets which in hindsight, I regret. I can’t imagine that my older sisters would force me into forking over my goodies at a party. And if they had tried to take my food, I know I wouldn’t have given it up without a tussle. And it’s not just the girls; there was a similar incident at a recent gathering of grown women in NKC. When the cans of evaporated milk for the coffee, were placed on the table some of the women procured them all and put them in their purses. Mind you, the cans had already been opened. So these ladies must have had evaporated milk spilled all over the contents of their bags. Consequently, there was no cream for the coffee. Giving out snacks is awful. It feels like I am on the back of a truck like you see on the news, unloading supplies at a refugee camp and everyone is pushing, crowding and grabbing whatever they can. (Note to self, not the job for me). Needless to say, it is disturbing to witness seemingly sweet girls who were just working together beautifully turn unabashedly greedy.<br /><br />This all leads back to Aoujeft, and since we are training women from various cooperatives, we are keen to be sure that everyone gets an equal amount of all that there is to divvy up. Being from the outside, I don’t really know where the power lies in this group, this community. So, when things seem suspicious, like where did all of that meat go, why did I pay more for the milling than I should have, where are all of the kilo’s of CereAmine, it sends up a few red flags that I feel I should heed. But worry not, all was well. The meat did get where it was suppose to, everyone was fed and the milling costs worked out as well.<br /><br />Finally, lunch is served. I should have taken a photo. The plates contained more meat and vegetables then you would ever find in a Mauritania home even in the best of times. Food is cooked here to a temperature that would melt gold. Everything is brought to a molten, furious boil. The plate was a molten pile of Orzo pasta. I dug my hand in and promptly withdrew it as the food was way, way, way, way, way to hot to hold. Hymie Hotta! So I just sit there, I am sure it will cool down this century. Besides, it’s really too hot to eat anyway. The woman sitting next to me tore apart a nearby box to fan my portion. I dig in again. Wow, still way to hot. She then teaches me the correct method for eating molten food with your hand. You fan it, then scrap up just the first cooled layer, ball it and pop it in your mouth. She balls it up and handed it to me. I take it and pop it into my mouth. I then attempt this feat for myself, scraping the top layer of pasta into my hand to ball. And I can’t. Pasta is impossible to ball. I just shove the handful, sloppily into my mouth. Seeing my struggle, my neighbor proceeds to hand me pre-made balls for nearly every bite I get. I nearly fall over laughing. It was just like being transported back to training, but in Boghe, they just handed me a spoon. (see flickr photos, my savior is in the photo titled “Group Shot” in the solid white mulafa on the far front right).<br /><br />The sandstorm persisted the rest of the afternoon. I finally pull into Atar that evening tired, hungry and filthy, but very happy to be home sweet home.<br /><br />Cheers from here,<br /><br />I am leaving for France next week so you won't be hearing from me for awhile. </div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-19590062067915741742008-06-08T04:38:00.000-07:002008-06-08T04:50:50.629-07:00Footage of MauritaniaVideo footage of a segment on the food crisis and Mauritania with video footage:<br /><a href="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/business/jan-june08/food_04-29.html">http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/business/jan-june08/food_04-29.html</a><br /><br /><br /><br />There is also a commercial on local arabic tv by Mattel, the cell phone company that was just released that has spectacular footage of Mauritania. It's filmed so beautifully, you'll want to come visit. Heck it made me rethink the place. I'll try to find it and post it. However, if someone finds it first, please forward it on to me.<br /><br /><br /><br />Cheers from here<br /><br /><br /><br />ps, posting more photos and a little video clip on flickrMadame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-41496988543162489582008-05-29T07:31:00.000-07:002008-12-10T04:13:57.827-08:00Yeah, I'm Bad<div id="ms__id12"><br /><div id="ms__id11">Okay, so today, I was feeling really cocky. Like, hey, I’m cool; I’ve got this Mauritanian thing whipped, Yeah, I am invincible. Yeah, I am in the toughest post in Peace Corps, but I’m OKAY. I was up with the sun. Did some laundry; did some dishes; set out on a long, long walk and was back while it was still reasonably cool and not too late to eat breakfast at breakfast time.<br /><br />Yeah, I was feeling pretty sassy. If not a little sweaty, so into the shower I go. I’ve got some time on my hands because for once, I have no where to be all day. So I shampoo, luffa, exfoliate with ginger, pumice my heels, the whole shebang. Man do I have the PC gig wired, I can actually feel refreshed and spiffy clean with a bucket bath in a Turkish toilet. Did I mention that I am invincible? To put the cherry on the sundae, I dump the remaining water in the bucket down the toilet so it has that extra clean, extra fresh ginger fresh (the exfoliating scrub) scent. As I lift the bucket, a scorpion comes out from beneath and runs over my naked, wet foot. It takes a second for me to register that it is not just a big roach, disgusting in and of itself. Once I do, I start hopping around like a mad woman. Holy Christ! I bludgeoned the little devil with a makaresh severing the dreaded tail. He wasn’t too big, maybe a couple of inches long, but in this instance, size does not matter. I nearly have a heart attack. Thank god it didn’t sting e. 2 seconds after I think I have this whole deal under control, Africa sends me a little sompin sompin that scares the wits out of me. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205808478960910994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh314yCaZ28eOYSbusA9JcApTCJLSzaZ9RL3VKi_gyWjjVfUGhL2C4cNcTZVPSv2xkZc4ijmfotMiME2IxCI5Us5TZyY6NIBkCxTq3gKJfZXDUe5FgIyJTvi9iOfv-7rhqWFqSHp0ckd4ql/s400/DSC01589.JPG" border="0" /><br /><br />Cheers from here,</div></div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-75269091855375437752008-05-26T09:48:00.000-07:002008-05-26T09:54:40.009-07:00Puzzlemeister<div id="ms__id16">Happy Mother’s Day/Memorial Day and we landed another Rover on Mars. GO NASA!<br /><br />Well this is quite a weekend. Yesterday was Mother's Day here in the RIM. It didn't appear to be much of a holiday for the mothers. The children were out of school and all the businesses were closed, thus mom was stuck monitoring the children and cooking a big feast for everyone in the household. This seemed to be quite a gyp (is that a slur on gypsy’s? And I just learned that gypsy’s is a slur on Egyptians. Who knew?) and a little backwards, if you ask me. The RIM could use a good CoCos for which to take Mom to brunch. <br /><br />And today, I just remembered, is Memorial Day. Oh, all of those outdoor BBQ's that must be going, adding to your carbon footprint. I am very jealous to be missing the BBQ and the Indy 500.<br /><br />Also, today was the first day that working at the Feeding Center. To be perfectly candid, I was apprehensive about this commitment I had made to Genevieve. I recall quite vividly my one and only babysitting experience. I HATED it. You may not know that about me, but I don't really like little children. Let me rephrase that. I am more comfortable and would rather do the physical work associated with little kids than sitting down on the floor and play tinker toys with them. So, I show up at the center hoping to just dive into cleaning, weighing, cooking, medicine dolling, etc........But no, I introduce myself and my intention and am thusly escorted to the room full of 40ish kids. I am then given my very own group of 8 3-4 year olds and a big wooden train puzzle. These 8 little darlings (well and frankly the whole room of 40) look at me as if I am about to eat them for breakfast. Mind you that there have been a number of French volunteers that have come through this center, months at a time, from October till about a month ago; so why this (my) new toubab face is frightening, I can not say. Anyway, we attempt this puzzle together for a bit. I try to get their names but can’t. Between the noise of the other children and the hard to pronounce Arabic names, and yet again, our lack of a common language, I can’t get a one. I do manage to tell them that my name is Sharon and not Nassraniya. Back to the puzzle. How in the hell do you teach someone the strategy of puzzling. Okay, I try, in vain, to explain that the wheels on the train should always be on the bottom, making it a bit easier to figure out which way the puzzle pieces should fit. Neither should the cows shouldn’t be upside down, nor the boat, nor the sheep, again, a clue as to the correct positioning of the piece. Mind you, they speak only Hassaniya and I can't get any of that idea conveyed in French. I am lacking this very specific vocabulary: puzzle, piece, upside down, turn it over, other way, a little to the left, right center, position, shape, wheels, caboose, engine, get your fingers out of your nose, etc. Needless to say, we had a tough time with this little puzzle. I don't believe they had ever done a puzzle prior to my arrival. Then, happily, saved by the bell. Genevieve showed up and there were clearly some doings in the office that I should look in on. Yippee, up I jump to the office.<br /><br />After about 15, she leaves, I return to my post as the Puzzlemeister, and my crew of 8. Well, apparently they have done this puzzle before-many times- because when I returned they had torn it apart and reassembled it sans moi, in perfect order with no bloodshed. What next you ask? We proceed to do the puzzle a couple more times. After a bit, the center manager comes over to observe the proceedings and give her input on puzzle strategy. Let’s just say that she is far more severe in her puzzling. Puzzling is apparently a much more serious endeavor then I had naively thought. She also had way more vocabulary with which to express her strategy, because they hopped to it. <em><strong>“We’ll have no shenanigans during this round of the puzzle”. <br /><br /></strong></em>Somewhere along the line we, me and the 3 year olds, start discussing (using the term very loosely) body parts: Nose, Eyes, Ears, Mouth, Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. You see where I am going with this don't you? <strong> <em><span style="color:#6633ff;">Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes, Head Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Knees and Tooooooes. Eyes and Ears and Mouth and Nose. Head Shoulders Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes</span></em></strong>. Well, I can't exactly get a rousing chorus going but we manage to get through it a couple of times. The little ones are having as difficult time pronouncing and memorizing the body parts as I was their names. They are intently watching my mouth to see exactly how one says “mouth”. At this English lesson, I even have staff’s attention. Let me assure you, "shoulders" is really difficult for the Mauritanian tongue to handle. And Mouth? I considered Mlouf a success.<br /><br />At this point it’s 10 am, time for a meal. I am not sure if this meal is considered breakfast or lunch, so let's settle on brunch. Brunch consisted of CereAmine. (Yahoo) I think I explained in my "Day in the Life” blog about how children eat here. They certainly don't take 3 bites, walk away, come back in 10 minutes, take 3 more bites, walk away, watch TV, come back take 3 more bites as my young niece and nephews did, leaving soggy bowls of cereal on the counter all morning and prolonging the meal for hours. This food is wolfed down. If they don’t wolf it down or don’t appear to be serious about ingesting this repast, their cup taken away and given to another child to relish or at least wolf down. These tikes eat every drop, scraping the bottom and shaking the bowls to get every little morsel. Okay, so brunch is over in 10 minutes flat.<br /><br />The Big News. Over the course of the morning, I have managed to fall in love. In my group of 8 3-4 year olds is the most beautiful cherub I have ever laid eyes on. I think 3 is the perfect age, just a wee bit independent and just a weep bit clingy and still small enough to lift easily. I can’t tell if it is a boy or a girl. It is dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, so my impression is that he is a boy. He has shortish curly brown hair, a round belly, enormous brown eyes and the longest doe lashes you have ever laid eyes on. Finally he lifts up his sweatshirt to reveal a frilly t-shirt underneath. And, it appears, through my acute observation, that except for this one little boy in my group of 8 girls, all of the other groups are segregated by sex. So now I assume she is a girl. Not that it matters, because we have fallen in love. After lunch she sits nearly on top of me and I can barely take my eyes off of her. But enough romance. <br /><br />Brunch is over. Let the drumming and dancing can begin. Drumming and dancing are forbidden before the brunch. I was told that we would get no quiet learning done if that rule wasn’t imposed as the girls would prefer to dance all day. The boys, not so much. They were, as to be expected, reticent about this whole, getting up in public, dancing business. But out come the tomtoms, which are plastic buckets turned upside down, and the rhythm takes over the room. Doe eyes stays very close to me; I clap and she dances. The others come too. I am the piedpiper. <br /><br />Well about 11:15 and it’s time to say goodbye. One mother arrives and she promptly joins into the dancing. Another mother arrives and dances too. I assume this pickup process will take 30 – 40 minutes as the mother’s arrive to collect their little ones. But no, in mass, the remaining 40ish, 3-4 year olds leave ALONE. They just step through the gate into the road, heading home on the streets with only their little selves for protection, company and sound judgment. I gasp; my heart does a little flip; as does my stomach. I wasn’t at the center early in the morning to see them arrive alone, so I had forgotten that part of my stage life with the children in my family in Boghe. Children here are out in the roads playing alone, or being attended by a slightly older sibling as soon as they can walk. They are sent to the market to fetch such and such or to neighbors to deliver such and such as soon as they can walk surefooted. It is very, very, very difficult to witness coming from the land where little ones are coddled to the point of removing lead paint, mommy and me classes and car seats. I will need to brace myself, steel my heart for Wednesday’s mass exedux, my second day as Puzzlemeister, for this rough side of Life in the RIM. <br /><br />The center manager, Fatematou, is very nice, patient with my french and unruffled by the chaos of 40 children. She seemed pleased with my interaction and presence and she said that she was glad to have me there…so all in all, a grand success.<br /><br />Cheers from here, <br /><br />Check out my new Photos on Flickr</div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-5945901745415015342008-04-29T10:07:00.001-07:002008-04-29T10:08:52.707-07:00More photos on flickr<div id="ms__id128">Check it out, I uploaded some more photos onto flickr. </div>Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1324433167702024801.post-22042390091914634802008-04-13T04:24:00.000-07:002008-04-13T04:28:03.407-07:00Food is Not Enough:Without Essential Nutrients Millions of Children Will Die<a href="http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/news/issue.cfm?id=2396">http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/news/issue.cfm?id=2396</a><br /><br />This is a good link with both uplifting and distressing news. It was sent to me by our newly reinstalled USAID Program Manager who I had the pleasure of breakfasting with yesterday. Note that Mauritania is smack dab in the middle of the Sahel.Madame Toubabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191103679117226326noreply@blogger.com2