Madame Toubab or My Life in Peace Corps Mauritania

Peace Corps Suspends Volunteer Program in Mauritania

2009-08-23T14:09:00.000-07:00

WASHINGTON, D.C., August 12, 2009

Peace Corps Statement on the Suspension of the Volunteer Program in Mauritania:

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.

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.

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.

The Peace Corps has enjoyed a long history of successful partnerships with the communities of Mauritania since 1967.

African al-Qaeda 'killed' US man BBC

2009-06-25T05:04:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb said it had targeted Mr Leggett for allegedly spreading Christianity in the country.

Al-Jazeera said it could not verify the authenticity of the message.

"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.

Unidentified gunmen ran up to Mr Leggett in the Mauritanian capital, Nouakchott, on Tuesday and shot him several times, witnesses said.

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.

Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb is most active in Algeria, where it grew out of the remnants of the country's Islamist insurgency.

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.

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.

The authorities also blamed the group for attacking the Israeli embassy in the capital, Nouakchott, in February last year.

Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/8118328.stm

Published: 2009/06/25 09:33:50 GMT

On the Road Again

2009-06-21T07:39:00.000-07:00

I 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 Land Rover.

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 Nouakchott 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.

Shockingly, there was no working a/c, just a warm fan slightly blowing. That coupled with a mild sand storm 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).

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 plastic bags 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.

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.

Anyway, I am alive, no worse for wear and have exactly 14 days left in Atar.
Alhumdulilah.
Cheers from here

The Countdown

2009-05-02T14:35:00.000-07:00

94 days.

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.

Cheers from here

Things are Winding Down

2009-04-17T04:27:00.000-07:00

My 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.

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.

Cheers from here,

Remis is an understatement

2009-03-11T11:13:00.000-07:00

Yes, 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.

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.

Cheers from here.

Happy New Year

2009-01-05T07:19:00.000-08:00

Well, you would have thought I'd seen it all by now but,

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.

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.

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.

I think I have been here a little too long.

To a Happy, Healthy and Prosperous New Year

Tobaski in Tawaz

2008-12-12T11:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday (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.

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.

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. Yummy! 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.

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. Crap! Okay, 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).

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.

Pic’s to come as soon as I retrieve them from Kelsea

Cheers from Here

2008-12-10T08:52:00.001-08:00

238 Days to go

The final countdown

2008-12-05T13:29:00.000-08:00

8 months and 1 day, but who is counting.

Riding the Storm Out

2008-11-23T08:13:00.000-08:00

As 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.

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.

Me: Blah blah blah, listen to your customer.
Blah, blah, blah, the customer is always right.
Blah, blah blah the goal of a meeting is to resolve (resoudre) issues not battle with your clients about who
is right and wrong.
Blah, blah, blah, never call your customer a thief.

Him: If a customer starts hitting you, you aren’t required to sit and take it.

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.

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” (now that really sounds like my old life) Forget my idea that we offer an apology.

I begin by asking the question, how do you treat customers so that they keep buying your product? To that I received a list of terrific answers. I ended that section with “it’s easier to keep a customer then find a new one”.

Next, I say “it’s important to evaluate what happened with LEDD and how we can move forward". 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, “I heard two problems expressed (amidst all of the name calling). The mother’s said that their children didn’t like the flavor and that some became sick. After the translation, the group eye’d me suspiciously.

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. (yes, I am back at MHC) Somehow, we need to try to diminuez la resistance.

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.

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?) Man, I want to go fishing in the Sierra’s.

Next on the agenda, what we can do differently next time to lessen the problems and diminish the resistance to CereAmine? 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)

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.

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.

Things might be looking up.
Cheers from here,
Happy Thanksgiving

Mauritania police: Ousted ex-president freed

2008-11-15T08:26:00.000-08:00

Here are some current headlines.

Mauritania police: Ousted ex-president freed

By AHMED MOHAMED Ahmed Mohamed – Thu Nov 13, 8:57 am ET

NOUAKCHOTT, Mauritania – The military junta that ousted Mauritania's president released him Thursday in response to international pressure, police and his family said.

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.

Cheikh said Abdallahi's release came in response to an ultimatum from the European Union. The United States also had called for his release.

Abdallahi told Arab television network Al-Jazeera that he considered himself the rightful ruler of Mauritania.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Abdallahi's election marked the country's first free and fair elections in two decades. Mauritania gained independence from France in 1960.

I wish I was at King's Island riding the Racer instead

2008-11-15T08:18:00.000-08:00

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.

Last week, after a very fruitful meeting with our soon to be leaving USAID representative, I was stoked. She was very enthusiastic about the success of my CéréAmine project. 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. Whatever he had planned for Tuesday went right out the window to attend these meetings with me. This stroke of luck also bought me a few more days in the paradise that is Nouakchott.

9 am: World Food Program. 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). 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. My French was worthless. I could barely hang onto the conversation. God Bless Douda and his flawless linguistic skills. We left with the promise that we would e-mail her the specifics on CéréAmine.

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? What stands out the most is the pace of life. Here, I feel accomplished if I complete one errand a day. « okay, today I must go to the post; today I had better make it to the bank; okay, come hell or high water, today I must absolutely buy soap>. 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. In truth, I was running my tail off, many people to see, so much food to consume. I felt like one of those geese being prepared for fois gras. I just ate, and ate, and ate, and ate. Ooops, I digressed. But on the other hand, I don’t believe I was going at that much faster a pace then before. I seem to have lost my skills of multi-tasking. America rocked the Zen like calm that has come to me over here. Frankly, if you don’t slow down and chill out while here, you will lose your mind.

But I digress yet again. The WFP went. They have their own cross to bear with their 530 feeding centers run by 36 ONG’s. 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. Blah, blah, blah. Same old, sad story. Where do all of the well intentioned resources go?

I will admit that after that, I was a bit discouraged. 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.) 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. 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.

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.

Next up, Counterparts Intl. Folks, it went brilliantly. Without relaying too many details, mostly because I can’t recall them at the moment, here is the crux of it: they work across the South and East and are trying to create community-specific solutions. 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). They want to create incoming generation, nutrition, resource specific (dams to keep the river out/wells to bring the water in) solutions. Speaking of large nuts. 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. Apparently, there can be too much time from creation to consumption and after awhile it goes bad. Thusly, a locally produced product (like CéréAmine) fits directly into their goals and is required by their budget. Humdulilah! Douda and I were high 5’ing as we left; my heart was doing a little jig. I knew I was on to something. I am back on track.

Third appointment, the French Red Cross….Again we hit a home run. Currently they are focused on the severely malnourished throughout parts of the South. However, in their goals for 2009 is an integrated program like CéréAmine, Feeding Centers/ Women’s cooperatives. Nutrition and income generation all rolled up into one program says integrated to moi. Inshallah, their 2009 budget isn’t decimated due to the global market crash and the coup d’etat. Isn’t it always something.

All in all, a good day. Life is good. I have another couple of contacts to make thanks to my friend at USAID. One of which actually has feeding centers up here in the North and could turn out to be actual work for me. The southern centers will be for another volunteer to tackle. Time will tell how those connections will pan out.

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. There seems to be a problem with the flavor. What? Once I return to Atar the reported problem with CéréAmine varies from flavor, to the children becoming ill, to the cost. What the hell? Okay, this is starting to feel too much like work. The meeting is set for Monday at 4 pm.

That morning Muhammad, Kerry and I have a strategy meeting. 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. If it’s cost, that is understandable. Between the crash in the global markets AND the coup d’etat, donations to Mauritania are really, really, really down. But, again, I have a strategy for this as well. And finally, children aren’t getting diarrhea from the CéréAmine. They can be getting diarrhea from flies, lack of sanitation and the low usage of soap. Heck, that’s how I get it every other minute.

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. Everyone tries to maintain calm at the beginning. Everone tries to keep their composure. 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. They were also at a disadvantage and I am sure frustrated, as none of them speak French (always my frustration) so thusly couldn’t address Genevieve directly. 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. 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. After 1.5 hours, the gang from Les Enfants du Desert did their best not to storm out.

Holy Crap. How am I going to piece this relationship back together? Douda will be coming up to Atar in a few and I am hoping that we can get an audience with Genevieve. Actually, I am not worried that she won’t see us. She loves me. I hope between our calm and Douda’s perfect French, we can actually get to the crux of the matter. 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?) If it was just the flavor, I can’t imagine that she’d cut us out so quickly. 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. If she really thought the product was bad, would she keep buying it? I think not. But she can’t very well turn her back on her responsables. She has invested a lot in them and they have the daily responsibly of running all of her centers. Plus, they have been with her since the beginning. My problem is with the responsables. 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. With CéréAmine, the opportunity is diminished. 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. However, now that it has a direct impact, they are quick to accuse. Unfortunately, now that they have skin in the game, their accusations are less effective because they have something to gain (or lose). Didn’t this logic give me something to ponder? It’s somehow okay to rip off an NGO. Skim a little here; skim a little there is alright. But let it hit home, then the roof comes off the building. 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.

Needless to say, the last couple of days have been tough for me. The truth, as usual, probably lies somewhere in between the issues. But the Skim here, skim there; take from WFP, LEDD; the endless donne moi cadeaux are weighing heavily on my soul. 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. And then, wouldn’t look me in the eyes when she walked into the meeting. (I am not referring to Genevieve; she gave me a wonderful warm hug) It just drove home the fact that I am still a stranger, a nassranyia, a toubab in this place.

On the brighter note, the heat has broken. I still sleep outside, but in flannel pj’s and under a big fleecy blanket. 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. We often share a meal. Also, Chateau Deatrick as resume production.

Cheers from here,

It's been a long time

2008-11-06T08:22:00.000-08:00

Wow, 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.

Until next time.
Adieu.

Phone number while stateside

2008-10-07T12:03:00.000-07:00

619-203-6509

Wow is it good to be home!

Military Coup in Mauritania

2008-08-06T07:51:00.001-07:00

Have no fear faithful readers...I am a-okay. More later

Crap It's August

2008-08-05T06:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Cheers from here

Back Safe and Sound

2008-08-05T05:54:00.000-07:00

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.

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. What the hell! 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.

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? Grrrrooooowwwwl.

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.

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?

I also ate Stingray wing for the first time in my life. It was quite tasty with a lemon butter caper sauce.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So now, I am spending far too much time on facebook. Is it me or is it the slowest bloody site on the web?

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.

Cheers from here

Aoujeft Training

2008-06-20T02:36:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Day 1: Friday the 13th

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.

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.

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.

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.

Day 2:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Next we gave out Certificates and the booklets. Interestingly, somehow there were more certificates being written then there were women in the room.

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.

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.

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).

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.

Cheers from here,

I am leaving for France next week so you won't be hearing from me for awhile.

Footage of Mauritania

2008-06-08T04:38:00.000-07:00

Video footage of a segment on the food crisis and Mauritania with video footage:
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/business/jan-june08/food_04-29.html

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.

Cheers from here

ps, posting more photos and a little video clip on flickr

Yeah, I'm Bad

2008-05-29T07:31:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

Cheers from here,

Puzzlemeister

2008-05-26T09:48:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother’s Day/Memorial Day and we landed another Rover on Mars. GO NASA!

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.

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.

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.

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. “We’ll have no shenanigans during this round of the puzzle”.

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? 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. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cheers from here,

Check out my new Photos on Flickr

More photos on flickr

2008-04-29T10:07:00.001-07:00

Check it out, I uploaded some more photos onto flickr.

Food is Not Enough:Without Essential Nutrients Millions of Children Will Die

2008-04-13T04:24:00.000-07:00

http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/news/issue.cfm?id=2396

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.

Where Ever You Go, There You Are

2008-04-12T16:11:00.000-07:00

There's been quite a lull in the action as of late which is what I find the most challenging about being in the Peace Corps- aside from the poverty and the heat. I get on real highs when the CereAmine training is active, the feeding center is active and it appears as though something is about to happen. But the weeks of lull send me into a funk. Also, when I am working, I am spending lots of time with Mauritanians which makes me feel productive. If I am not working I don’t really get a chance to interact with them, as I don’t enjoy simply socializing. I love the interaction while we are doing something productive, flipping bean skins, roasting grains. But laying around, sweating, in culturally appropriate garb, trying to make small talk isn’t my idea of fun. I'd rather be home reading a book or writing a blog, or taking a nap. That is pretty much how I feel about doing it in the US as well. It just proves the adage, where ever you go, there you are!

Thankfully I have been a stay at home mom for the last 3-4 weeks with little Miss Kitty, and she has occupied me. But like the sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives. Yesterday, Miss Kitty moved to Chinguetti. The house seems very empty. I had to do my laundry without her help. The upside, I did manage to get an extra hour of sleep this morning. Hallelujah. I have been sleep deprived since I scooper her off of the road.

The big news, I ran into Genevieve aka Achia, 2 days ago on the Carrefour. She is the woman who runs Les Enfants Du Desert. Or rather she came in for a quick landing. I am not sure how much coffee she’d had, but she was really wired. She stopped her car in the middle of the road, hopped out, kissed me, then another women she knew drove up and also parked in the middle of the road then Genevieve proceeded to have a meeting in the middle of the rond point. I had a hell of a time hanging onto her French as she was speaking a mile a minute. I can speak African French and I get to feeling a little cocky until I try to have a conversation with a French person. Then my bubble is burst pretty quickly and I spiral into depression that I will never be able to speak this language. I did however; manage to get out that I wanted to put together a meeting with her, my counterpart and the women’s coops to discuss the CereAmine trial. She was ready to do it right then and there, but Morella wasn’t due back in town till that evening, so I opted for 10 am the next day, converging at the rond point. Then off she tears, nearly fishtailing out of the Carrefour, like a mad woman, or a woman on way, way too much caffeine.

Yet, from our brief conversation, I could tell that she had been doing her homework on CereAmine. She was a wealth of information; she even knew the price that the ladies and I had agreed would provide them a reasonable profit. She proceeded to explain all of the benefits to the holistic solution of CereAmine to the other lady who pulled up next to us. Man, this is a small town and/or wow, is she well connected. But okay, I have made some progress after lo these many weeks of stagnation. I have a meeting finally scheduled with her to discuss the trial, the trial that was suppose to start around Easter. At least I think that is what the meeting is for. After she drove away, I was left wondering if I was suppose to go ahead and set up the meeting with my counterpart and the women for 10 the next day.—or what? Oh well.

Fast forward to the next day. I helped Jessica get over to the Chinguetti garage with Kitty then hightailed it to the Carrefour for our rendez-vous. Where Morella and I sit. And sit. And sit. Crap I must have misunderstood our lieu de reunion. 10 am; Carrefour; demaine. How hard is that? I really need to get more sleep. We try to call, but her phone number hasn’t been working for weeks. Then, after about 30 minutes we see her blue SUV pull up at the rond point. Yeah, I didn’t miss understand, she was just running late. So we hop in her car and off we go. Where we are going, I have no idea; who we are seeing, I have no idea; but off she zooms. She drives directly to my counterpart’s office. Theyhave known each other for years and have apparently already spoken about the benefits of CereAmine both for the feeding center and the creation of income for the women’s cooperatives. She is completely onboard.

We scheduled a meeting the coops who will be producing the product for next week. She would also like to witness the actual production to ensure it is conducted in sanitary (a relative term) conditions. I also, want them to make each other aquaintance as I feel it is vital to creating a sustainable relationship between the two parties. Morella and I have explained to both my counterpart and Les Enfants du Desert that we do not want to be in the middle of the transaction. Again, Morella explained that the CereAmine, although we trained them, is the ladies product to sell. Providing all goes well, which it will, we should be in full production to make 120K of CereAmine for the 5/1 trial start. The trial has been expanded to two of the centers.

So once again, all is going well.

Atar Trash Marathon

2008-04-05T15:38:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile since my last post…frankly nothing much has changed. Kitten is growing and thriving. I am anxious to find her a home, although she is still really small and dependant.

We held the annual PC trash pick up/marathon a couple of weekends ago. I had thought I’d participate in the 20k walk but I found myself assigned to hand out water and bananas at kilometer 10. So there I sat, at the intersection of two small dirt roads outside of the little town of Azougi and believe you, me.....I was the local spectacle. Every person that passed slowed to examine my doings. I sat there for over an hour before the first runners/walkers showed up so the town folk couldn't imagine why i was sitting on the ground, in the road, wrapped in my blanket (it was a chilly breeze at 7am) doing a sodoku puzzle beside a tub full of plastic bags filled with water....just sitting at this intersection in the middle of nowhere, lazin away the day. And honestly, I didn't mind it a bit. I have become exceedingly patient in the last year.

A cultural exchange note, whenever you are out on the road, all drivers, to a car, unless it's filled with toubabs, will stop and ask if you need a ride. It has never,ever failed to happen. When i am out on my power walks, every car that passes, sometimes go a few yards, but inevitably stop, reverse and ask if I need a ride. That comes from living in this harsh climate. You'd never leave a soul stuck in the middle of the Sahara. Unless you are white, then you drive on by...

The marathon was a full of mixed emotions. 40+ RIM volunteers came up for the event, and sadly, it might be the last time we see some of them. The second year’s just went to their COS (close of service) conference and will be leaving over the spring/summer. Apparently, the time does fly.

As for the rest of my life and work, it’s pretty slow. The CereAmine trial still hasn’t started. I do not know if the lady who runs Les Enfants du Desert has returned from France. We stopped by a week or so ago and left her a note, but the wind could very easily have blown it away.

The weather is getting really hot. To give you an idea, it’s now 9 pm and the temperature on April 5th is 95 F. …………and now it’s 10:30 and 92 F. I think I can safely speak for all here, we are apprehensive about the summer heat and stillness. The Senegalese souvenirs hawkers are now gone, the teachers will leave as soon as the semester ends, mid June, and we will be left alone. Then comes the gethna, which is the date harvest. This is a time to party the night away amongst the date palms. It takes place sometime over the summer and brings in a whole new crowd. From what I hear of past experience, it's a trying experience. Volunteers have to reacquaint and reeducate the new inhabitants about who we are and what we do. Let's see if after nearly a year of this, I can muster the patience yet again for that task at 120 F. God help the poor fools.

I did well in my French class. I know because they announced the grades in front of everyone. Not only do they announce them but they make you guess who number 1 vs 2 vs 3 vs 4 vs 5 etc. I was flabbergasted. It’s apparently worse at real school. There, the grades are announced at an assembly which includes parents.

Anyway, that is all from me. Go see my new hyma on the flickr photos. I’ll tell you the story later.

Cheers from here

MAURITANIA: Record hunger predicted in 2008

2008-03-21T14:08:00.000-07:00

http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=77366

It Was Bound To Happen

2008-03-18T16:22:00.000-07:00

Well it was bound to happen. Kelsea and I were just minding our own business, finishing up a walk and at the very same time we hear this loud, disturbing cry. In unison we turn around and see this teeny, tiny kitten along the side of the road. We looked at each other and both thought “Crap”, feeling a little hoodwinked by fate. How she got there is a mystery, but we sure as heck knew that she didn’t get herself along the road. So we swooped her up and with reluctance brought her home. Reluctance, because neither of us wants a pet. I already have two little buddies waiting for me in San Diego. Thank you Jane. But what could we do? We are Peace Corps volunteers for Christ’s Sake. If we were capable of just walking on by we sure wouldn’t be living in Mauritania.

Anyway, she is staying Chez Moi until she gets on her feet. I wasn’t sure she’d last through the first few days but she seems to be thriving. We started her out on milk, which seemed to work, at least for the first few hours. But it quickly turned ugly. She couldn’t digest it. She exploded from both ends. She spent an evening miserable and whimpering. I wasn’t sure she’d last the night. The next morning she refused to take any more milk so I thought we were sunk. There is no such thing as Science Diet or Purina here in Atar. Possibly Nouakchott, but not Atar. Never mind a vet. Thankfully, I had one of those precooked chicken packets left from a lovely package from the US. So I rinsed off the teriyaki marinade and offered it to her. I wasn’t sure she was big enough, but let me tell you, she got one whiff of it and nearly took my fingers off. At first I tried breaking it up into teeny tiny pieces, thinking that it would be easier for her. No such luck, all she could accomplish was to push the tiny pieces around with her whiskers. She isn’t big enough to get her mouth around her whiskers. Now we go for big hunks, which she can get a hold of. I put the little pieces into water, which entices her to drink water. Thank god I have the fridge because I was able to freeze most of the chicken packet and can thaw enough for her to eat each day. This one little packet should last her 4 days. I am the parent of a new born. I can hear her screaming for me from the bathroom, which makes it a little hard to relax and concentrate on the business at hand. She is so small that I don’t want to leave her alone for more than a couple of hours at a time. I have no idea how we are going to care for her especially when the summer hits and it is so interminably hot. That is a bridge we will cross in a bit. As the days wear on, she and I are becoming thick as thieves. It is nice to have a critter over here that is not absolutely terrified of us. Thankfully, everyone in the region is devoted to her as well, so inshallah, we can work out a suitable living arrangement. For now, I am just trying to keep her alive.

Cheers from here,

Ps It is hot as blazes here. Someone said 50 C today.

CereAmine Queen

2008-03-13T10:02:00.000-07:00

Undoubtedly, you will soon be receiving an invitation to my coronation as the Queen of CereAmine. I have just finished my 3rd training. To be more precise,1 training and 2 in a supervisory role, and I can toss the skins off of beans and hot peanuts with some finesse. To be candid, I didn’t expect too much or rather what I expected was much chaos for this particular session. Zeina had spent much of the original training in the tea maker role and didn’t seem very dynamic. To be fair, she was kind of the lone man out if that can be possible in this small town where everyone know, in infinite detail, everyone else. She was the only representative of a cooperative that was not a member of the Union of Women for Self Sufficiency. Her cooperative is a member in good standing of my counterpart’s lending institution. But I’ll be darned if she didn’t have the session really, really well organized. There was enough equipment so that everyone could work at full tilt and much was accomplished with half of the workers. As for the ingredients, we were a little heavy on the peanuts, this particular batch was 10,10,5,5,3 (should have been 2.5) but we always seem to lose a lot of peanuts during the grinding process. A substantial amount of the nuts don’t get ground finely enough to be siftable into the end product thus we end up with a pile of teeny but not teeny enough unusable peanuts. And, I ask you, can you have too many peanuts? Inshallah, it doesn’t throw off the proportions and destroy the complete protein aspect of the batch.

During the tea break Zeine read aloud from the booklet that Kristen so painstakingly created. This was refreshing, as the Union didn’t even bother to bring their copies along on our last batch. She also took fly control and hand washing seriously. It was helpful that her cooperative makes soap. When we arrived to do the final step all of the doors and windows were draped with old fabric. Flies hate darkness and a light breeze.

Also, I am getting a small vocabulary of Arabic, which was convenient because for this session we had no translator. Here’s some cultural exchange for your edification. Goomee means Move It, Hymee means Hot. Hymee is particularly useful when one is roasting grains for hours without hot mitts. Next time, I have got to remember to bring a dishtowel. The ladies simply use their mulafa’s for this purpose. Heck they use their mulafas for everything: hot mitts, dishtowel, handkerchiefs, bedding, baby butt wiper. But even with no translator we were able to communicate. I took on the afternoon session of roasting solo as Morella was previously engaged with a hand washing sensiblization. The washing lessons were to commemorate the opening of spanking new toilets at 3 local elementary schools built as a Peace Corps project. Even without Kristen, I was confident that I could supervise the roasting of the grains even without a common language. Thus “goomee, goomeee, goomee, hymee, hymee, hymee” translates to “stir it faster before it burns because the pan is really hot”.

It was a lovely afternoon and I finally feel that I am back on track with what I can accomplish here. The women respond to my silly nature. Whenever Zeine’s phone rang, her ring tone was reminiscent of 60’s beach rock, think “WipeOut”, I couldn’t help but dance. This, in turn, livened the mood and they, Ziene, Zeine, Mariam, Tarbe and Aicha proceeded to sing to me as we worked using plastic oil tubs as drums. At one point I was offered a lovely cadeau, gift. There was a beautiful new born girl, 2 months, with us and she is either mine for the taking or they have named her Sharon. I am still not sure which. Alas, nuance remains my problem. However, when asked if I was a Madame or Mademoiselle, this time I responded with Madame. It’s just easier. If word gets out, I’ll say that I got hitched over the weekend. It can happen that quickly around here. One of our neighbors (she’s Mauritanian) met a man when he walked into her family’s boutique to buy some cigarettes. She was married the following weekend. They take love at first sight to new heights. Anyway, the terrorists may have scared my tourists and taken my fete, but they can’t take my hungry children or women in search of income.

When doing these trainings, which are 2 very full days, my schedule gets overwhelming. I end up running a Western calendar without the Western luxuries. In the morning I threw in a load of laundry (into a washtub) then hustled over to the coops where we cleaned and dried 33 kg of grain; then I ran to lunch; then home to finish up the laundry, and grab my notebook and dictionary for my French lesson; back to the cooperative for an afternoon of roasting grains. I spent this time stretched out, if I can describe it that way, between 4 huge Marmites (those large pans you see in my photos) over charcoal, teaching them the smell and sound of roasted grains. As you would expect, the roasted corn smells incredible (I am a Hoosier and I love my corn) and you can hear it start to pop; but what you probably don’t know is that millet does the same thing only smaller. When it is ready, the little tiny grains, which are about 4X larger than a couscous grain of 4x smaller than a small caper, pop and make teeny tiny pieces of popcorn, or rather popmillet. As for lying between all of these roasting marmits, you know it is hot when your knee pits are sweating. The ladies were very kind to me; they bought me a bottle of water, which in their estimation must be a terrible waste of money. I offered it around but they shook their heads no, pointed at it and me and said Nassraniya, meaning that they could drink the well water but knew that I could not.

After a brilliant afternoon, I had to hightail it to French classes. At this point I am still covered with the shriveled bean skins, dirt and specs cleaning from the grains and I smell at best of charcoal and roasted grains at worst..…… After 2 hours of French I headed home for dinner and to hit the hay to start it all over again the next morning with the ladies.

French is looking up too. I am enjoying this session much more than the last. It may help that the French isn’t particularly challenging as I have studied the grammar before. That in and of itself is encouraging as Mona pointed out, I finally know enough French to be more advanced than a class. The review gives me the chance to explore more advanced usage rather than barely hanging on to the basics in a class too advanced and feeling lost and frustrated. I can understand much of what is said to me but I still have a hard time spitting out phrases freely. I’m okay if I can spend a few minutes reflecting on what and how to say it. But it is rather problematic when I run into someone on the street. I inevitably end up tongue-tied and they are left just confused. Luckily, they are getting rather used to this and are satisfied with simply stopping and acknowledging each other. It is important to keep expectations low. I have done it so many times to one of the nicest Senegalese Souvenir sellers that the last time he invited me for tea; I rehearsed an explanation (in French) for my abruptness. He just smiled and said he understood. I will sure miss him when he leaves, which is soon. I like the Black African culture and feel very at home within it. Though they are also Muslims, they come from Senegal, the land of music, nightlife, cocktails, western clothes and cuisine and are kindered spirits up here in Atar. He said he was presse (in a hurry) to get back South. Good lord, when I was in Dakar I saw a garbage truck. It seemed the apex of civilization. It struck me, how can Dakar have garbage trucks and not more than 300 k up the road, across the river, we have none? So the souvenir shop is our little oasis in a desert of Moors. The last plane is April 5. On April 6, the streets here roll up and everyone goes back home not to return until the day before the first plane, which isn’t until late October. It makes me a little sad.

In class on this particular day, we were working on Personal Ads. I have no idea who wrote the textbook for the French/Mauritania Alliance, but they will never, ever, ever, ever run into personal ads over here. A. This is an oral society, I don’t think anyone reads a newspaper and B. They don’t date; at least not in the sense that Personals would imply. I was cracking up at the teacher as he is trying to convince the class that a married man with 3 kids, free in body and mind would like to meet a woman to discuss culture, art and cinema was an honorable offer. I wasn’t buying it. He knew I wasn’t buying it and frankly, I don’t think he was buying it either. But I suppose, if they never run into this particular ad or a lascivious Frenchman, what’s the harm. Next the teacher explained sexual abstinence. I am not sure that is what the ad was implying. It seemed to me that he didn’t truly understand this particular personal. He relates to the class that all of these people are looking to find or be found a spouse. Or rather, that is the impression he needs to give, the line the Alliance must tow if they want to continue to exist here in the RIM. On International SIDA Day (just rearrange the letters, AIDS Day) the Alliance who was hosting the event made it clear that our speakers were limited to the topic of blood transfusion but certainly not unwedded sex or infidelity. Somehow it reminds me of the Bible Belt and that Intelligent Design malarkey. Don’t even come near a condom conversation unless it is with a married women regarding birth spacing. At that, I believe she has to secure her husband’s permission. It would follow that personals used for any other purpose than securing a spouse, would be out of the question. So while he was very seriously explaining abstinence, let me tell you, these folks were hanging onto his every utterance; their pens were a flying. Sex talk, no matter how innocuous, is a rarity here. They were scribbling notes faster than I have ever seen them. One never knows when one will need to know that l’abstenance sexuelle= ne pas faire de rapport. That turn of phrase, or set of words, might come in handy one day. Again I say, I was dying in my seat.

Often the teacher and I are in cahoots when trying to explain words. Words like sincere, solitude, sentimental, dynamic, these are easy for me as the English equivalent is rather equivalent. But try to explain “sentimental” to an Arabic speaker and it’s a whole new kettle of fish.

In class I have become the pied piper. All except 2 of my classmates are in high school and they delight in practicing their English on me. They also delight in swiping my pen and phone, and generally pestering the hell out of me. Just the other day, one shoved his phone before me and asked me if I recognized the photo. It took me a minute to but soon I recognized the person as our own volunteer, Ellen. I recall the day, many months back, when she had gotten a Mauritanian makeover. She had gone to a neighbor for lunch and come back looking like a streetwalker. Her navy blue eye shadow, liner and mascara (bare in mind she is a pale towhead) matched her new navy blue mulafa. She had said that when the ladies had finished with her “improvements”, they whipped out their phones and took photos. How this photo ended up on this teenaged boy’s phone is beyond something, frankly, and me that I don’t want to think about. I haven’t shared this bit of news with Ellen yet. But the kids are good-natured and I rather enjoy the interaction. So all is well.

Cheers from here

Recent update: The Union of Coops sold all of their CereAmine at the Fete De Femmes. They were the only group to introduce a new product at the event. All of the dignitaries who attended were pleased with the product, the ladies and the Peace Corps involvement. It seems that they are singing the praises of the Peace Corps around town. Warms my heart.

CereAmine Training

2008-03-07T05:03:00.000-08:00

It finally came to pass, Kristen and I gave our CereAmine training with 13 women last week. It went very well and they were so enthusiastic about it that they invited us earlier this week to oversee the production of their 2nd batch, which we gleefully did. Coming up next week, we will also be observing one of our trainees give a training to her cooperative starting on Monday. We also received word that the training would be funded by some committee that doles out money specifically for training girls which is a relief as it won’t be coming out of our pocket. I have to say that finding funding is the tricky part. Although, pulling together a small training on something or other isn’t expensive, we spent roughly $100 US but to fund it one either has to find someone to give you $100 as we did or you get the trainees to pony up for all or a portion of the costs and/or the rest comes out of your pocket. The latter is problematic because the RIM volunteers live a pay check to pay check existence over here and given their youth, most don’t have any money stashed away. As for those of us with some means, for our own security, we can’t appear to possess much as it can jeopardize the rest of our existence ie: getting local rather than toubab prices on goods and services or getting constantly approached to help someone clear up some financial debt. Asking for money isn’t as large a social faux pas over here. Relatives are obligated to fork over cash to those who request it. Speaking of goods and services, I am in the market for a used hyma (tent). As we near the summer, I feel it is imperative to create some semblance of shade at my home. I have the veranda that regretfully faces south which warms it to a toasty temperature, never to cool down. Last summer I would douse it with buckets of water in the evening hoping to take advantage of that evaporative cooling technical that I use so often, but shade should do the same trick without having to lug buckets of water across the compound. Inshallah

But I digress. The training went really well once again proving that a small amount of knowledge and an ample amount of chutzpah goes a long, long way. It’s a lot of manual labor but I find sorting the rocks, sticks and whatnot out of kilos of grain rather relaxing. It reminds me of shelling peas with my grandmother, just on a much larger scale. It was pointed out to me that I was trashing too much and needed to be less picky. Who knew that a speckled bean doesn’t represent something gone bad. I do know that you have to be very careful with your peanuts as a bad one can be rather toxic.

When we first arrived, the ladies hadn’t secured a translator. We nearly packed up our 39K of grain and rescheduled to a time when they had one as the next 2 days would have been too frustrating, if not an impossible task, with no common language. But at the last minute, which is how much is done over here, one of the ladies called someone to the rescue. We were a bit concerned when this military fellow walked in wearing combat boots and fatigues but he ended up being brilliant. He was someone’s husband and apparently, luckily, didn’t have to work for the 2 days it took us to complete the training. Once he got into the swing of things, he took his job as translator very seriously, extolling, with vigor (I think), all of our instructions and warnings. Titles and responsibilities are very big over here and are taken quite seriously.

Early in the day the ladies informed us that they were quite capable to clean and roast all of these grains, which they were. They tackled this chore with little fanfare. Each just stepped in where work needed to be done with seemingly little instruction as if they had been working ensemble always. They didn’t have enough equipment to go around, and what they use is the crudest implement; no machinery whatsoever. They just persevered, sharing and making do as needed. I couldn’t have done it even with all of the accoutrements and gadgets available at www.WilliamsSonoma.com. But alas, although they had all the expertise, we needed to get the upper hand. We dismissed their chorus of we weren’t needed till the very end with the knowledge of how to blend all of this into that magical CereAmine and commenced giving them a lecture on hygiene followed by a chase to the spigot and awaiting soap. Sadly, that is a battle that I don’t think we have yet won. We didn’t instill, nor the 40+ years of volunteers ahead of us, the goodness of handwashing. It seems impossible to convince this population that washing your hands is vital to stemming the spread of germs. One lady had just had her henna done the night before and balked at the idea of washing her hands thoroughly to which we replied that she was welcome to keep her newly henna’d hands, but that she would not be participating in this process. Another lady insisted that she was sick so couldn’t wash her hands. Don’t ask me. I have no idea why being sick would prevent one from washing one’s hands. Can one really believe that one’s wellbeing is totally in Allah’s hands? And even if that is true, wouldn’t he/she want us to wash our hands? I believe that he/she would and does. Compound that the general oblivion to the health issue that flies cause and we had our hands full. We were the harping harpys who harp. You know when you watch films of Africa and the children are covered with flies, well that is truly how it is here. It is a heartache to watch baby after baby covered with the pests. The scene often unsettle one’s stomach. So with much insisting, they washed each and every hand. However, it was reminiscent of building gingerbread houses with my niblings (niece and nephews) when they were small. They’d wash their hands but then wipe (read pick) their noses, taste the food, answer their filthy cell phone, sneeze, pass around tea cups, shake unwashed hands and keep on cooking. My idea to keep up this sanitation routine after we were no longer around to lurk over them was to create a Health Officer for each production, if you will. She would be responsible for making sure their hands were washed and that the flies were kept to a minimum. And as I said, they take titles and responsibilities very seriously. Inshallah. Anyway, in the end, I figure, these kids are already eating most of their food that has been prepared by unwashed hands, so any improvement is indeed improvement. Me, on the other hand, have been sick as a dog after all of this socializing, handshaking, holding snotty babies and sharing communal cup-ness. So after 2 days and lots of fun, as we finished roasting each different grain I’d do a little victory jig, we produced 35 kilos of CereAmine that looked and tasted as it should. At the end we spent 45 minutes working through their expenses to arrive at a selling price. (my SED activity aside from finding the client) I’d like to see them eke out a bigger profit but they seemed to be confident on what the market would bear.

We gave out their certificates last Sunday. The folks in Mauritania are huge on receiving certificates. I wanted to give one to our translator, I thought he might be able to use it in his military career- a proven track record as a translator of French. Apparently the key to getting attendance for trainings is to threaten to withhold the certificate from those who don’t come regularly. We, by we I mean Kristin, spent an extraordinary amount of time creating a 12 page “how to” booklets in both French and Arabic replete with a table of how much of each grain to buy if you want to make 2, 6, 12, 35, 72 etc Kilos of CereAmine. The ration is 4,4,2,2,1 of corn, beans, rice, millet and peanuts respectively. It requires a bit too much thinking if you ask me, so a table was just the ticket. Our training used 12,12,6,6,3 and yielded about 35K.

Anyway, moving on, since the how to was already written in French, the French part was a cinch and the gods were smiling on us for the Arabic translation. As we were roaming through the market gathering up our milled grains, we ran into our favorite Mauritanian, Sidi, and he offered to do and type the Arabic translation for us. My hero. Then 2 days later when my counterpart requested that we create little product tags, also in French and Arabic, (he must be under the mistaken belief that either Kristen or I are fluent in Arabic. But alas neither of us speaks it let alone reads a word of it. Have you seen much Arabic? It is read from back to front, right to left and in a lovely flourish of marks that are meaningless to me) we ran into Sidi again. This is truly amazing because he just happened to be traveling through Atar on both days as he lives in Chinguetti. Content in hand, translation in hand, the gods truly must love us. Would you like to hear the most difficult part of that damn booklet? Word. It has a “create a booklet” option. Do you think we, by we I mean Kristen, could get the damn thing to work? No. She fussed with that silly program, adjusted graphics, margins, reconfiguring the page organization so that page 5 would print opposite page 6 and so forth, for 2 days. I gave up after 45 minutes, she persevered. My advise, never, ever, ever use that damn option.
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During the making of the 2nd batch, in an effort to get to know me better I suppose, one of the ladies asked the dreaded question “Am I married”. I said “no”. She asked “not ever married?” I said “no”. “No Children?”, “No, I have no children”. Kristen is doing most of the translating at this point. After a bit more being said like the usual retort that in America it is not necessary for a woman to be married and she can also life alone- not with a male relative, in peace and harmony. And continuing with we come from 2 different cultures and that I have made a choice that is culturally appropriate in my culture, blah, blah, blah, blah. To this she smiled and basically responded that my life as a barren spinster (I put that part in) is meaningless or useless, I forget. Aye yii yii yiii!. I will admit it got under my skin a bit. Come on! I have decided to leave my cushy albeit meaningless or useless, I forget, life to come to Mauritania and help these women create a new source of income. But hey, who is keeping score that way. Here, it’s about how many babies you can produce. Happy is the bride who conceives a son straight away. If none, your husband can and should leave you. Why earth would he keep you? Let’s just say that here, there is a different expectation of marriage. I just shake my head and roll my eyes and hope that bravado carries me through. It is not as if I don’t hear the same sentiment back home every so often. No doubt many think it; few have been brave enough to put the question to me. I recall while at my cousin funeral, sitting in the family section, his brother, who I hadn’t seen since I was 3, leaned over and asked me if I were married. I wasn’t even 30 at that point. I responded “No”. To which he returned an “I’m Sorry” as if I had been the victim of some tragedy or had just lost my brother to cancer. Clearly this has stuck with me lo these many years. Clearly, we are all not so different after all. However, what I don’t want to have happen is that I somehow lose credibility because my life choices don’t conform to their cultural standards. Singleness or spinsterness in my case, isn’t the only issue that many volunteers opt not to share with the locals. One’s religious beliefs: Jewish or worse, Atheist, as well as homosexuality are not subjects many choose to tackle. So I’ll wait and see how it all shakes out. She had followed up that she had many questions for me. I asked “:What’s question number 1?” but the subject just kind of dropped. But it appears that all is well as my counterpart was in our bureau today and said that the feedback he has received from the gals has been very, very positive.

So this Saturday, we will be standing side by side with them handing out CereAmine literature at the local Fete de Femme (International Women’s Day, March 8) celebration. Anyone who is anyone in Atar society will be there. Then next week we will sit in on one of our trainee’s trainings. Many more lives touched.

I took and will take photos and shot much movie footage so as soon as we, by we I mean Kristen, can pull something creative together, I’ll get it posted.

Lastly, this morning (Wed) we stopped by the local Les Enfants Du Desert that is going to be the test case and made the acquaintance of Fatimatou the manager and her assistant Fatimatou too. We stayed for almost an hour talking, gathering specifics on their portions and playing with the kids. They were adorable. I anticipate that I will be spending much time this summer helping out at the center integrating, using my French, staving off utter slothfulness. Otherwise my summer will be full of sweating, napping and wishing I were elsewhere. Later today, (Wed) we stopped by the LEDD office and learned that Aicha won’t be back until the 23rd so it seems that the trial is pushed back a week. All the better, we need to get 40 more Kilo’s of CereAmine produced to fulfill their request.

A very interesting side note, there are fliers around the market posting fines for littering- 500 um and peeing on the walls- 1000 um. I suppose with the new sidewalks that are being installed by an apparent Atar Beautification program, they don’t want them instantly defiled. I wished they’d do the same thing for spitting. But hey, it’s a start.

I have or am in the process of posting more photos from WAIST and my Garden.

Don’t forget that I have a new phone especially for calls from the US. It is 222- 202-1804

WAIST 2008

2008-02-22T07:45:00.001-08:00

Hi Loved Ones, The Results

I am just about to head out for WAIST. West African Invitational Softball Tournament held in Dakar Senegal. I will leave early on the 13^th for NKT to arrive early afternoon. Inshallah. We have purchased every seat in a taxi, so it should leave according to our schedule. Yeah right, Inshallah. This went just about as planned. The cab driver scolded us (Ellen) about being on time then he ended up oversleeping so we got off about 45 minutes later than planned. But we made it to NKT in 5.5 hours, which is really quite fast. In ample time for a salad at the Cafe Sahara. And Chinese for Dinner.

Chinese Restaurant

On the 14^th am we have a Safety and Security meeting at the bureau. These meetings have traditionally been planned solely as a way to bring us together so that we can head, ensemble, down to WAIST. But this year, with the terrorist attacks, it should be an informative meeting. You will be glad to know that we were assured by the Ambassador and our Country Director that our safety is reviewed at every opportunity and in their professional opinion, we are safe. If there could be a silver lining to these events it is that it has necessitated the government (RIM) to refocus on an issue that heretofore may have been ignored, swept under the rug if you will. The good news from the Ambassador, other then our assured safety, is that at a recent pledging conference, Mauritania received half a billion dollars more than requested for development from the International Community. They, like me, must feel that this country, unknown to many, is important in this region. An Islamic country with a fledgling democracy and an affinity for the West, and in particular the Americans, are few and far between therefore their relations and well being should be fostered.

We were also addressed by the head medical officer for Peace Corps West Africa, who served in Zaire during the 80's. A friend of my sister's was also in Zaire in the 80's. I asked him if, by chance, he knew Paula, and indeed he did. He reminisced a bit. What a small world. The bulk of his presentation was on the 3 medical issues that cause him the most concern because they can cause us to lose life or limb. He also expanded on the recent the change in Peace Corps policy which rather than hand holding and coddling volunteers, they want to develop resilient volunteers: ie quit calling the PCMO with every hang nail. Although a very reasonable request, this policy is vastly different from the recruitment information which implies they will coddle your every hang nail. For your edification the top 3 medical issues here in West Africa are first and foremost, Malaria. We, North Americans, have no resistance, no natural immunity built up over generations living amongst that pesky parasite, therefore taking our medication is imperative. Even on the medication, one can still contract the disease, just not in a lethal dose. Mashallah or Inshallah, I don’t know which really applies in this case. Inshallah you don’t get it. Mashallah, that if you do get it, that it’s not fatal. Secondly in line are skin infections specifically below your knee which might lead to a loss of a limb or 2 and finally AIDS. He was very frank in his presentation, which I appreciate, so I will leave the details to private conversations

After the meeting, in the late afternoon, there is softball practice at the local stadium. As I have no talent in the baseball/softball realm, I will be spectating. In a burst of folly, I volunteered to be the Equipment Manager for our C team, the Buccaneers. My first and only responsibility was to get the bats, balls, mitts and med kit to Dakar and to all of the Buccaneer games. I was either one of the best or worst Equipment Managers in the history of the event. My decline started the first night in Dakar. When we arrived the instructions were as follows: hose volunteers with home stays stayed at the Club Atlantique, formerly the American Club; those of us with hotels were to get directly back on the bus. Do not pass go, do not drink beer. Naturally I didn’t want to drag a heavy bag of crap to the hotel; thusly I looked for an alternative. I was assured by some fella who seemed to be authoritatively handing out instructions, that indeed, the equipment could be left at the club. But first, I needed to sign in, just get in line behind that mass of people, and then all would be well. I didn’t have time to sign in as I had to get back on the bus so I did the next best thing. I assigned, delegated if you will, our equipment to the Most Responsible Volunteers in our Crew. Who also happened to be the Equipment Managers for our B team, the Swashbucklers? They would be hanging at the club waiting for their home stay hosts to pick them up so it was no problem, they’d just stack it all together. The equipment bags were those enormous handled plastic bag that are ubiquitous in Africa and Asia. They are often used as luggage rather than Samsonite on air flights. The Buccaneer bag was a Mickey and Minnie Mouse theme replete with English non sequiturs so you couldn't miss it. Equipment safely secured, I went back to the bus in search of a late dinner and some sleep. The next morning the Buccaneers were the first on the schedule with a 9 am first pitch. I arrived at the club plenty early, in time to search out the equipment. I grab a Bloody Mary to ease into the day and off I go to search for the Mickey and Minnie full of mitts, to no avail. There is no equipment. No, the equipment wasn’t allowed to be left at the club overnight. No sight of the fellow who was so willy nilly handing out bad advise the previous night. And lastly, no Most Responsible Volunteers in the Crew to be found as the B team didn’t play until much later in the day and now way to get a hold of them as we, the few who bothered to buy new Sim cards for Senegal, had not exchanged telephone numbers. Crap. OK, let's evaluate my performance thus far. I did get the equipment to Dakar but not to the first game. I calculate my batting average is 500. Ely, the Buccaneer Capt'n assured me that it is not the end of the world. Worst case; we could borrow mitts, bats and balls from the opposing team. So I finished my Bloody Mary, as we were playing on the “dry” field, double crap, and off I went. Low and behold, there in the stands I spyed the Most Responsible Volunteers in our Crew. They had gotten to the field even before me and went directly to the field. Did not pass go. Did not go directly to the bar. They have the moniker Most Responsible Volunteers in our Crew for a reason. You can draw your own conclusions about me.

Do you know the rules of softball? I didn’t. They are slightly different from baseball. First, there are only 7 innings. During one at bat, each team can only go through their line up once then the field turns over to the other team. There are 4 out fielders, this took some getting used to as I kept thinking we had too many players on the field. And finally, there is the mercy rule. If a team is up by 15, the game is over. I believe that happened in the first inning of the first game, not to the Buccaneers advantage.

For practice and to save some face, we kept playing a bit longer. Even still the game finished much earlier than I expected. As I am lounging by the pool with my Mimosa, I spy my entire team heading in from the field. Yikes, I needed to go gather up the equipment and the field is quite a ways away. Crap, this is really not going well. Yet I contend that a big part of being an effective leader is surrounding yourself, vous meme, with capable minions. And luckily mine were in top form. They had loaned the equipment to PC Gambia who was playing the next game on the field and lacked mitts and bats. I scurried up to them, explained that I was the Equipment Manager and if they would be so kind as to please when they were finished, pack up Mickie and Minnie and I'd be back in an hour. On s'en vas back to the bar was my battle cry. When I returned it was all neatly organized and ready for me to lug to the opposite field. This went on for the next 7 games. Luckily for me and for PC Gambia, all of our games were on the same fields, one after the next, so I had yet more minions to help me keep hold of that Mickey bag-o-mitts.

As I said, I was either the best or the worst Equipment Manager in the history of Waist. In my defense, I was reliably found at the bar or the pool when any questions would arise. I am an excellent delegator as many can attest. Finally, that we loaned our equipment to the Gambian team, I was charged with the logistics of equipping twice as many games. Give me a gold star!

In between there will be Pizza, Salad, Beer and Chinese Food, Salad, Chinese and Beer not in that particular order. I may even try to fit in a massage, I might have a connection. No Massage. Then, early to bed, early to rise as we board a bus at 5am the 15^th for the trip to Dakar. We took off closer to 6 but that is on time by African standards. Feel free to search the web for the blogs from last year’s bus trip to WAIST. There was an incident with a wheel barrel that lead to the bus getting stuck in the sand and another incident of the driver getting lost and in the turning around at the dead end, once again managing to get the bus stuck in the sand Finally the driver didn’t know his way around Dakar thus extending an already grueling trip. This year Obie promises a better outcome although he won’t be with us. There were no major incidents; it's just a long damn trip. At least I don't believe that there were any incidents. We may have gotten lost in Dakar. We arrived at the city limits at 6:30 in Friday rush hour traffic (apparently they didn't switch their weekend around) and it took us 2.5 hours to get to the club. It felt as if we were going in circles. There is tons of traffic, it is a city of 10 million. Could that be right? And they are doing road construction as was done in the 70's in the US, by all appearances without the traffic management. I can not explain to you how poorly the traffic was managed. Roundabouts and overpasses are being constructed at every intersection, most of which are only partially complete. This being the case, the result was that the half of cars on the freeway were forced to make u turns, in both directions, into the oncoming traffic on at least 5 different occasions, snarling the traffic even snarlier. Added to this, we were 2 tour buses trying to keep together behind our lead car as he was the only one who knew the way. It must have been a nightmare for the drivers. Our's was in quite a state when he finally deposited us at the club, quite ready to quit. It was his first trip to Dakar and I would wager his last.

As for me, I found, other then the long journey, it was quite fine. Far better then taxi brousse as I had my own seat. I was unsure of our day's itinerary so I packed a picnic of Goat Cheese and Fois Gras on Endive finished with lovely French butter cookies. All it needed was a lovely Pinot Noir. Yes, I discovered that those items can be purchased (except the Pinot Noir) in NKT for a hefty sum at Marche Salam. I could do another blog on that place. Let's just suffice it to say; when I left Marche Salam I was rather depressed. If you will recall from another blog, that such luxuries are available in country just not in Atar, and that reality is far more demoralizing then if it weren't available at all. This depression lead me to Gin and the haircutting party. Pictures soon to be on flickr.

Historically home stays are arranged for us during WAIST but this year we are just too numerous for that, so I will be staying in a hotel. I do not know which one. I can’t say that I am sorry. I wasn’t really looking forward to staying with strangers. It’s less appealing than a box of chocolates and still you never know what you’re gonna get. At least in a hotel I am assured of a bed. Inshallah. I could not have been more wrong, well partially wrong. I did have a bed. It just happened to be smack dab in the middle of a whorehouse. Although the term whorehouse offended a few, evidently a bit too harsh for their sensibilities. Let’s call it a brothel, a house if ill repute; Will suggested we call it the House of the Rising Sun but in my estimation that romantic view of whorehouse is only applicable if you are a teenage virgin. Let's leave it with next year I am booking my own room.

WAIST is 3 days of softball revelry…beer, hotdogs and pirate costumes. I envisioned it akin to Over-The Line in San Diego. And we behaved that way on the first day. Day 2 we got scolded as it wasn't a bawdy Over-The-Line environment but a social league family event. Oooops, to bad those names were in indelible ink on the back of our only t-shirts. In the words of my niece, Aimee, "Tomorrow, I will be a good girl" YeeHa. Maybe I’ll even meet someone my own age to hang with. It could happen. It didn't, not exactly. The event is at the American Club and includes a whole bunch of American organizations. Mali Peace Corps, Senegal Peace Corps, Guinea aka team Guinea Worm, Benin and The Gambia as well (both are enormous programs) as well as some Missionary Girls Jr High School to name a few, bring multiple teams. There is apparently a huge expat population in Dakar. We, the PC RIM Pirates will be fielding 3 teams. Our A team has won the tournament for the last 2 or 3 years so the bar is set pretty high to play on that team. We took the trophy for 2^nd. (A side note, the Mali Country Director visited our, at that time, new bureau in Nouakchott and while visiting, she stole the trophy. Before the latest attacks, some of their volunteers were suppose to come through and return it. But travel to Mauritania by other Peace Corps programs has been suspended….so I suppose they will be bring our trophy directly to Dakar. The bus ride will be lonely without it). Our B team is labas (okay), one year it was beat by the little mission girls, much to their shame, thus they have been a bit more serious since. The C team is just a bunch of drunks who, by the end of the game, are playing in their underwear. Yes, there are pictures Inshallah! Mashallah. I will be a drunken spectator, Mashallah—hopefully wearing something more than my underwear. Sadly, I received no pirate gear in my wonderful care packages so I’ll have to improvise a costume. For your edification, The American Club is located near one of the lighthouses in Dakar. It’s the lighthouse that is located on the furthest Western Point in West Africa. .I tried to find info on it the club on the web but had no luck. Next year I hope to stay an extra couple of days to see some sights and do some shopping. With 6 games a day to attend there was time for little else. Dakar is an amazingly vibrant city. Of course, as always, that is relative. You, stepping off at Dakar International from the Land of Milk and Honey would probably see a rundown, impoverished African city complete with sheep and the odd cow tether to every lamp post, stop sign, car frame available. Which reminds me, for a dose of the reality of the cuisine here go to John in Nouadhibou's recent blog. I added the link to mine. But that it had lamp posts and stop signs was something to behold. I saw road signs, flashing neon lights, speed limits, pavement markings, everyone in the cab gets her own seat, bill boards, restaurants, banks with atm's and the pièce de résistance, live music at a bar. Paradise Found.

I will depart from Dakar the morning of the 19^thand probably cross the border that same day and spend the night in Rosso. Just stopped in Rosso and have another story to tell over drinks about finding a cab Then directly back to Atar on the 20^th, with no stop in NKT. I did stop in NKT, Obie was kind enough to dole out an extra day for us weary travelers. Those will be 2 very long days. Not that you need this much detail about my itinerary, I just seem to have gotten carried away. I suppose you could follow along on a map. Doris would if she were alive.

On the 20-21 we, the Atar volunteers, are having a lunar eclipse party. I slept through it Then after a long nap I will launch headlong into French Well I overslept for my first class back, a long nap was necessary, so possibly "launch headlong" was a bit ambitious

and also quickly pull together that CereAmine training. We need to not only securing the ingredients with who knows what money, but also translate a little take away How To booklet from French into Hassaniya. Do you know anyone that can type in Arabic? Neither do I. I also need to learn a handful of verbs in both French and Hassaniya for the actual training: to roast, to clean, to dry, to grind, to blend, watch your fingers, watch my fingers, get your unwashed fingers out of the peanut butter. You know, the usual. See last blog.

I should be picking up my Chingatel phone while I am in NKT. So in 2 days, I should have much better cell phone service while here in the RIM. I’ll send the phone number and post it on my blog as soon as I get it. I did and I do, the new number is on the blog

As for here, the weather has turned hot. I am praying with all of my soul that it’s just a spell and not the onset of an early summer. Did the groundhog see its shadow? It was 99 degrees on Sunday; my room has jumped from a steady 71 degrees for these many weeks to 80. I will be very sad if summer is arriving the beginning of February. I hoped to stay cool till the end of March. No such luck, it is blazing in Atar today

Dakar should be cool—low in the 60s high in the 70s—(yes, it’s all relative) I can’t wait to huddle in the frosty 70 degree weather with my cold beer and steaming hotdog---Good lord, I almost forget, there is coffee in Senegal, latte’s even. Hallelujah! Maybe I can join Peace Corps Senegal and get out of this sober, coffee starved, cuisine starved, ridiculous long skirted, sexually repressed, with the odd terrorist attack @$$@^%$*& hole. Just kidding, I love this place. I am committed or committable. Take your pick.

Schizophrenically, I am sad to leave my garden unattended for a week. Today, the carrots and peppers sprouts are just showing their little green heads. Nothing yet from the beets, radishes or sweet peas but a week without water in the Sahara should do the trick. The sunflowers are faring the best by far. All is surprisingly well. The peppers didn't make it. But the sunflowers are amazing.

Also, tonight is my first class back at the French alliance since Dec. I didn’t take last session because a. I greatly dislike their teaching methods and b. I would miss weeks of classes with the Christmas holiday. But alas, my French needs much work so I am going to subject myself to another 5 weeks of bad teaching methods in hopes that it will help. I did request a conversation class vs sitting listening to scratchy cassettes. The director made a note. We’ll see. I will be in class (when not traveling ) Sun – Thurs 6 – 8 pm. Yesterday being Sunday (remember the weekend change), technically, should have been the first class but last night was the finals of the African Cup thus the first day of class was postponed. As of this typing, I don’t know who won, Egypt or Cameroon. Egypt

Okay, that’s it from here. I’ve rambled long enough---it’s almost a blog. It is now a blog

Yes, I will be very careful traveling, I will keep a low profile in NKT and have no fear, I have no intention of going to any nightclubs or the Israeli Embassy.

Cheers from here,

Happy Valentines Day,
Happy President's Day

Back to Work

2008-02-07T10:02:00.000-08:00

Well here a quick little post with some good news for you. Les Enfants du Desert still wants to move forward with a trial at one of their centers starting mid to late March. Therefore, Morella and I are moving head long into traiing the ladies coops on the fabrication of the CereAmine. So, to that end, we have tentatively schedule the training for the last week of February. Mind you that neither she nor I have ever seen this process, so it ought to be interesting. Our directions are as follows: One has to buy the grains, clean the grains (by hand), dry the grains (in the yard on mulafas), roast the grains (using charcoal and great big pots), grind the grains (this we take to an official grinder to have done), mix the grains together (I assume that the grinder can accomplish this step with the previous one) then mix in the peanut butter which has gone through the same process on it's little lonesome. The peanuts can't be blended along with the rest of the grains because it will clog up the grinder. Good lord I think we will have to hand grind it...please allah don't let it be the accomplished by using the antiquated gigantic mortar and pestle I see around here. The mortar is made of wood and is 5 feet long. The pestle is a hollowed out tree trunk. You should see these ladies muscles. I am most curious (read anxious) about how one manually mixes 4K of peanut butter into 26 K of floured corn, millet, beans and wheat to form a lovely powdered cereal. Oh yeah, and the women only speak Hassaniya. This should be a breeze.

Between now and then, we are off to WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) in Dakar. Yippee a vacation.

Cheers from here

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now.

2008-02-04T04:13:00.000-08:00

As you might imagine, the mood here has become even more somber. The blog that I was mentally composing yesterday is now obsolete, which seems to be happening with some regularity. A second terrorist incident has occurred within as many months. I am perplexed as to my best course of action.

Should I stay or should I go now?

If I go there will be trouble

An' if I stay it will be double

So come on and let me know

Should We Stay or Should We Go?

Lyrics from The Clash.

Naturally, the decision is not black and white; cut and dry; yin or yang. It’s difficult to get a handle on the mood around here. On one hand, the serious hand, we were out and about on Friday morning not only to get some errands done but also hoping to hear someone’s take on the incident. That no one offered any opinion at all made me briefly wonder if it could be possible that no one had heard the news yet this morning. I was fairly confident everyone had as this is an oral society and news travels fast. It is really only we volunteers that have no idea what’s going around here due primarily to the language barrier. That no one was offering any opinions to us specifically, at this particular boutique, was unsettling as historically they don’t hesitate to offer up their thoughts on any subject outside or within their realm of expertise. The mood is usually playful and teasing, but yesterday, not so. Perhaps the presence of strangers caused all to be more serious but as this also isn’t unusual, I can only assume it had something to do with the attacks. Usually opining flows freely around here so the reticence is unnerving. One of v’s who speaks a little Hassaniya overheard a HCN asking another HCN if he’d heard about the troubles. The second man indicated that he had. This brief exchange took place in a language that I’m sure they thought neither we nor the French couple standing in front of us could understand.

Logically, it would seem that it was the Israeli embassy that was the target; but there is more and more information that makes it appear that they were targeting the adjacent nightclub. My first hand accounts have the event a bit more severe than what I have read in the new releases. I heard it was a 20- 30 minute gun battle with Molotov Cocktails (can you believe, some of these volunteers had never heard of a Molotov Cocktail?) involved from folks at the club. If it is true, the situation is even more frightening, as one could conclude that they were targeting westerners and those things they deem western such as alcohol and prostitution. I personally have never been to VIP and have no idea if they serve alcohol to prostitutes.

Beep Beep Ba Beep….Breaking News…..This just in: Al Qaeda of the Maghreb has taken responsibility (revendique) for the attack on the Israeli Embassy according the Nouakchott Info Quotidien, the French language newspaper in Nouakchott. That certainly doesn’t explain Molotov Cocktails aimed at the nightclub does it?

On the other hand, later in the day, while shopping in the market for dinner fare we ran into a host of folks that we knew each were as friendly and welcoming as ever. We chatted on the streets buying tomatoes; we chatted at the boulangerie buying bread; we chatted with the watchmen at our bureau gathering up the portable dsl devise while they were watching the African Cup of Nations; then after giving them our baguette we chatted back at the boulangerie for more bread; then on the way home we chatted the corner store while buying eggs for our omelettes. Carefree as you please.

But while sitting on the roof having sundowners, Mark and I had a frank discussion on what the roll of Peace Corps is in our lives personally as well as to Mauritania. Just how much danger and uncertainty should volunteers endure? If the circumstances and political leanings of the country in which we agreed to come change so drastically are we still obligated in the same way?

Then disturbingly today (Saturday), an HCN who was in our English class stopped by to practice his English and in the course of a discussion, he expressed his concern at the mood here in Atar. Apparently he was at a mosque and the tone disturbed him. He lived in the US for 7 years and was in New York on 9/11. He claims that he is more of a yank than me. This man has a real sense of America and Americans. He says that he has seen extremists here in Atar; that there is supposedly something telltale in the fashion of their howli that identifies them. Before you wonder, after some proding on Skype by family and friends, I passed all of this information along. Again, when in the midst of the event one (0r rather I) lose perspective.

Apparently, unlike the unrest a few years ago, (what unrest a few years?) there has been no “chatter” about harming Americans. Is that supposed to bring comfort? Chatter! I don’t like my immediate circumstance and “chatter” being used in the same context. I am not a character in a TV series. This isn’t some West Wing or NCIS episode. I am living in an Arab site, rather vulnerably, in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. Al Qaeda was certainly not what I bargained for when applying to the Peace Corps.

So here I and the rest of the volunteers sit keeping vigilantly, whatever the hell that means, not knowing the correct course of action. None of us want to be Chicken Little but none of us want to be one of the animals, frolicking in the rain puddles extolling “but what about our work, what about our projects; how would Mauritania go on without us?” who didn’t get on the Arc two by two either. I am concerned that things will have to get much further out of hand before the Peace Corps would consider making an officially act as they are only now pulling volunteers out of Kenya. (update.....I was wrong they took a substantial number in January...the rest are just now evacuating) This reality seems a far cry from what we were told during recruitment. The buzz is that “if DCM hasn’t its way Peace Corps would have been out of here already”. (28/2/08 UPDATE SO THAT I AM ACCURATE IN WHAT I POST I WANT TO STATE FOR THE RECORD THAT THE DCM NEVER SAID ANY SUCH THING AND IT WAS ONLY A RUMOR)

I have asked for clarification of the policy/criteria in cases like this but I haven’t heard back yet. Not that I have to wait for them to act. But for now, I have planted another round of lettuce and spinach and I am going to study some French.

As always, Stay Tuned
Cheers from here,

PS There are new photos on flickr

Too Good To Be True

2008-01-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

Let me update you on what’s been happening around here:

We had blessed, unlimited dsl, for a brief time. It was a taste of what’s to come. Some fella loaned us his sexy little USB gizmo. It connects your computer to the internet sans hardwiring, just a little antenna, so that we could fix our bureau computer, which crashed with yet another power outage. So for the 2 days when not working on the bureau computers, those of us with laptops wrestled for the gizmo. I posted my last blog, hung out on You Tube and Skyped whoever I could. I am going to be the hippest 45 year old on the planet when I’m done with this gig. As I seemed to have lost track of the time changes around the globe, my deepest apologies to those of you that I called at the crack of dawn. We should have that handy, dandy usb gizmo up and operational in just a few weeks. Naturally, they are cheaper in Nouakchott than in Atar. However, they are out of them in Nouakchott. Inshallah, it will be on the next shuttle up here on the 27th. As it stands, we have no internet at the bureau as we dumped Mauritel in anticipation of the switch to Chingatel. I bet you never thought you’d know so much about the telephone/cellular/internet services available here in Mauritania. In the meantime, there is a brand new cyber in town which is very fast and thus far, free from all of the viruses that the other cybers are infected with.

I planted my garden, finally. Pictures to follow. Inshallah, the seeds sprout, don’t get eaten or die of thirst while I am in Senegal for WAIST. I have a volunteer tomato from the dirt that they used to plant the palm trees. I also have 2 volunteer tomatoes from the compost pile that I have transplanted into the plot. There are, in order of rows, bottom to top: Sweet Peas (for shade for spinach), Radishes, Spinach (please god let it live), Peppers orange and yellow (for shade for the cauliflower), Cauliflower (a long shot), Beets, Lettuce, Carrots (purple) and finally Tomatoes (again for shade for the lettuce) I also have a few Sunflowers along the Southern edge, again to help shade the delicates from the blazing Saharan sun. In 10 days I am going to try another crop of spinach and lettuce, you know, so that I can have a salad day after day after day. It could happen!

Chateau Deatrick is back to full production after a holiday break. I even had to hire additional help. We anticipate a full house when we host a Trash Marathon at the end of March and the casks are running low.

We reset the GMC schedule due to the fact that the College (Jr High) changed their hours from a continuous day to a split day making it impossible to schedule classes for the College girls during the week. Okay, no problem, we’ll teach the Lycee (High School) girls Tues, Wed and Thurs and leave Sat for College. It’s not fair but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances. The College girls now have class till 5 and need to be home before dark which is 6:15. There is no way to fit in a weekday class. Then this past Thursday, at the end of the Lycee’s French class, the girls inform me that the Lycee has also changed its hours to match those of the College thus eliminating the Lycee girls from our center as well. Grrrrrrrrrowwwwwwwwwllllllllllll. It’s a pain for us but it is a much bigger imposition for the families. Some of these kids walk an hour each way. To cut up their day from 8-12 then again 3-5, will require them to walk or take a taxi 4 X per day. Honestly, what does the Ministry of Education think this move will do to the dropout rate? Yes, if they offered lunch on campus that would be helpful; but the schools have neither the infrastructure nor funding for that kind of off-the-cuff change. In this culture, actually any culture, what parent would leave their teenagers unsupervised, in the big city, for 3 hours each afternoon.

I am continually amazed that enormous changes are enacted over here with little to no fanfare. About 3 weeks into this school year all of the directors (principals) were rearranged throughout the country. This process took 1.5 months to settle down. These folks had to uproot their families and move hither and thither around Mauritania, with literally, one weekend, 3 days notice. After that little exercise, the teacher’s class schedules have changed no less than 3 times in the fall semester. Now this, a complete restructuring of the school day. I can’t believe the entire educational system staff has not up and quit. I am sure they would have if there were any other jobs available in this country.

As you can read, my days are very full. Between gardening, wining; the daily chores, (see previous blogs) writing blogs, reading War and Peace (page 1200), there is little time for much else. I have dropped my journaling as I just run out of steam. It will be difficult to piece together the book at the end of this.

What about the French, you ask? That seems to be at a stand still. I blame it on Mark as he is bogarting all of the good French books. Not really, I just wanted to use the word “bogarting”in a sentence.

Work, you ask? Work, French, would you stop with all of the questions already!

Morella and I, along with her APCD met with the feeding centers, Les Enfants Du Desert, last week to present CereAmine. Scheduling a meeting in the country is rather tricky. The APCD’s (I can not tell you what that acronym stands for but we have one for each of 5 PC sectors working in this country and they run the sector) come into town for just a day or two; one isn’t quite sure when they will arrive, how long they will stay and what their intentions and goals are while in town. Throw in the obligatory protocol with the town officials and the long, long, long Mauritanian lunch and you are left with very few usable hours with which to work. So after 3 reschedulings, we finally meet up with the Les Enfants Du Desert. Stepping into her compound was like stepping into paradise. She has furniture, trees, foliage, shade, a breeze, the place is tidy as a pin and a teenage pup who wants to nibble on your toes and/or skirt hem. We arrived just before 9 and the place was abuzz with the volunteers who were getting ready to head out to one of the 7 feeding centers they have in Atar. It was a treat to feast one’s eyes on a dozen, young, virile frenchies. They shake your hand, kiss your cheeks and embrace you; men and women alike. It’s a wonderful thing. There are also half a dozen folks there just to meet with us. All, except for Aicha, are volunteers in town to help for 2-3 months. One couple are a repeat volunteers who apparently come down each year. She is a nurse. He, I never learned what he does, but his T-shirt bore the word Spiruline (or something like that...not sure how to spell that) which they kept referring, so I suppose he does something with that. The conversation was, naturally, in French and since Mark has been bogarting all of the books I was a little out of the verbal loop. Praise Allah that Douda was with us (APCD) and could speak to the history and fill in many of the specifics of CereAmine, because although I have had a thorough 45 minutes of training on the product. I still didn’t feel quite up to pitching it. Anyway, we sat around on couches, sipping café, discussing nutrition and feeling fine. After about 45 minutes and dumping our literature on a flashdrive (god bless technology) for them, we headed out to tour a couple of the centers. We followed them through parts of this city that I have never seen. Many areas of this town look like scenes from The Pianist; they are just in rubble. I have no idea why. These centers are run differently from the other one I described to you a few blogs back. This one is open all morning and is for children that are not yet old enough to attend school. Each serves about 50 kids. There is a room for the infants and toddlers and a room for the older children. The older children are taught their colors, numbers, letters, etc. The centers are run by a combination of Mauritanians on staff and a couple of French volunteers in each. The children receive a meal, are weighed, their general health checked, are administered vaccines and other medicines. There was one little boy there who had received a horrible burn a couple of months back which they felt compelled to show me. Ouch. His initial visit was to the hospital, but after that the dressings were changed by the staff at the center. His family, no doubt could not afford the trip (via cab) or the visit to the doctor so thankfully, the center staff could administer this care. All of the information is kept on a chart for each child.

In our research of CereAmine, Morella and I came across an anecdotal account of how much 0K should serve. According to that story of 11 children, 2 meals a day for almost 2 weeks brought us to the belief that 10K should make 300 servings, which we present to the center. This combined with the sheer nutritional impact of a complete protein convinced them to try CereAmine at their centers in February. I later learn that they felt that the increase in cost was offset by the nutritional benefits the children would receive. God love the do-gooders.

Holy crap, they want to start in February. It’s mid January and we haven’t trained or rather re-trained, the cooperatives on how to fabricate it, let alone be ready to supply a group that feeds 4-500 kids a day. Not to mention that we are headed back to Senegal mid-February for WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) But Morella and I as well as Douda are feeling very pleased with ourselves and our work. I don’t recall if I told you, but I became acquainted with the name Les Enfants Du Desert when I purchased some of the cards in the airport and turned them over to see who published the little gems. Then, one Saturday back in early December, while sitting around at Tent City doing handwork with Zeinebou a couple of their volunteers came by and spent a hour or so sitting around too and having tea. They gave me some brief information on where they were located. I mentioned this to Morella, the health volunteer here in Atar; and lo and behold, once back from Christmas, off we go in search of them. She’s only got a few months left of her service (she’s a year ahead of me) and we need to get moving on this.

Okay, it’s the next day and Morella and I need to make a plan. My stomach is in a knot trying to figure out how we can get enough kilos of CereAmine in their hands within a couple of weeks. There is no way the coops can get this pulled off in this short timeframe. Not only is there training to be made; there is also an awful lot of financing that needs to be secured in order to get that volume pumped out. Morella and I meet in the bureau to brainstorm. Do they want to do the trial at just one center with 50 kids or the entire Atar population of 350 kids? There are also another 125 or so, kids out in the environs of Atar. Wow, that’s a lot of mouths, a lot of monthly servings. I (of all people) work on the numbers. 300 servings per 10K for 1 center for 24 days (Feb is a short month) is about 40K. All 350 mouths are about 130K (or something, I’d have to look at my notes) For fun, I quickly run the revenue for the coops if the trial proves successful and they decide to proceed with this project. The ladies will make quite a tidy sum. Lord, we might have to get a factory. Who needs the tourists and their fickle travel plans. There is always a market of hungry little mouths in Atar.

However, when we try to plug these numbers into a spreadsheet some volunteer formulated for CereAmine and Feeding Centers the numbers are WAAAAYYYYYYY off. In dissecting the formula, the spreadsheet has a serving at anywhere from 125 - 187g depending on the age of the kid. We settle on 150g’s with which to work. I’ll let you do the math but let me tell you, it ain’t 300 servings in 10,000g. Damn the metric system. Who can work in those amounts? Why can’t I have gallons, ounces and pounds? Why don’t we have serving information on our product? Shit, shit, double shit.

And this is where it stands at this moment. Morella and I have to get back in there and find out exactly how much cereal they are currently purchasing and take our numbers from that. Possibly they weren’t listening when we said that 10K would feed 300. Although, they did ask us a couple of times for clarification on that specific detail. In retrospect, they should have been skeptical at what we were saying as they are experts at little mouths. But instead they must have been amazed at this miracle power we were presenting. Being Peace Corps gives us far more credibility than we deserve.

I was going to wait to write a blog until the above situation had resolved itself. But in rethinking it, I thought it would be much more edifying for you to live through this process with me. Stay tuned.

Cheers from here

Here is a website for you: http://www.lesenfantsdudesert.org
Also I hear that www.france24.com piece on Mauritania has an English translation, just click around. Here is the youtube site thanks to Lisa, another hipster....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YS9ayJWbu4

LET ME KNOW IF ANYONE IS READING THIS...IF YOU ARE, MAKE A COMMENT OR SEND ME AN E-MAIL.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2008-01-14T03:34:00.000-08:00

Me, my life is going on. I have been a bit blue. The post-holiday doldrums; the nytimes op/ed; the terrorist attack(s), Kenya’s implosion all weigh heavily. I am also feeling fat. The mirrors and store fronts in Nouakchott and St Louis were not a help. Neither were the 25 beers and pizza everyday. I gotta tell you, living without mirrors is liberating. Now, after all of those mirrors, all I can do now is ruminate on how badly I need a haircut.

In many ways, the op/ed it is an accurate assessment of the Peace Corps. I have voiced a similar sentiment just recently. We can’t be too effective if development if after 40 years here, the population still doesn’t wash its hands nor eat vegetables in sufficient amounts. Mauritanians have created their own outreach programs, doing community assessments, with huge sums of money to invest in regional projects in a quest to keep folks from flocking to the capital. So they, themselves, are starting to do the work that we aspire to do. PC could use older, more experienced volunteers. However, if it wants to attract older, more qualified volunteers, it will need to evolve considerably, not that anyone with PC has asked for my opinion on this matter. But if they were to, I’d say, for starters, the pay is too low to live comfortably unless you have recently been accustomed to living by a students standards, a budget so tight that you have to weigh out the cost of a soda; the training and living conditions are physically grueling to these old bones; and the rules seem designed to keep a fraternity in line rather than those of a professional organization. In its defense, the staff is charged with keeping these kids safe inspite/despite (I never know when to use which) of themselves. Many of these kids would like to believe that they are grown up and autonomous, but if one, mashalla, went a-missing DC would erupt with unhappy parents. DC, in turn, would come down heavily on the Peace Corps staff and more rules would have to be enacted. I’m confident that Terry McGraw nor the board of directors of McGraw Hill would not have been remotely influenced if my mother had called complaining about my treatment or safety. I on course, can only speak for my experience in PC RIM, no doubt, PC Belize and/orTonga is different animal, the lucky bastards.

As for PC Kenya, they must be heartbroken. It's disheartening when one of the more stable countries in Africa goes to hell in just a few hours. Is there truly hope for any of them?

As for my work, the cultural fair is probably not a worthwhile endeavor, at least for now. The tourists have all but dried up because of the attacks in Aleg. The mood here is bleak. The tourists are a major source of income for many people and the flights are arriving virtually empty. The attack was unsettling for me personally, as I don’t want to be killed by terrorists. A stunning admission to be sure. Although I can’t say that I have changed anything I am doing because of it; honestly, I don’t know what I could change. But as the 100 of us set off from the capital last week to go back to our sites, I thought, holy shit, we are awfully vulnerable. The night before I was to depart, I ran into the US Ambassador at a restaurant, and he, in a very heartfelt manner, asked that I be very careful traveling. Makes me wonder what he knows that I don’t. There have been no threats to the Peace Corps, as such, but honestly, how can a nut distinguish us from a French tourist and frankly, would said nut care. I take comfort, and so should you, that Mauritanian’s pride themselves on their non-violence especially in light of what is going on in the rest of the African and Arab world, which this country straddles. So far, the worst offense I have encountered has been an offering of a relation of love. (see previous blog) Heck, they want to marry westerners not shoot them.

There was a rally today (Saturday) in Atar wanting the tourist back. One of the signs said “Mille Regrets Pour Vos Absence” or something like that. “A thousand regrets for your absence” Interestingly, some are blaming Sarkozy for the loss of tourism euros and not Al Qaeda. It makes one shake her head. There were other signs, maybe condemning the acts, but I couldn’t read them as they were in Arabic as were all of the speeches. None the less, there must have been 3-400 people in the Carrefour in support of this community and this economy. It was wonderful to see. I love freedom of speech in action. I got goosebumps as the marchers and cars descended upon the Carrefour making their voices and horns heard. I doubt that it made the news outlets but for those reading this, the headline would be ADRAR LOVES THE TOURISTS, PLEASE COME BACK AND EAT DATES, DRINK TEA, SLEEP UNDER OUR SAHARAN STARS.

On to a brighter note. I have a couple of other ideas for work that might fly, although that remains to be seen. I might have mentioned that I want to get CereAmine into the hands of feeding centers as I can not possibly create a general market for it with no money nor means for marketing. I went with my site mate and health volunteer Kristin to see Les Enfants du Desert which runs 7 feeding centers here in Atar. We are going back on Tuesday. Genevieve, a French woman, runs it with the help of a handful of volunteers who rotate out every couple of months. Kristin’s French is far, far, far superior to mine. Thankfully she’s good natured about doing the translating for me. I tried as best I could to explain the approach that we should take; she is a clever girl and handled the interaction with aplomb. I hope my sales skills come in handy on this one. By all appearances, it should be a slam dunk, but we have a lot yet to learn about Les Enfants du Desert’s funding and mission. CereAmine can be a holistic solution to some of the problems here, feed poor children a complete protein and create income for poor women who can make the stuff from ingredients found in the local market….I have the women to make it, thanks to the work of volunteers who have come before me, now I’d like to find them a source of revenue straight away—and feeding centers seem to be an logical answer. Hopefully the money will fall into place. I know ceramine is more expensive than rice, but she is buying something from Unicef. So we’ll see. If the cost of fabricating the stuff isn’t inline with the market it is certainly not the panacea that we all hope it to be.

As for Senegal. The food was great, the hotel was wonderful, the bars were a relief as was being anonymous in Nouakchott and Senegal. But it’s was difficult to see past the poverty. At first glance, Senegal seems like paradise but it didn’t take long to see the filth. I decided not to into the ocean after seeing what was on the beach just 2 kilometers up current, and trash was the least of the matter. I’ll spare you the details.

Anyway, I vacillate between actually wanting to accomplish something here and just biding my time making wine, gardening and playing twister. It takes so much effort to bridge the language and cultural gap each day that it is tempting just to make wine and play twister but I think my spirit would be better served if I could at least leave a little mark on this wretched place.

Cheers from here

Updates

I had a refrigerator delivered yesterday.
Atar elected an entire new batch of municipals officials while I was away. I am starting at square 1 with protocol.
The new mayor is installing sidewalks throughout the town.
The weekend changed from Sat and Sun to Fri and Sat.
Mail Tuesday has become Mail Inshallah
Sauces, the restaurant had a TV installed so I can see news everyday at lunch. Its European news, but I actually know what’s going on in our primaries. You will be glad to know when the news of the arrests of the evil men who shot the terrorists come across, the restaurant burst into applause.
I am 900 pages into War and Peace
We finally have DSL in Atar, therefore we should have it in our bureau very soon. I am currently using a loaner. It’s a sexy little usb interface that plugs right into your usb port. No hardwires, just antennas.
It’s a bit pricy, but I may opt for a version in my home….I can sit home during the hot months and eat popsicles and skype. Life is looking up.

Switched back to old number

2008-01-11T12:17:00.001-08:00

Well, guess what turned up? my sim card. It fell out of my laundry from St. Louis. So i am going back to my old telephone number.

New Photos and Phone Available

2008-01-04T02:32:00.000-08:00

I have finally managed to get my flickr photos up-to-date as of New Years 08 while in the capital with access to a fast, reliable internet connection. I also managed to lose my sim card while in St. Louis so I have also posted my new phone number as well. FYI St. Louis is in Senegal for all of those who thought I took a quick trip to the mid-west over the holidays.

Stay tuned, when I finally quit traveling (I should be back in Atar on Monday) and find the time to reflect on all that I have seen and done I will make a post.

Happy New Year

Fantasy Island, Zee Plane Zee Plane

2007-12-16T01:32:00.000-08:00

I have been in quite a whirlwind the last week or so. Soukeina, my APCD was in town and we had meetings with various and sundry persons, making many protocol visits here in Atar. I also took a little road trip to Chinguetti, lunching with the Hakem. After her departure, I spent the weekend at the Exposition des Produits Artisinaux, which I refer to as tent city. All the women speak Hassaniya not French. Luckily on Saturday morning, Kelsey, the volunteer in Tawaz who has studied Hassaniya, came with me and was able to make some conversation and translation. Saturday afternoon I went alone and spent the later part of the evening doing handwork along with Zeinebou. Who needs words when you can make fringe on the ends of your howli? Sitting there I couldn’t help but think how much Doris would have enjoyed this scene. Me covered in spent threads, the women conversing in Arabic about how my hands might look so nimble but are in fact all thumbs. Frankly, I prefer work that involves the use of a sledgehammer and the satisfaction of demolition more than teeny, tiny intricate work. A few French tourists came through. They had been on walking tours around the area. I was impressed not only with their 90K trek but their perfect English. They of course, thought I was also French, at least until I open my mouth. They were impressed that I, an American, was capable of uttering a syllable in a foreign tongue and indulged me in French for awhile. One sweet fellow, who after learning that I was with Corps de la Paix working with these women to combat poverty, tried his hardest to spend some money at our tent. After much browsing, he settled on a bracelet for 1500 ums. He only had a 2000 um bill and Zeinebou spent a goodly amount of time trying to find change for him. She finally scraps together 400 um, which is more than he wanted. He tried to give make a donation to the ladies or at least give me a cut of 200um. Naturally I had to decline. I also sold a few jars of date jam hopefully proving myself an asset to the enterprise. Not only can I converse with these tourists unlike most of the women, but the tourists seem overjoyed to purchase from me. Okay, a day well spent.

The next day, Sunday, I make a plan with the ladies to the airport because I wanted to see what goes on at that location. We are to meet at 9 at the tents. Mark and Kelsey come along too. We 3 were all in a twitter about our impending adventure. Not only would this be a new experience for us but there might be the added benefit of cute flight attendants. We arrived at tent city at 8:30, sat around, had some tea, saw some tourists. I tried to ask questions about who, what, where and when we were to leave. Through the translation of one of the guides who is there with some tourists, we determined that the women left for the airport plus tot, very early. Fill in your own expletive. How did that happen? I asked this question repeatedly, as did Kelsey. How did we miscommunicate? Crap, I hope we didn’t miss the planes, the opportunity, the flight attendants. Mark was 1 casse into the tea, but we had to leave. We hailed (not really hailed, more knocked on its window) a cab just outside and whisked off to the airport not knowing exactly what we are in for. Do the ladies have a place in the airport? Along the road? Will getting through security be a problem? One never knows who/what one will encounter in Mauritania. A little site note, cab fare has increased from 200 um to 300 um. If my math is right, that is an increase of 50%.

Anyway, we got there and all was well. Security was a breeze, just shouted out “Corps de la Paix” There were about 4 tents along the parking lot as well as a handful of vendors with their tables lined in front of the tents. There were 2 planes expected on that particular Sunday; one at 10am and the other roughly 1. 10:00 rolls by with no sign of planes but the departing vacationers are beginning to dwindle in. As do a handful of the locals that we’ve seen around town all of the time. The gentleman from the feeding center, described a few blogs back, is there. Apparently he is also in the tour business. The kid who runs the cyber in the evenings also shows up. Apparently he works at the money changing booth. As well as the handful of suspects that I did expect to see as I knew them to be tour guides. We wondered through the terminal, which is one room and were treated to the sight of a team of French Pompiers (firefighters) in their sexy blue traveling uniforms. Wow, flight attendants move over. More tourists trickle in. We speculated on their trips, their lives, their relations, just as the folks of Atar speculate about us. We were certain that one group is from a gay auberge and we vowed to find out more. Maybe there is some fun underground dance party happening here. Doubtful, but one can hope. Again, we inquired as to the planes scheduled arrival time and are told by one of the tour guides, who may be a bit better informed as he is meeting his clients, to expect them at 12 and 2. Scheduling miscommunications seemed to be the order of the day. Hum, a bit longer of a wait then expected but no worries. Why the heck do the ladies arrive here so early in the morning? I bought a bottle of water and a package of camel biscuits at extremely inflated prices and we adjourned to the parking lot. The three of us sat on the curb of the parking lot eating and watching the doings. This is another world. More and more tourists arrived for their departure, the terminal is jam packed. Most looked rather ragged. It was difficult to determine if they had enjoyed their sojourn in our fair Adrar. More and more locals that we know, who seem to be living a double life, arrived.

Suddenly, overhead, a plane. We are excited. New arrivals! We watch the plane land then head inside for the show. We wait and we wait and we wait. I have no idea what is going on but there is apparently a load of paperwork that this plane full of people have to fill out before they can be let into the terminal. Again, not to worry, Mark, Kelsey and I are front and center. Mark observes that we are like people at a pet store staring at the puppies, kids in a candy store with our noses pushed up against the glass. During this time I get to know a tour guide who is waiting to meet his next group of adventurers He is of European decent and is chatting me up, in perfect English. Note to self, when at the airport, be sure to edit my conversations as many of these people will speak, and more importantly, understand what I say. Most of the time, we volunteers use a secret language, English, which no one understands. It’s like having a super power. We are invincible. Who needs to leap tall buildings in a single bound when you can talk about someone right in front of them? Unfortunately, occasionally my superpowers have failed me and I have been caught by folks that understood perfectly well what I was saying. Here’s a story for you. Early in my life here, I was at the Chingatel office trying to determine if, in deed, I could send texts to the US as they claimed. The fellow behind the counter, the rare sighting of an attractive Moor, offers to let me send a text from his phone, which I do. I don’t remember the details, but for some reason I was sending him a text so that he would have my phone number in order to send the text to the US. It makes no sense to me now, but it did them. Anyway, in the body of the text I wrote “call me”, feeling impish and invincible. Just before I hit send, he repeats his number to me, only this time in English. I am not sure what went wrong but my brain did not register that he was speaking English fast enough, because sure enough, I send him that text. Michelle, who was co-conspirator in this prank, chimes in with “maybe he only knows the numbers”. No such luck. He knew exactly what that text meant. Great, just the reputation I need. Madame Toubab hits on much younger local Chingatel representative. Michelle and I could hardly contain our laughter until we got out of the building and onto the street. Anyway, back to European chatting me up….having being well schooled in this culture, I am wary of what might come out of this man’s mouth. I am politely engaged in the conversation (I think), but in the back of my mind I am wondering “Will this conversation, like the majority of them do, go on a tangent that I am not interested in taking. Will he ask the dreaded are you married or the even more subtle, do I want to go take pictures in the dunes?” He, of course, says nothing inappropriate and I am left reflecting that, after 5 months in this country, I am unfit for polite company. The only comfort I have is that I am fairly certain that I refrained from glowering at him as he was speaking with me.

As it turned out we could only stay long enough to watch a handful of tourists arrive as it was getting late. Much later than we expected considering we anticipated the plane landing at 10 and it was now past 1. Any who, we go outside and try to find a cab. No luck as all of the cars at the airport have been previously engaged. One of our Senegalese souvenir guys is there to exchange Euros, he will give us a ride if we want to wait till he is finished with his transactions. We can’t wait. We have lunch plans with another group of Senegalese souvenir guys and Kelsey has to go to the market before she heads back to her village at 5. So off we wonder trying to figure out how to get home. We ask the security guards at the entrance to the airport and they get us a ride in the bed of a Helix full of tourists with a tour guide with a familiar face. Off we go in true Peace Corps form. The 3 of us are riding high. We have had a good day, a good adventure and have a free ride back to town headed for some Chebujen. Life is good.

Merry Christmas to one and all
Expect my posting will be from my “posh” room in St. Louis Senegal during New Years. I’ll be at the Hotel Residence from the 12/30 – 1/2

By Jove

2007-12-05T11:18:00.000-08:00

It is so very difficult to write these blogs as something less than a novel. Every single interaction, each event that I witness is worthy of some tale. I often wish I had some hidden camera, some Ed TV, to follow me around to document for you and for me, exactly what it is like here. Oh, where to start?

On Monday I had that follow-up meeting with my counterpart. Well, I show up and off we go to meet the coops. I thought I was showing up to discuss my fete idea and fix a time to meet with the cooperatives. Not what I expected. I am dressed in cargo pants and a mandarin collared, long button down tunic. Western but culturally appropriate, meaning my crotch is covered. Appropriate, I should say, for a meeting with my counterpart, a man accustomed to Peace Corps volunteers, but not as I would have dressed to meet a group of women for the first time. Oh well, what would one expect from the woman who runs around town bareheaded.

We walk around the corner and into a little boutique that I have passed many times but never noticed. He introduces me to a half dozen women, a couple of whom speak French. They are the principal’s of a Union comprised of 13 cooperatives, called L’Union des Femmes L’ Autosuffisane , Union of Self-sufficient Women (I think). Well, this is a good start. I like the idea. I am ready for a change from all of my, up till now, interactions with the men of this town. A group of women in a union of self sufficiency might just be the ticket. Just the boost I need. Please god, let things be looking up.

My counterpart, Mohamed ould sompin sompin sompin, (a most definite exception to the above statement) helps me with the translation. Note, he is translating from Hassaniya (an Arabic dialect) to French, so as you can imagine, I may or may not have my facts straight. The eldest woman, Zeinebou, does their marketing. Mind you, she might just be the oldest women in the world at this moment so I am curious as to her ability. But let me not judge a book by her cover. They are lovely, patient and engaging. We have tea. They show me an array of their handmade products: tie-dye, leather pillows (like the one my family in Boghe gave me as a parting gift), woven bowls, and some square quilted thing they kept calling a petit tante. A little aunt? It’s for infants. Do they sit the kid on it? Do they tie them up with it? Bear in mind that I am in Mauritania where infants are dragged around by an arm or a leg much like a sack of potatoes. Support their head? Are you crazy? What for? There is little supervision even for the littlest tike. Par example: one day Morella came rounding a corner and before her stood a toddler with a plastic bag on his head having a gay old time. There were loads of adults standing around, some watching. Now we’ve all seen the warning that a plastic bag is not a toy. But apparently they haven’t seen that particular warning here. The tike pulled the bag off, found it was less fun, and pulled the bag back on his head. Aghast, she marched over, ripped the bag off the toddlers head and lectured the adults, those that spoke French, that is was NOT a good thing. Very dangerous! Probably to no avail. Another day, Heather came home to her compound and found an infant all alone, tied to the leg of a chair, WITH A BRA. Possibly his Ma didn’t want him crawling off somewhere while she was away. So I have no idea what this contraption is for but I am certain this petite tante is not an enrichment toy.

The ladies explain that they are low on stock as they have a tent at the “exhibition” and also sell at the airport on Sundays. According to my notes, the exhibition is manned on Saturday and Sunday as well as 3 women go to the airport on Sunday with some goods. Wow, I am impressed. I have been thinking that the airport might be a good opportunity to capture the tourist market, but I have yet to go see for myself what the setup is like. I have been reluctant to go as I have been through 1 Mauritanian airport and have been here long enough to not get my hopes up when it comes to facilities. Also, I don’t want to be arrested for being at the airport without a ticket. (Not that I have heard that happens) Since I am the SED volunteer, I put on my business hat and try to ask some intelligent questions. How many members do they have? Do the members pay a percentage of their sales to the Union or a flat rate? The answer is flat rate. Do they work with the tour guides to bring tourists to them? Well, this question got a strong reaction. Mohamed was out praying, so I’m a little fuzzy on the reason, but the word moushkeila came up a number of times. It is one of the 5 Hassaniya words I do know. Aaron and Christine, volunteers in Akjoujt, (see flikr photos of S. African tourists in Halloween set) named their new kitten Mouchkeila. Moushkeila means problem/trouble. If I understood correctly, the tour guides try to negotiate the price of their goods too low. ChaChing, my business brain chimes. We need to build the value of these handmade goods in the eyes of the buyer. See boys and girls, all of those years of sales training were not wasted

The ladies are also anxious to meet our other volunteers and enlist their services. BINGO. As I have said in a previous blog, it can be difficult to find organizations with which one wants to work, and I may have just found one. I am conjecturing that Zeinebou has worked with us in the past as she asked specifically for a health volunteer and about Moringa. Moringa is a nutritional supplement that PC RIM supports. I got a whiff of some during training and it smells very similar to that Super Food stuff you purchase at Trader Joe’s for $50 a pop. Moringa contains loads of protein, vitamin c, iron, vitamin a, etc; so a couple of Tbs can boost the nutritional content of this cuisine. And, what’s more, the Moringa tree is supposedly easy to grow in this climate. Anyway, that Zeinebou is familiar with this product is intriguing.

I make a plan to go see the “exhibition” the next day at 10 and to return on Thursday at 4 with my health volunteer in tow. Not a bad day’s work.

It just so happens that my APCD, PC RIM staff person who runs SED, is in town the following day. She is new having just come onboard at the end of August. She comes along to meet our counterpart and visit this “exhibition”. Someone described this site to me as a place where a bunch of old women sit and sell their wares. In my mind, it is going to be some variation of the Senegalese souvenir shops that popped open for the tourist season. These shops are, frankly, full of crap. Wooden crap, metal crap, plastic crap. Mass produced crap. No wonderful little artifact with which to remember your Mauritanian adventure to be found amongst the crap. Reason number one that none of you have received gift. There is nothing to buy here but crap. Dusty crap at that.

Around 10 am, the Peace Corps car rolls up at the appointed location. We whisk away Mohamed and one of the ladies and off we go. The lady explains to my APCD that she will show me her cooperative, but won’t introduce me to the rest. I meant to ask her for more of an explanation as to why, but forgot. The exhibition is in a big sand lot with a high wall and contains 8 – 10 hyma’s (tents). It is an exhibition of “Femmes Artisan” (or something like that) but not much ambiance. Each tent houses a different cooperative or group of cooperatives, as my ladies are, sadly selling identical handmade items. But much to my delight, many of the items are quite lovely. They have wooden bowls, woven plates of various sizes made from some part of the palm tree. There are also woven funnel shaped things that look like hats, but are in fact steamers. Metal steamers are used in the south as the climate is more humid and I assume these organic steamers mold. But up here, the steamers are woven from, again, some part of a palm tree. In my defense, the town nut wonders around with one on his head, so truly they could and do double as hats. They also sell nattes. Nattes are big floor coverings. The nattes in my house (see flickr photos of Chez Moi and look at my floors) are made in China from plastic. These seem to be made of wood. As well as tie-dyed fabric, jewelry (nicer than what I have seen in the market), tea pots, tea casses, leather tom toms (drums), leather pillows and much, much more.

After about 45 minutes and a parting gift later, we take a tour through the rest of the tents. I learn more about the nattes and the other products. The nattes are hand woven, without a loom, out of palm and leather. The leather is sometimes painted with a pattern. One of the intricate ones, probably about 2X3 was marked at 20,000 um (250 um to a US$). At first I thought this was a big high, but then I learned that it was hand woven without a loom, then painted. See above, building value. I also saw a basket of what looked like skeins (can’t spell that), balls of yarn. DeDe, they were spun from camel hair/fur using a drop spindle. I believe that I impressed my APCD with my knowledge of textile arts. They knitted the camel yarn along with mutton yarn into a tent. Weaving, camel yarn, improving the lives of women by purchasing their handmade goods; by Jove, I might be onto something. My mind is reeling. The stage is set. The cast has most of its characters. It just needs a Director. I envision live demonstrations of how pieces are made, storytellers, dancing, drumming, tea serving, camel sheering (ok, that may be overboard). Here is my cultural fete waiting to happen. One little hitch in our giddy up. There is a communication gap between the Hassaniya speaking women and the French speaking tourists. Imagine that. But we don’t need much language. Picture in your mind story boards in French with photos about the cooperatives; the steps to fabricate these various pieces; explanation of the materials; each piece tagged with the name of the woman who created the piece. How do you say, “Made by Hand by Fatimatou” in French? Can one print calendars with photos in the RIM? If not, does Kodak ship to Mauritania? And if so, how much and how long? Let’s give these Frenchies something to buy with those lovely euros. Etc, etc, etc.

Next step, my plan is to observe the interactions with the tourists at the exhibition on Saturday. And on Sunday, observe what happens at the airport. Think leaflets with a map to the exhibition.

Praise Allah, I may have found work. Inshallah.

Happy Hanukah

Thanksgiving Celebration

2007-11-29T09:12:00.000-08:00

I love my English class. I enjoy teaching adults. We spent 1.5 hours working on the pronunciation of –ed endings. Sometimes, as in Kissed, the -ed sounds like a t, sometimes as in saved, the –ed sounds like d, and after t and d sounds, the –ed ending adds another syllable and sounds like ed such as needed. Who knew that there were rules to govern that, but there are, and I found them, and we practiced them. Frankly I was tired of the class reading asked as if it were a 2 syllable word..as in “as ked”. I must admit, it’s sad to train their accent away because its adorable. They all sound like PePe Le Pew. Alas, they don’t want to sound like Mr. Le Pew. A couple even came up and thanked (pronounced as a D) me for the exercises. Of course for the last 30 minutes of class we read a text on the wikipedia definition of Thanksgiving. I also had a prop, Marvis, who works for MHC, makes little foam characters each holiday and one made it to me in a Mail Tuesday package. Shout out to Marvis and Teri. After a lengthy discussion of what a turkey is, who Benjamin Franklin was and which were the 13 colonies, we read the text and serv ed our mash ed potatoes…so we still need a little work. If anyone comes across any workbooks for teaching English as a Second Language (ESL), we sure could use them. We have a beginning and intermediate class.

Fast Forward a few days………

Coming up on Thanksgiving was tough on me and the rest of the volunteers. Knowing and hearing the plans back home and not being part of it can be a drag, but with the holidays, the draginess was far more pronounced. But the day of Thanksgiving was terrific. The Akjoujt group came up to celebrate like Halloween. They needed the break and we needed the injection, so a perfect match. Many thanks to all that sent goodies. Chris, Teri, Wendy and Michelle for their pie ingredients, Michelle for the stuffing and cranberries, and Mona for more stuffing. The menu was stuffing, mashed potatoes with roasted garlic, cranberry jelly, salad, fruit salad, chicken (with Survival Spice), deviled eggs and 5 pies. 2 pumpkin, cherry, apple pies and a chocolate flan. Emmanual, the new owner of the ritzy restaurant in town, let us use his oven (and kitchen) to bake the pies and roast the garlic. The chef was also good enough to let us use his rolling pin, graciously offered after he witnessed me trying to use a nalgene bottle for that purpose. He also brought out an array of cooking implements, tinfoil and parchment paper for our use. He could barely contain himself as we rumbled around his kitchen, but in a very good natured and generous way. In exchange we spent far in excess of our meal budget on a dinner at his place, L’Assiette. Morella negotiated the priced from 3500 to 1500 um, and he stripped away any of the extra’s for a lovely meal of poached fish, potato and fruit salad for desert, complete with sitting at a table in a chair with silverware and a napkin. Lord I’ve been saved!

Bright and early the next day we left for Chinguetti. The ride was quite an experience. 11 people, 11 backpacks + a goat in a Toyota 4 Runner. The goat was tied to the roof. We were stuffed in the inside along with the luggage. 2 hours later and many stops to re-secure the goat to the top, and we were in Chinguetti. (I might turn this adventure into a blog, or just a wild story over drinks the next time I see you) Between the goat nearly falling off of the roof while cruising along at 40 mph; its peeing all over the car, into the windows, and down Mark’s arm; and the orange dust covered V’s that emerged from the car looking like oompah loompahs, it is a story to tell. That being said, that evening we had another delicious meal of tagine, thanks to goat, made by another Moroccan chef. This was delicious. The meat was tender and topped with special Moroccan dates (prunes). I am truly integrating because after the meal, between casses of tea, I took a nap.

Bright and early the next day we left on the camel trek. It was 11 of us, 2 guides and 7 camels. I, being the village elder (no not village idiot) got my own camel. The others split a camel. This time, as opposed to the time mom and I went on a camel ride in Cairo, the camel didn’t seem quite so tall. Of course, between Cairo and Chinguetti, I have been riding Simon, a 16 hand horse so my point of reference has shifted. We were without injury but not without incidence, no thanks to those cantankerous camels. Jessica was bucked off, completely out of the saddle, which is about 6 inches deep. She went flying. In the camel’s defense, I think he got spooked. But as you can imagine, a fall or rather being thrown, from 10 ft up could have been a horrible injury. I witnessed all of this from about 20 yards back, high aloft my trusty steed. Then, Sharon, the other one, was mounting the beast, and before she was completely in the saddle, the camel stood up. They don’t seem to enjoy being forced to lie on the ground while we scramble up onto their backs. Well she was splayed out across the back of him barely hanging on. Luckily there were backpacks tied on as saddle bags and 2-5 qt pots as well (that had contained our lunch) that were supporting her shoulders, or else she would have been ass over teakettle too. To her credit, when the guide wrestled the camel back to the ground via a ring through the camel’s nostril, she settled in and went on about the ride. She even braved getting back aboard the next day. I can’t say the same for Jessica.

We just went on an overnight. The desert is amazing. We trekked for 3 hours in the morning, on and off the camels and spent the afternoon at an oasis. There we ate and napped in true Mauritanian style. We then hiked for another hour or so to our camping spot. During this excursion, I discovered that my Crocs are far better for trudging through sand dunes than my Keens. The enclosed toe of the Keen’s traps that sand around your toes making your shoes too tight. Whereas, the holes in the toes of the Crocs provide the perfect bilge for evacuating the sand that accumulates with each step. (To be fair, Keen’s are far superior for scampering over boulders on the hike to the swimming hole) Once at our campsite, the guides unburdened and settled in the camels while we threw around a football. As soon as the sun went down, the wind picked up and the temperature plummeted. Not that it has been that warm during the day. Even with hiking up and down sand dunes, sans camel, I kept a sweatshirt on for most of the day. We sat around a teeny tiny campfire and had dinner of tuna salad on the bread that the guides made in the sand under the coals. The bread was a bit tough, but pretty amazing.

At the last minute I threw in my Thermarest pad and believe you, me, I was glad. The only part of me that wasn’t on the Thermarest when curled into a ball, was my foot. The minute I adjusted, unfurl my limbs and my leg hit the sand, I was aware of how cold it was. The others, they had no such insulation and were very cold by the am. At 6am the temperature was 45 degrees-I know because I took my broken, Brookstone travel clock with thermometer. The jury is still out on the mummy sleeping bag. I was toasty, but I am a bit too wiggly for all that cocooning. It felt suspiciously like a straight jacket. Not that I have ever been in a straight jacket, but as I imagine a straight jacket would feel. What I enjoyed in the desert was the silence. Except for the wind there was just peace and quiet. I also enjoyed the lack of Mauritanians. Our daily life here is a grind from the minute one steps out one’s front door till one steps back home. One is routinely accosted verbally, emotionally and/or physically in the small 1-mile radius that is our habitate. We have had a couple of ugly incidents with locals that I won’t bore you with, but being out in the desert, away from the hordes, in western (American) clothes, felt like a vacation. We tried to come up with as many onomatopoeia as we could: boom, creak, pop, fizz, oppah (but I am not sure that counts). Even the name sounds rooted in Dr. Seuss rather than Latin. With all of that vastness, stillness, and sobriety, one can’t help but ponder the questions that have been lurking in the crevasses of ones brain. For instance, do one’s political leanings detract from on’es artistic creations? Does Wagner having been a Nazi (allegedly) make his music sounds less beautiful? Then I got stumped on all those McCarthy era Hollywood turncoats. Was it Billy Wilder who fingered someone or am I mistaken? I hope not, because I love his movies. Stuff like that roams through my brain; out of the blue; without warning or prompting when not otherwise occupied.

Anyway, we hike it back to Chinguetti without further incident and land back in Atar to more sweatshirt weather. I slept indoors for the first time evening before last. I was reluctant to do so as I love sleeping under the stars, but I had a scratchy throat and thought the cold night air was a bad idea. I have never really understood how ancient civilizations could be so aware of the night sky to create calendars, name constellations, plant crops. Now I do. I know what phase the moon is each night; I know if it is waxing or waning. I never miss a full moon or a new moon. I am aware when the moon is rising late or early as it impacts me. The moon is as important to my night as sunlight is to my day. I am afraid all that will be lost when I go inside. But the allure of warmth, good health and quiet is alluring. ((how’s that for waxing poetic? “allure is alluring”(folks, I do this free style without the use of reference books such as dictionaries or thesaurus, although I often want to reach for one - just my little brain powering these musings) So inside I slept. It was strange being in a dark, enclosed room. For the first little bit, I felt like I was in a mausoleum I also was remembering the roach in the ear story from site visit. But I slept long and well. No 4,5,6 am prayer call, no braying ass, no bleating sheep, just sleep. Except, of course, for the guy peeing outside my window.
I slept inside last night as well. It seems that I am slowly moving myself from the veranda to the warmth of the room. The temperature has fallen from daytime high 90’s to 70’s in a week. I don’t mind wearing the long skirt even with a slip, which I spurn during the hot months. I wear my jean jacket the whole day through. Praise Allah.

Pictures will be forthcoming. I need to gather them up from others as I left my camera at home. Stay tuned.

Update Good news, we have permission to go with Chingatel (the fast internet service), This being a government operation, a written request has to be submitted. Inshallah, maybe after the New Year, we’ll be on. Say your prayers because this f-ing dial up, which is not working as I am typing this, is making me nuts. I am trying to make hotel reservations in St. Louis Senegal (not Missouri) via the web and the process is actually taxing my proficiency in profanity, if you can imagine.

Progress on the Work Front

2007-11-17T04:28:00.000-08:00

Progress on the Work Front.

I went to see my community counterpart yesterday, his name is Mohammed. If Mauritania was a drinking game, one would take a drink every time one met someone named Mohammed. I was very persistent in my quest as I tried to stop in both Tuesday and Wednesday morning, but his door was padlocked. We had had “protests” around town on those mornings, so his absence was understandable. Many Mauritanians were hanging pretty close to home on those days. I was finally successful on Thursday. I have been remiss in seeing him because 1. it is very frustrating to try communicate in French and b. I don’t want to put myself in a position to turn down his work offer. When I met him back in early August, during the site visit, he said he’d like me to come in a couple of times a week and do some data entry. It ain’t gonna happen because 1. we shouldn’t take a position that legitimately a Mauritanian could do for pay and 2. I dun wanna type. I must say, his French is getting much better.

I don’t know how he became involved with the Peace Corps but. He has been working with the SED volunteers in Atar for many years and is therefore, extremely patient with my bad French (unlike my landlord) and endless questions. See his picture on my flickr photos, I believe under the Site Visit album, or whatever the heck flickr calls them. He speaks very slowly, uses complete phrases (few pronouns as they are extremely confusing in French) and will re-explain something a number of times, using a variety of words, until I get it. He ought to be canonized. He occasionally throws in a bit of English, but that is cheating. He runs a lending program for Artisans and Small Businesses, which, if I recall correctly, is funded by mostly private funds, their origins I know not. We talked about the protests that had been going on around Mauritana, which are partly, a reaction to the high price of food and goods. And sadly, I believe, we concluded that there is no real solution to the problem which seems to be the result of the high cost of petrol. In my opinion, a little bit of competition in the supply chain couldn’t do them much harm either.

While I had his attention, I mentioned my idea of a cultural fair for the tourists which he thought it was a good idea. I don’t know if I have mentioned my festival idea before to you. During training I had the brilliant idea to create a weekly fair, exposition if you will, for the tourists. They fly in on Sunday via 2 charter plans from France, spend a night or two in Atar, then they hightail it out of town in their 4WD, off to Chinguetti and/or Oudane. Atar isn’t at first, second, third or forth glance, all that attractive of a place to spend much time. So off they go to spend their hard earned and valuable euros elsewhere in the Adrar. I assume that after a week of camel trekking, ancient ruin hopping and 4WDing through the dunes, they head back here. They must get in sometime on Saturday night, as the Market on Sunday morning is overrun with toubabs, before they catch their charter flight back to France. (Note to self, do not faire le marche on Sunday morning unless self wants to pay exorbitant rates for everything) Anyway, my idea is for the city to host a weekly festival, complete with music, food, tea making classes and vendors on either Saturday or Sunday evening. I need to gather the tour guides (quite a few are PCRIM friendly) as they know what the tourists want and will bring the tourists; the mayor’s office, as someone needs to fund the music, security, furnishings and other sundries; the police, of course there are 3 different law enforcement agencies, which agency I need, I do not know. What I do know is that if I include the wrong police force, this event will never fly. There is also a National Bureau of Tourism office and truck that drives around town but I can’t tell if it’s the governmental agency or just a travel agency with a lofty name. And last but not least, the vendors. How I am going to pull all of this coordinating off is beyond me? Hence the importance of local support and advise, like my counterpart. So far, all that I have run the idea passed have thought that it is a great idea. It’s not so far fetched as Atar usually holds a similar, albeit less organized, exposition on its outskirts when the Paris/Dakar Rally comes screaming through town in January.

Our goal as I understand it, here in the Peace Corps, is to bring and help implement ideas that the community deems useful. Creating a point of contact between artisans and tourists seems like a worthy project for a SED volunteer with a little shot of party planning on the side. I hope that after giving my counterpart a couple of weeks to ponder the festival, devise his own vision and possibly taking the bull or part of the bull, by the horns, in getting this idea off of the ground.

I have been reluctant to make this move; torn between waiting for my language to improve and diving in straight away. But if I wait for my language skills to solidify, the tourist season will be over, forcing me to wait a full year to implement a plan. I have a short WOO (window of opportunity) so on Thursday, I officially started the ball rolling. Let’s give those tourists a place to spend their money in our fine city. Wouldn’t it be great to have it written up in Lonely Planet? We are to meet again on December 3 at 4 pm. Inshallah.

Also on Dec 3, we are going to set a time for me to meet the presidents of the 44 women’s cooperatives here in Atar. Hopefully not all at once; how many Fatimatous can you meet in one day? I believe he wants me to bring along other volunteers when I meet with the cooperatives (either he feels that they could have something to offer these ladies or he is frightened of my French). I suggested our health volunteer, Kristen, and he thought that would be a great idea. She could hold some public health classes. We, PCRIM ATAR also need to get local women involved in and deeply committed to the GMC (girls mentoring center), so possibly these cooperatives would be a good source for those kinds of contacts as well. At least, that is what I think he said. (all in French)

The only sour not of the meeting was at the conclusion. I attempted to get myself invited over for lunch. All through training the trainers kept preaching that it’s okay to invite yourself to lunch. That is the way it’s done around here. They actually suggested going around your town, tasting everyone’s cooking, then selecting those households that you would honor with your presence at meals. I have found this part of integrating difficult. I just can’t quite bring myself to 1. invite myself to lunch and 2. commit myself to 3-4 hours of stilted conversation of if I am married and why not, along with the silence staring at each other as my French vocabulary runs dry. So I make the leap because the last and only meal I had at his house way back at site visit, was delicious. I blurt out a “How about me coming chez you for dejeuner”. Sadly, after I said it he responded with “Je ne comprends pas”. I don’t understand. This stopped me short. I tried again to say I wanted to “dejeuner chez vous avec votre famille”, just in case he thought I meant just he and I. Again, he looked oddly at me. Yikes, could he possibly think I am trying to get him alone; or, doesn’t he want me to come for lunch; or, I really butchered my French; it’s hard to speak off of the cuff. This didn’t seem likely as thus far, he had understood everything I had said in the last 45 minutes. Or maybe, just maybe, he was pretending to understand me…., and I didn’t really understand him,….so our conversation, which earlier seemed so clear, was actually an episode from the twilight zone. Either way, I dropped the subject, bid “a bon journee” and took my leave.

I’ll stop in again early next week just to say hi and confirm le 3 Decembre.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I love you and miss you all.

Keep those cards and letters coming

Other news and information:

The Mayor of Atar, who we just finally met, resigned.

We have many silversmiths here in Atar, but from what I have seen of their wares, it’s not so fashionable. Could someone or everyone, pop some magazine or catalogue of current styles in metal jewelry in the mail? Something I could show them that they could replicate. Something that the tourists would actually want to purchase.

Movie to watch for: En Attendant Le BonHeur
It was filmed in Nouadibou, Maritania. I understand the scenery, enormous sand dunes tumbling into the Atlantic, is spectacular and it gives a good picture of dress and environs of Mauritania. The story is not said to be too terribly interesting.

My trip to the Capital or I thought I was Immune

2007-11-08T10:22:00.000-08:00

My trip to the Capital or I thought I was Immune

One bright and shiny morning in late October, I head off before dawn for my first trip to the capital, Nouakchott. I have to expedite some paperwork expeditiously to the States. I bet you think that overnighting a package using DHL, FedEx or UPS would be the same worldwide. Think again. I normally don’t sleep before I have a big trip or a big day ahead of me, so the night before my big solo excursion, I get little sleep. Because this trip is falling late in the week, I am facing the prospect of having to conduct business in unknown places with unknown companies encountering unknown obstacles on Friday, which is the holy day, and everyone works ½ day. Friday is generally very unproductive. I am up at 4:45 so that I can catch the first taxi south taxi that will get me into Nouakchott early afternoon on Thursday. . I have packed the essentials for travel: a liter of filtered water, aqua tabs, in case we breakdown and I have to find a less than fresh water source, a bandana, which can be used to filter guinea worm our of that less than fresh water source and lastly a handful of jolly ranchers to win the hearts of my fellow riders. Ellen has done me the enormous favor and secured a cab which is to meet me at her house at 6am. That way she can see me off and make sure all is according to Hoyle. Why is she doing this? Because, repeat after me, I can’t speak French. One of the crazy points of Mauritania is that everything thing is late. I don’t mean your acceptable running behind by 15 minutes; this place is really behind. 1-1.5 hours is not uncommon. However, if you do come across that rare Mauritanian who is punctual, they will allow you 3 minutes before leaving without you. So off I go at 5:50 just in case the taxi guy is one of those, so rarely seen, punctual fellows. I sneak into her place, because it is the crack of dawn, hoping to let her sleep as long as possible. By 6:15, there is no inkling of taxi man, so I wake her up. Par usual, there is no reseau (cell phone reception) so we are left to wait. We do until about 6:30 then we hump it over to the garage to secure another cab. We get there, find a fellow who claims to be the first taxi, pay him his 6K ums for 2 places. Not long after that, we get a call from taxi man number 1. It is 6:40 and he is irritated that we aren’t waiting for him at the house. We, or rather, Ellen, reiterates to him that she was very clear that we were too meet at 6. Not 7 or 8 or 8:30. In the meantime, taxi man 2 is a policeman who drives back and forth from Atar each weekend to see his family and pick up a little extra cash. He has just recently stationed to Nouakchott from Atar. This makes me feel secure. I love cops, particularly San Diego’s Finest. He is very familiar with Ellen and explains that she is a legend in Atar. The men of Atar sing songs of her beauty. “Why must she cover her legs” “she is just teasing them, hiding her beauty as she does”. She walks away to do something and he reiterates all of this to me as well. I concur, she is lovely and intelligent. When she comes back, he once again sings the praises of her beauty, her intellect and her ability. (he catches on quick) Okay, this serenade goes on for the entire 1.5 hours we wait for the cab to fill its remaining 4 places. During this time, taxi man1 has driven through the garage showing off that he is about to depart and will we change our mind about riding with him instead. Granted, he is leaving earlier than taxi man 2, but we do have our moral high ground to hold. However, taxi man 1 has a shiny new Mercedes and I wonder if I might be making a mistake in not jumping in. Shiny and new seems much less likely to breakdown on the side of the road. But, taxi man 2 assures us that the people in the car aren’t really passengers but other drivers he is parading through the garage to make us believe he is leaving.

Okay, so finally our taxi is full and we are ready to go. Somewhere along the line, taxi man 2 didn’t realize that I purchased the 2 places for me and me alone. He, lets call him Del, as that what I thought he said was his name, is truly disappointed to learn that Ellen isn’t coming along on the trip. By the way, no one in Mauritania is named Del. He implores her for her telephone number. She consents that I can give it to him. Aside from being awfully enthusiastic this early in the morning, he has done no real harm. And I am feeling safe in the presence of a cop who only has eyes for Ellen and therefore will treat me well too. There is nothing like being the wingman. I am happy with the station as I am constantly escorted or escorting a slew of 24-year-old beauties where ever we go. All here believe that I am a mother or aunt to one of the volunteers, so I am treated well by the men that are trying to win their affection. I pleasantly smile, while they are a bobbin and a weavin, tuckin and a rollin, through hordes of admiring men. I grin as they politely lob back those unwanted advances. What other sports analogies can I come up with? You get the picture.

Let me back up and explain the taxi system here. In a small Mercedes they transport 7 people. In the front are the driver and 2 people squished into the bucket seat of the passenger side. In the back are squished 4 and any infants riding on one’s lap. I am pleasantly surprised because we only have 3 people in the back; maybe another passenger purchased an additional seat as well. No such luck, before leaving town, we stop and pick up some more passengers, filling the backseat to the brim. So on this particular trip we have me in the front, as I bought those 2 places and 4 adults plus one enfant in the back, forcing a weathered old gal (wog) to be crammed up between the bucket seats. As we are leaving, the wog starts praying for our safe journey. At least I hope that is what she is praying for. Don’t be alarmed; this is a very common practice here. Before my little brother, Oumar left for his holiday to Nouakchott and Nouadibou, my mother said a prayer over him as well. As our journey gets underway, the driver pops in a cassette. Cassettes are big here. I have yet to see a cd player in a vehicle. One just pops into a boutique and buys a copy of some little ditty. I have no idea how they get around the copy write laws, but they apparently do. ;) Or, they just ignore them all together. Anyway, in he pops a cassette and out comes what I hear every morning at 4 am, which is what I believe to be someone chanting passages of the Koran. I believe I mentioned in an earlier blog, just how talented one of the “chanters” was in the wee hours of the morning in Boghe. This rendition was not quite so lovely. Of course once we got underway I was quick to note that we wouldn’t need quite so much Koran if we had a little more eyes on the road and hands on the wheel. He was all over the place. At one point he had me steer the car while he rewrap his howli. Oh, I need to mention that once we left the garage, he sported his howli throughout the entire trip leaving only his aviator sunglasses exposed. See Halloween costume of taxi driver in howli.

So for the first half of the trip, he is pointing out the sites along the way, what few there are to see. Extolling the beauty of Mauritania. Often, to my chagrin, taking his hands off the wheel, holding them outstretched. palms upright, imploring to Allah, as he sings along to his favorite passages coming from the speakers with WOG singing along. He gives me a cadeau, a cassette. Then he changes his mind about every 10 minutes of which cassette he is actually going to give me. We go through 3 rounds of this chicanery. I accept it knowing that he is just trying to win me over so I will give my report of his generosity to Ellen, his true love. During the ride, the conversation alternates between French, for me, and Hassaniya for the rest of the passengers. Believe it or not, I find it relaxing to not comprehend a word of what is being said. I can just space off staring out the window, watching the Sahara pass by, never staining to eavesdrop. I offer up my precious Jolly Ranchers to win the affection of my fellow passengers. After a couple of hours we come to a 3rd checkpoint. As with the other 2, he knows everyone working. I didn’t realize what a bonus this is until during the return trip home when every checkpoint guard that saw me, demanded to see my passport. At this one, checkpoint 3, Del gets out and finds a chap who he calls Duane, (his name can’t be Duane, no one is named Duane nor Del in Mauritania) because Duane speaks English. Yet again, he has Duane explain to me that he must have Ellen’s phone number. I explain yet again, that I understand. Je comprend. I try to change the subject and ask Duane if he lives way out here. No, he lives in Atar and works out here on one-week shifts. So off we go with a promise that when we get to Akjoudt I will give him Ellen’s number

Not long later, we pass taxi man 1 broken down on the road. We stop and Del tries to help them push start the car, but alas, we drive off leaving them to fix it as best they can. In fact, those men from this morning were his passengers, which made me a bit suspicious of Del, being that he said they were a rouse. Still, I had to work on not feeling smug and risk attracting bad karma

After another hour we pull into Akjoudt, which is about half way between Atar and Nouakchott. We always pull over here for tea and a rest. We have 4 new volunteers positioned here so I start texting them to see if we can connect on this brief pause. I would have texted earlier but there is no reseau from just outside of Atar until just at Akjoudt and then again promptly after leaving Akjoudt till you are in well into the outskirts of Nouakchott. We all tumble out of the car and I lug my laptop and satchel into the “Tea Salon”. It’s a square concrete one room building with a dozen or so matelas spread out for your relaxation. Del is already sitting inside and he pats the matela, indicating that I should sit next to him. This gives me pause as men and women aren’t supposed to interact so closely in a private area, and so far we are the only 2 people in the room. I pause, I think what the hell, and sit down. He wants Ellen’s phone number, which I produce as promised as well as mine. No big deal we are always looking for safe, reliable, not sketchy taxi rides. I am busy texting Ellen about my location; one should always let others know one’s whereabouts. I am also exchanging texts with the local volunteers as to my whereabouts and their availability. Also, I am busily exchanging texts with my compadre in Nouakchott, Will, giving him my estimated ETA.

During this time some random guy comes in and joins our group. We establish that I am Corps de la Paix. How long will I be in Mauritania, he asks? 2 years, I answer. Lo and behold, his brother, cousin, uncle has married a Peace Corps volunteers. Great, one of those stories. I asked the who, what and where knowing full well that I am going to have no clue who this girl is and they will have no idea where in the US that their cousin, brother, uncle now lives. Since 1967, Peace Corps has been sending volunteers to Mauritania and a handful have fallen in love and married a Mauritanian. Yet, the tales of these rare events spread and grow through the population like the story of the Loch Ness Monster. In reality, the vast, vast, vast majority of volunteers do not marry Mauritanian. Mix into the mess (or dream) that Western women are perceived as “easy” and it’s quite a conundrum. However, this is the dream/opportunity on which so many here hangs their hat. Someone once asked if the Peace Corps is a program set up by the US government in order to find us husbands. As if the Peace Corps is a mail order bride service. The mind reels at the absurdity of this idea. Don’t you become a mail order bride to secure a better life? I did explain to my brothers in Boghe that the women who do this, sacrifice 2 years of their life away from their family, friends and the Promised Land, risking illness and injury and enduring endless discomforts, have un grand idee, a big idea, to help the people of Mauritania and it’s rather insulting to reduce their work to finding a husband. Besides, if they wanted husbands, there are plenty of men in the US, why would they come here to do it? They got it but it’s going to be a long 2 years if I have to explain that to all 3 million Mauritanians. Marriage is the end all/be all in this culture. They CAN NOT understand why the volunteers are so laisser faire about their marital status. At 24 years of age, these girls are practically old maids. I can’t even imagine what they think of my situation.

So while we are in this room, about question number 4 that comes out of Del’s mouth is am I married? I hesitate. Try to decide, instantaneously if I should lie, but I don’t. This is a small country and everyone has family everywhere. The lives of the local volunteers are a constant source of fodder for their conversation and speculation thusly I am sure to be found out. So, I say no. All of the sudden, things change. You know how in cartoons when one character is really hungry and he looks at another character, and because he is soooooo verrrrry hungry, the second character morphs into an object of his desire such as a big juicy ham bone. In that instance, I must have morphed into a ham bone. I am a big ham steak. I wish I could remember the details exactly as they occurred, because they are priceless. Suddenly, all of the attention and enthusiasm that was being lavished on Ellen earlier in the morning is now aimed towards me. Can we have lunch when we get to Nouakchott? “No” Remember, this morning, I was in a huge hurry to get to the capital as fast as I could because I had work to do”. Okay. How about just tea, that will take no time at all, just an hour, just a half hour? “No” I haven’t a minute to spare once I arrive. This is a quick trip just in and out with lots to accomplish in between. Besides, he only has eyes for Ellen, which I reminded him. Oh Ellen. Oh well, they are just friends. He was singing her praises on behalf of ALL Mauritanians. It is his national duty. This man thinks I am daft. I say “J’ai ete au garage ce matin. J’ai vu, j’ai ecoute tout. I was at the garage this morning. I saw, I heard everything. Peut-etre, il aime touts les femmes. Maybe he likes all the women. He counters with the argument that he never asked if she was married, somehow proving that his interests in her were purely platonic. If he had a fiancé, he implores, his eyes would never gaze at another women. He emphasizes this point by covering his eyes with his hands as in “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil”. He mimes see no evil. Cultural lesson for me, I didn’t realize that asking about someone’s marital status was a sign of intention. This conversation is quickly going in a direction that I do not want to go. I am having a hard time making my points IN FRENCH. I also have to spend another 3 hours in the car with this fellow and feel that I need to tread lightly. At some point he calls Ellen, to prove his platonicness, to inform her, in front of me, of our whereabouts and my well-being. I guess also proving that he can have a civilized, non-flirtatious conversation with her. Somewhere along the line, he attempts to explain that he doesn’t want a young girl. He is looking for someone over 30. My guess is that he picked that number as to flatter me. I don’t know if this Yahoo realizes that he just called me OLD. Shortly thereafter, he also makes another call and hands the phone to me so that I am now speaking to some random women in French. All I can say is Allo, c’est Sharon and hand the phone back. It’s his sister, she is the one that we will have lunch with, so see, his intentions are honorable. As an added bonus, the “but wait there’s more” enticement, his father is the Mayor of Atar. Oh really I say, I met the mayor just yesterday. He says and he’s quick, The mayor is a relative, I have a large family. He infers that he has so much pull that if I want to stay a 3rd year, he’ll have the mayor write a letter on my behalf. To whom the mayor will write this letter, I don’t know. More icing on the cake, his parents live in Atar and he comes up every weekend so a relationship will be no problem at all. We should get together the following weekend. Where do I live? I give no reply. This is just great.

You know that other 3 women that I shared my Jolly Ranchers with, they have positioned themselves on the other side of the room, and are witnessing all of this. They do nothing to help me. I am fairly certain at least one of them understands French and is fully aware of my predicament. Possibly they think I encouraged this attention even want it by being foolish enough to sit next to him. I guess that’s what I should expect when I go getting uppity and sitting with the men folk.

Finally, praise Allah, it is time to leave this place and move on down the road. As we gather in the car and he presents me with gifts that he has just acquired. A lovely beaded bracelet, which I am wearing right this moment, and a package of cookies, the good ones. I look to WOG to see if it’s appropriate to accept these tokens as well as text Ellen asking her the same. Apparently it’s fine. I put on the bracelet and pass around the cookies. But as we are leaving he needs to know the answer, Oui ou Non? Oui or Non to what? I don’t remember a question. But his tone is terse, he demands to know Oui ou Non? “Don’t you understand”, he asks? Somehow, something that was said inside needs to be settled. I explain J’ai apprende le francais pour juste 3 mois et souvent je ne comprend pas les nuances. I have only studied French for 3 months and often I don’t understand the nuance. He accepts this and moves on both literally and figuratively. As we are pulling onto the road from the other side of a semi, so that we can’t see what’s coming and they can’t see us, he is busy looking and talking to me. Not wanting to die, I know I have to do something quick. I yell “Regardez la Rue”, watch the road. Keep his eyes on the road. Of course, I can’t say that exact phrase in French but I somehow get my point across with a lot of hand gestures. He spends the next 20 minutes proving to me that he can be responsible and drive reasonably which strikes me as a reaction that I’d expect from a teenager not a full grown man. For your point of reference, this man is in his 40’s. Whatever the reason, this newfound respect for the road is a relief because at least he is not plying me with questions. As I said, it only lasted 20 minutes. We pull off the road again and he runs in and gets water and gum. He gives me one of the bottles of water and hands the other to the folks in the back seat. I talk a slug and start to pass my bottle around too, but WOG and he both stop me insisting that it is my water and mine alone. I am to tuck it away in my bag for safekeeping. Remember fair reader, this is a communal society and all is shared, so this gesture seems significant. Also, it is clear that WOG is now in collusion with Del. He also gives me some gum. He is intent on proving to me that he can anticipate my every need, so as soon as I need a place to put my spent gum wrapper, he opens his ashtray for me to deposit it. Keeping to Mauritanian tradition, he throws his wrapper out the window. We drive on a little while longer. He decides he is going to show me how much English he can speak. His English is not quite on par with my French. He then makes the grand announcement that he will study English and I will study French and we will sail off in the sunset. He doesn’t actually say the sunset part, but if seemed part of the equation. I could see the gears turning in his head as he was envisioning our future together. I keep my gaze out the window as I can’t help but laugh and I don’t want him to see me smile as it might encourage him. As if he needs any encouragement from me because this is a party of one and it’s all going on in his head. For the second half of the trip he puts his attention on indoctrinating me to the finer points of Mauritanian music and dance as well as Wolof music. He takes off his watch, for which he paid $250 US, for my inspection. I have to steer the car while he puts it back on. Later, he runs off the road as he is looking out his window, backwards, so I grab the wheel and steer us back on the road. He explains that in the US, because there are so many cars it is very important to stay in your lane; but here in Mauritania, there are no cars, so you can drive wherever you want; this side, that side, down the middle, off the shoulder. I want to say that it can’t be good for the tires, but I don’t know the word for tires in French.

But wait there’s more, next weekend, when he comes up to visit, he is going to let me drive his car. My heart be still. Sadly it is interdit (forbidden) according to Peace Corps, for me to drive. If it wasn’t interdit, I would be driving meme moi (myself) to Nouakchott and not sitting in this bloody taxi. As we approaching the outskirts of Nouakchott, he points over to the dunes and says that tomorrow we will go out there and take a photograph. He apparently thinks that my staring out the window is due to the captivating scenery. It is settled, since I am busy while in the capital, he will pick me up when I am done with my work, bring me back to the garage and find me a solid, reliable ride back to Atar. During this time, now that we have reseau again, I am busy texting Will to let him know that I have arrived. I also call David, my chef (boss) as I describe him to Del, to let him know that I am in Nouakchott and should be at the bureau within the hour. A PC RIM rule is that before we (stinky, dirty, road weary) volunteers can show up at the bureau, we have to have freshened up at the hotel. I go through this dog and pony show so that Del understands that there are people, my chef (boss) waiting for me. I think that I am almost home free, but it is not to be. Del drops off every other passenger before me. As soon as the last one is out, he turns to me, takes off his howli and sunglasses so that I can see his eyes and gives me the “we have to talk” tone. Is he kidding me? What on earth can we have to talk about? Besides, who wants to have “a talk” after knowing someone for 6 hours? What is he? A girl! He wants true love do I, Oui ou Non? I say that I am not interested in marriage. News flash, neither is he, he is proposing a relation d’amour. I am floored. I have had a chemical reaction to a man, that has hit me like a bomb, but I have always attributed it in a big part to our witty reparte and charm. Apparently I have been mislead all of these years cuz I can’t make witty repartee en francaise. I tell him that alas, I can only offer friendship. the lets just be friends line. He’s not biting. He wants love or nothing. His offer is sacred. He has eyes for none but me; those young volunteers are dead to him. I counter that it is impossible to fall in love in 4 hours. Del, here, has watched way too many American Musical Theatre productions. Some Enchanted Evening comes to mind, but this taxi is no South Pacific Island. He isn’t a cultured Frenchman and I’m no little hick. I am at a distinct disadvantage at this precise moment, as I need to get to the bureau and he is the one driving. At this point, feeling like a hostage, I agree to anything. Sure, next weekend when you come up, Yeah, let’s get together, Sure, meet the family. Sacred promise, you betcha. Anything you say, just please I need to get to the bureau. I am slightly scared to let him know that I will be staying at the hotel right next to the bureau, as somehow, I see stalker stamped on his forehead. The last thing I want is to come back to the hotel later tonight, after a couple of beers, with Will (because he must escort me back), and have to confront this Nouakchott cop. I’ll just have to deal with that situation if it arises. He drops me off with the “sacred” promise that I will call him when I am finished tomorrow for our trip to the dunes, the garage, fly me to the moon, wherever, who knows. I am certain that Rice, Albright and Kissinger haven’t had to go through so much in the name of US foreign relations and diplomacy.

Folks, I just gave you the filet. This trip, start to finish, took 8 hours- choc a bloc full of juicy morsels. (I must be hungry)

Now I need to regroup, focus on my real mission in Nouakchott and get to the bureau.

Scene 2. I get to the bureau about 3. The last time I was here was after we landed, with no sleep from Philadelphia. I don’t know who is who much less where their office is located. David is on the phone, so I wonder around. I knock on Kris and Jen’s window and wave hello. They were volunteers in Atar until they recently moved to Nouakchott. I light in Cheike’s office; he is the volunteer service officer, VSO. As I am sitting there, Kris comes peeking his head around the corner, looking very concerned. Am I all right, he asks? Sure I say. Then I remember that I am still in the 3 month, can’t leave your site, period, so if I am in the capital it is either because I am really ill and need to be at the hospital or I have decided to quit and am on my way home. I explain that it is neither and all is perfectly fine. I just have urgent paperwork I need to expedite to the US. He is relieved. David is off of the phone, so I get started on my paperwork. Once done with that, David decides, after much deliberation, that DHL is probably my safest bet for securing the delivery of this paperwork. So off I go, a little apprehensive about my first business exchange in Mauritania, but after the last 8 hours, it can’t possibly be worse. And besides, business is what I do best. All goes well. I am much relieved. Having that important of an issue left unresolved for so many weeks has caused me unrest. I end up back at the bureau, desperately in need of a nap. Although I am worn down and wore out, I am drawn to the free, high speed Internet offered in the volunteer lounge. I have a blog to post, pictures to upload, software to update and in desperate need of an antivirus software. After all is said and done, I end up being the last one to leave the bureau that night. I am to catch up with Will after his French class at around 8pm. We are going to meet up with Kris and Jen and then decide where to have dinner. Chinese food and beer; beer and Chinese food; pizza and beer; beer and pizza; possibly all of the above. Will and I were in the same language class in Boghe and we, the 5 of us in that class, have developed a close bond. I won’t go as far as to say war buddies, as we never had bullets whizzing past our heads, but there were times when training felt life threatening. I am very excited to see him and hear all about his life in Nouakchott and his work. So I go check into the Hotel and am informed that there is another volunteer staying here as well. The bellman takes me up and tells me that she is in room 215. I decide to call her to see if she has plans, and if not, if she would like to join us for dinner. I call the front desk and tell them that I’d like to call room 215, they tell me to dial 139. I dial 139 expecting the hotel operator. A woman answers while I am practicing to myself that I’d like room deux cent onze, douze, treize, quartorze, quinze, which I have to count out on my fingers. I proudly annouce “Je voudrais chambre deux cent quinze”. I would like room 215. She just starts laughing and says Sharon is that you. She’s not the operator, she’s the other volunteer, Heather, and I have clearly impressed her with my command of the French language. Hey, don’t laugh, numbers are hard and I have had an even harder day. She is going to come to my room in about an hour and we’ll take off from there.

She shows up, lovely and youthful. She has been at the bureau volunteer lounge applying online to grad schools for the last couple of days. I regaled her with the tale of my new found taxi brousse love. When I get to the random suggestion that we go take a photo of the dunes tomorrow, she informs me that the dunes are where they go to have sex. I guess photography is a euphemism. Ick! As Haley says, what a horrible place to have sex, there so much sand and it’ll get places that sand shouldn’t. I shan’t go into my speculation as to his sexual prowess being one who comes from such a sexually repressed society. Lets just say that I imagine him to be as skilled and long lasting as your average high school freshman and leave it at that.

Heather and I head off to meet Will. We probably weren’t suppose to, but Will and I gave each other a huge hug, right on the street. In front of God and everyone. Mauritanians be damned. He looks great. His hair has gotten long and is kinda curly. Thank heaven that he has put back on some of the weight he lost during training. His parents and girlfriend will be glad to know that news.

We did a lot that night. Window shopping, supermarket browsing, talking over pizza and beer. There is a cultural center with real entertainment. I brought the program home to show the v’s up here in Atar, and their faces said it all. It was my reaction as well when I saw it. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open. There is a cultural center in Mauritania? There’s art? There is music? Where? Haley said it best when she said that she was still trying to get over the quality of the paper the program was printed on. It was a heavy weight paper, akin to would be given in a fine gallery in NY. I could barely take the difference between what was available in Nouakchott and what I was living. TaTa’s, the supermarket, had Camembert and Brie, a dairy section, an ice cream section, koo koo for CooCoo Puffs cereal, and home décor items. Atar has squat. All this time I thought that our scarcity was due to the fact that nothing could be had in Mauritania. But in fact much can be had, it just can’t be transported. This place needs a good dose of logistics.

That night, I slept in a bed with sheets and a pillow, indoors. Heaven, simply heaven! The bathroom had a flush toilet, toilet paper and a lighted mirror. I haven’t slept through the night nor seen my face up close in 4 months. These nasty volunteers that I live with had not bothered to tell me that I had grown a Guinness Book winner for the longest eyebrow and it was sticking straight out. They must be jealous of my beauty. Since I didn’t think to bring tweezers I had to work on the little devil with the pliers on my Leatherman. How’s that for a visual?

I get up an at’em the next day. Head off to a cybercafé for breakfast. Yes there is free wifi in the capital. Sadly, there wasn’t an electrical outlet to be had, poor design, so I had my CHEESE omelet and headed to the bureau. Finished up there, went to lunch and after a successful encounter with the wifi in a hotel lobby, where I downloaded an antivirus and updated windows, I hit the road. During this time, I get 3 calls from Del, none of which I answer.

As I am standing at the garage, waiting for my car to fill. I am fearful that Del is going to show up and make a nuisance of himself. I once again have purchased 2 places, gadam (Hassaniya for upfront). I can remember it because it sounds like God Damn. One of my fellow passengers tries to entice me into conversation by implying that he and I will share the front seat but I am having no part of him. We finally fill up after 1.5 hours, making us 4 men and another woman. I greet the women as to have her as my ally and off we go. All is going well. However, about 2 hours outside of Nouakchott, there is an awful smell, the backseat passengers explode in a fury of commotion and we pull off the road. The driver opens the hood and to me, it looks like we have run over part of a tire tread. But I was in the front seat and I didn’t see us hit anything. It turns out that one of those belts that are located on the front of the engine, I think it’s either the fan belt or an alternator belt, has broken. Doesn’t an alternator have a belt? Anyway, it is shredded. Crap. I quickly do a mental inventory of what I have in my bag that will allow me to survive a night along the side of the road in the Sahara. Even though it’s a remote chance, I don’t want to become a pile of those sun-bleached bones that we have been passing, lying in a heap by the side of the road. Surprisingly, the driver goes to the trunk and pulls out another belt. He then gets into the glove box and pulls out a little water bottle where he stores his wrenches. And by another stroke of luck, one of the gentlemen in the back actually knows how to change a fan belt. While he is at it he checks the oil and water too. This all takes about half an hour and off we go. I am wishing very much I had thought to bring along one of my few travel packs of wetnaps to offer this fine chap as his hands are filthy. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t find a man in a baby blue eyelet outfit masculine, but to me, at that moment, that tall handsome black African embodied all that a man should be. He came out of the blue to save the day. He is my Mr. Darcy. He is my hero. He has saved me from becoming that pile of bones along the side of the road in the Sahara, and I swooned. Here’s some insight into me, deep down, I just want to be rescued. Particularly when I have gotten myself in waaaay over my head. Think PC-RIM. I only appear to be independent and all know-ing (okay, maybe not all-knowing), I am actually a cockeyed optimistic romantic who has watched far too much American Musical Theatre and never fails to fall in love with the hero. It all started with a high school production of Carousel. Janet was playing in the orchestra so I had to spend all evening waiting for her. Every night, for weeks, I sat behind the conductor, waiting for her to finish, lost in the show. I believe I was 13 and still in Junior High. He was bad boy, Billy Bigalow played by Evan somebody or somebody Evans. Whoever it was, I fell hard for all 3 of them.

Once we are back in the car and moving, I turn around and give him a very sincere, heartfelt, “merci beaucoup”. The rest of the trip is rather uneventful. I say next to nothing. We made it in record time. As we were pulling through that same checkpoint where Duane came out to talk to me, I noticed that on the military truck was the sign, Duoune. The place is called Duoune not the dude. That gave me a chuckle. As we pulled into Atar, I said goodbye to my fellow female companion in Hassaniya, astounding all in the car that I knew some local dialect. Told all that that I was Corps de la Paix. I am sure to this point they thought I was some random tourists what that I was wearing pants and all. Then bid them a good day and got out of the car back to the safety of my bevy of 23 year olds. Cross your fingers that old Del doesn’t show up this weekend.

Enjoy, Love and miss you all.

Ps Please tape up your packages well. Example of abuse attached

A Day In the Life

2007-11-01T10:37:00.001-07:00

A Day in the Life

What do I do everyday? That is difficult to answer, because as the time has rolled on, my activities have changed. I anticipate them changing even more as I get settled. But at the moment my days go something like this.

I get out of bed around 6:30 - 7, lug my bedding off of the roof and down to the veranda. The nights pass as they often do here in Mauritania, but all of that was imparted in an earlier installment. After the 2 night experiment sleeping or rather not sleeping in the courtyard, back up to the roof went I. I’m not only safer from the bugs but the neighbors have proven harmless. An added benefit to sleeping aloft is that the process takes 3 trips up and down the stairs, which are 3 flights. I do that 2x a day, morning and night, that's 6 flights of stairs a day. I am desperate to find exercise in this climate.

Next I brush my teeth in the yard. I may keep this up when I get back stateside. I rather like swishing and spitting in the Garden.

I re-wet the old skirt I use as my cooling system for my water filter, as it has dried out over night. This cooling system uses the evaporation from the old skirt that I have wrapped around the metal filter which I attempt to keep damp. The filter sits in a big plate. Its lip is sufficiently high to hold water, but not so high as to impede with the spigot. I work at keeping the skirt damp and the plate filled with water, which in turn cools the contents. The burlap on the bidons, which are plastic jugs that once contained vegetable oil or vinegar, works the same way. Keep them wet in a breezy, shady place and the contents remain cool by some miracle of evaporation from the wet fabric. You can also see goatskins hung up like a little hammock that work in a similar fashion. My guess is as the water seeps thru causing the skin to stay damp which creates evaporation and the contents cool. I, personally, don’t care to have the skin of anything 4 legged, or formerly four legged, strung up in my yard. I find them unsettling whenever I happen to see one. See my flikr photos of the drink station for a glimpse of all but the pelt.

If I have prepared the night before, I have breakfast at home using my stash of Weetabix, a piece of fruit and milk that I have left cooling in a bowl of water wrapped in a bandana overnight, again, using evaporation for cooling. How have I never known about this process before? Refrigeration has apparently kept me ignorant of the wonders of swamp coolers. Otherwise, I wait till my morning routine is complete, run by Cookie Door boutique and pick up a yogurt drink, banana and/or a hard boiled egg. Breakfast in this country traditionally is half a baguette and a cup of Nescafe, therefore, eggs and bananas can be difficult to find before the afternoon. As it is rude to eat in public in the RIM, I go to our bureau or the GMC to eat this repast. Mauritania is a communal culture and if you don’t want to share your meal with all who pass by, it’s best to find a secluded place to eat. Just yesterday, I sat down at a restaurant for lunch and a fella who was already settled to his meal, offered for me to share his dish. I declined, but am amused to imagine what he would do if I had actually stuck my hand in his bowl and taken a bite.

This is one example of the clash of customs between the tourists and the locals. They tourists gobble down their cokes, cookies, yogurt, bottled water in public (particularly irksome during Ramadan when the locals are hungry, thirsty and less inclined to understanding) and offer nary a thing to those around them. Then the tourists get irked because the children will ask for a bit of their repast, which to the children is a reasonable request. Neither seeming to understand why the other is acting so rudely. I choose to eat in private because I don’t want to share my food with all of those grubby little hands either nor do I want to offend. But I digress.

Back to my morning routine. Each day I sweep off the veranda as an enormous amount of sand collects on it each and every day.

After that, I will take a bucket bath or more often than not, just went my hair and wash my face. This will get increasingly difficult as the winter sets in. Right now, the water from the robinet is warmish, and adding a bucketful to the existing water in the tub, warms it sufficiently to pour over me. The bath is cool but tolerable. I also take a bucket bath in the evening; the cool water is brilliant for rinsing away the heat and frustration of the day. There is little better than crawling into bed all clean and fresh. Add some crisp white sheets and I’d be in heaven. Yeah, I know, it’s a lot of water considering I live in the Sahara but cut me some slack; I’ve given up furniture, nutrition, shorts, crisp white sheets on a mattress, a mattress and most adult pleasures in exchange for wasting a bit of a natural resource. I have never claimed to be a Saint nor without contradiction. But I digress yet again. Once winter sets in, bathing will require me to add boiling water to the mix as the overnight temperatures fall and some nights the water can actually form ice crystals.

As my hair is getting longer, I do a quick "blow-dry" it in front of the fan, just to give it some shape. So far I haven’t bothered with makeup. Praise Allah there are no mirrors or glass storefronts in this country. In my mind’s eye I am as fresh faced as my fellow volunteers. I use their youthful visage as my mirror. To date, no one has run screaming from me in horror. That’s if you don’t count the really small children who have been told that a toubab will eat them.

Next, I might also throw in a load of laundry. This is accomplished by filling a tub with water, dissolving the powered soap, adding the clothes, swish a bit and letting them soak for hours in the sun. I was told by veteran volunteers that soaking for hours in the sun is the only way to get your clothes clean. I don’t adhere to the scrubbing the fabric with itself until one has blisters and my irreplaceable, or rather, have to take a trip to the US to replace, clothes are worn with holes. Besides, I don’t get too dirty, just sweaty and dusty from the sand. Here’s a PC success story. I did get my socks so sparkling white I had to show them off to the other volunteers. Lots of Omo, bleach, soaking in the sun and a bit of scrubbing the soles worked wonders. Note to those who might try this at home, don’t soak your dirty socks in the sun with your less dirty whites. Everything turns grayish dull and requires a rewash. There is no such thing as a quick bit of laundry although some have tried. Volunteers have actually been stopped on the street to be informed of just how dirty their clothes are. How the Mauritanians, who are known for their fashion and many spend far too much of their budget on clothes, keep theirs so spotless? This is a mystery to all of us. Another mystery, why, when the detergent called Omo gets wet, does it heat up slightly burning your hand. Possibly one of you can do some research on that for me, but if it’s bad news, don’t tell me. Later in the afternoon, I will put them through the rinse cycle and hang them on the line, after the sun as abated, where they dry instantly. Yet again, I digress.

Back to my morning routine. Some time during the morning, I will make sure that all of my water containers are full. My house has a robinet which is a water faucet in my yard, like your outdoor spigot, which delivers city water, which is said to be potable. But as in most developing countries, utilities here are intermittent. It's not unusual for the water to go out for a day or 2, occasionally up to a week and sometimes weeks. So I try to have my bath bucket full and a dozen or so water bottles as well as any other water holding vessel filled. As I said, the water is potable out of the faucet, but I still opt to filter it through the Peace Corps issued filter. A, I can keep it cool in the filter and B. my immune system is already working full tilt, why tax it unnecessarily. Others have cisterns which are wells that they have filled bi-monthlyish by a water truck. Although a cistern is more reliable than a robinet, it's often full of debris and living organisms therefore not potable without some treatment. Futhering the insult, your water needs to be drawn one bucket at a time which is a different form of inconvenient. You ask about indoor plumbing? I've never seen any outside of the hotels and a restaurant where we ate in Nouakchott. Possibly some of the patron houses have it, but alas, as of today I have had neither the privilege nor advantage of meeting a patron and sadly have been unable to partake of their imagined comforts.

This is when my days diverge.

Today, Thursday, I met Ellen, a 2nd year volunteer, at the Mayor’s office to discuss a trash removal project. We have spent quite a bit of time at the mayor's office meeting with the Secretary General over that last month as we wanted to move our bureau to their facility. The Secretary General seems rather like a City Manager. I went along because I am affectated to his office and although my language isn't ready for much dialogue, poking my head in every chance I get can't be bad. Peace Corps wants the cities who have requested our presence, in which we work, to pony up our office space as a sign of support both fiscally and publically. Alas, there was no room in their building proper. This pains me greatly as that building is more secure than our current locale. More importantly, each office has 2 opposing doors which open onto covered, shady verandas, allowing a wonderful breeze to flow through. Ah a breeze. I long for a breeze. Our current bureau is akin to an oven, le four in French. But it is not to be as all of the offices in that building are occupied. He offered us the use of the Salle de Reunion with its 9 broken, unsecured windows. This would necessitate us having to move our desktop computer to a more secure spot, each day. It goes without saying, we regretfully declined. He did, however, offer another office in another facility. So we took it. It has a window, toilet, robinet and 24 hour, inshallah, security guard, all of which are vast improvements from our current location. During one of those meetings about the bureau, the Secretary General suggested to Ellen that he would like to work with her on a sustainable trash program. Over the last couple of years PC-RIM has had an annual trash clean up day wrapped around a ½ marathon here in Atar. In its current form, it’s not a sustainable event as the participants are solely the volunteers. Apparently it is so not a part of this culture to run/walk a marathon. As a matter of fact, during the marathon, the locals who pass in their cars, endlessly offer rides to the participants. They must think we are nuts. Anyway, not only does he want a trash removal system sponsored by the city, he also wants to have posters about and conduct sensibilazations (public education) on the problems of litter for the people of Atar. He also mentioned a need to educate the masses about the problems with having livestock living so closely with humans but that is a big row to hoe. Heifer International would find quite a calling here. Ellen suggested that they could start by working through her elementary school Eco-Clubs. He was very enthusiastic about this idea, even going as far as listing the items that they might need such as trash bags, masks, gloves, etc.

Another suggested that the Secretary General had probably read her 2nd year plan and taken the ideas from there. Honestly, who cares what muse gave him the idea. It appears that she is going to get to work on one of her 2nd year goals in cooperation with the city. As I understand it, up till now, there has been little interaction between the PC volunteers and that office. I’d like to think that this breakthrough is a direct result of my affectation to that office. I am the first volunteer affectated (posted to) to the mayor’s office thus giving us some leverage. Of course, they suggested that I should spend my time filing, so maybe not so much leverage. Nevertheless, this is a huge success.

At this same meeting she brings up another project on which she is working for facility improvements to 3 of the 15 schools in Atar. She has secured her part, the vast majority, of the funding for this project but is still waiting for word from the city regarding their portion of the cost of the improvements to the restrooms (latrines), robinets, etc. I’ll have to ask her where she secured the funding; I believe it’s from folks like you, our family and friends who heed the call to donate for our projects. Clever on the part of the PC, not only do we donate our lives but we also bring with us an entourage of the willing with a ready reserve of cash for some of the development needs. Although she has had a numerous conversations about and has submitted a written proposal including budget, the Secretary General doesn’t recall the project. Deciding it is more time efficient to have all parties involved in the room to move this forward, we set another meeting at noon when the Major Adjoint (Vice Mayor-ish, who is elected) is available as well. The Mayor Adjoint splits his time between his elected position and as an English teacher at the Lycee. This is a boon for me as I am to be working with him. He admittedly speaks better English than French, and as fate would have it, so do I. We return, fairly close to noon. The Mayor Adjoint is in but the Secretary General is not. The Mayor Adjoint remembered the project and will try to get us some answers. I am to drop off another copy of the budget on Monday morning, they are to discuss it amongst themselves then we are to meet again on Tuesday morning. Inshallah. Did I mention that this project was to have been completed before the school was back in session on Oct 1?

Another morning, we headed out on a trip to a newish feeding center in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Atar. The fellow that runs it has been trying to get the Atar PCV’s to visit since Spring, but due to travel and training schedules, this was the first opportunity. I can’t give you too many details because the conversations were held in French. I believe the center is sponsored, at least in part, by a French NGO, La Sante Sans Frontiers, or at least their literature is around. Let me give you a picture of the place. You walk in the gate and in the middle of the compound stands a large hangar. (Tent without sides) When we first arrived there were 20 or so children sitting rather quietly under the hangar. We walked past the children into the room that was being used for a kitchen. All rooms, regardless of their purpose here in the RIM look the same. There is no such thing as cabinetry so a room can just as easily be a kitchen as a bedroom as a salon. They are simply empty squares with 4 walls and usually some windows that can be at ground level up to normal window height. The windows at my house open at ground level. This particular room was the cleanest room I have ever been in here in Mauritania. It was well equipped relative to other places in Mauritania. Sitting (Indian style on the floor) with my back to the door, to my right along the far wall there was a long table with 2 shelves below that held the bowls and cups. Next to that was another table with a 2 burner propane stove with the large tank on the floor right beside it. The shelf under that table contained various plastic tubs storing the various ingredients for each meal. Across from me, on the other side of the room, to the left of the door, there were a number of bidons, buckets and other water holding vessels. I don’t recall what was on the left wall. There couldn’t have been much as on this morning, it was the tea station. We met one of the cooks and another gentleman who seemed to do odd jobs and errands around the place. We all sat in the kitchen, had tea, and discussed their work. As I said, all of this conversation was in French, so bits are missing from my understanding. Basically, they started in February and serve 110 children in the surrounding neighborhood. Monday through Saturday they feed the children breakfast which consists of bread and milk and lunch which on this day was a bowl of rice with bits of vegetables and possibly meat. I didn’t see the lunch prepared so I am not exactly sure of what was in the dish. As we are sitting around having this conversation, more and more children are starting to arrive. For the most part, except for a tussling match, they are sitting quietly under the tent, watching the doings in the kitchen (us). According to lead fellow, there are a number of feeding centers in Atar, but like so many services in the US, most aren’t reaching the population or actually providing the service they are intended. From our perspective, we are wary of the purpose of our visit. We are analyzing if this might be one of those unproductive centers masquerading as a useful endeavor. Skeptical that we were invited to visit in order to solicit funds, we look around with discerning eyes. As we are sitting there, another cook shows up. She empties 6-7 Kilos of rice into a bucket and disappears out the door into the courtyard, presumably to cook the rice. She returns far too soon, by my time clock, with a pot, I mean enormous pot, of food ready to serve. For as many mouths as there are to feed and with a kitchen full of visitors underfoot, literally, the place is amazingly calm. Possibly it’s because Mauritania is a culture of communal living and households often contain 20 or more individuals, cooking for 110 children is no big endeavor. The workers then proceed to portion it into 101 little bowls; we only have 101 children today, stretched out across that large table on my right. During this time another fellow is out in the courtyard filling a couple of basins with soapy bleach water. Each child gets up and single file washes their hands in the soap, many up to the elbows, then files to our station where we pour clear water over their hands to rinse. Some are more willing to have us perform this task then others. Remember toubabs eat children, but eventually all small hands get rinsed. The first half of the group filled the 2nd room in the facility where roughly 8 4X4 table clothes have been spread on the floor. The children take their place and sit quietly waiting for their meal to be delivered. This is astounding. There are 40 children in this room hardly making a peep. Meals are taken very, very, very seriously in this country. I remember for a few days during stage I was ill. I knew a meal of hot, oily rice was not going to be an answer so I skipped 3. My family was stunned and concerned. You’d have thought that a person skipping a meal was a person on their death bed. Rather than eat, I opted to lie down and try to nap during the long lunch break. Religiously, they showed up with a plate just to make sure I didn’t need food. Let me tell you, there is little that is less appetizing to a health stomach, let alone a queezy stomach, than picked over tieboudienne. According to Lonely Planet, spellings vary (pronounced che-bou-jen). But again, I digress.

The remainder of the 101 children that showed up this day ate under the hangar. When the first to eat were done they deposited their bowl into a tub of even more soapy, bleachy water. They then filtered back through the rinse station to rinse their hands as the end of line was still in their first cycle and yet to eat. By the way, they eat with their hands. Once done with eating, they lined up for a big slug of water, from a communal cup. At the end, off they went back to school or home with their bellies full and clean, bleachy hands. A success by my standards. This endeavor is a well oiled machine. There was nary a grain of rice on the floor of the room where 40 little children had eaten, unsupervised.

As a Peace Corps volunteer one seems to always be on the lookout for opportunities, people and places to do good, hopefully rewarding work. This nutrition center invited us to hold whatever classes we’d like at their facility or just come by and help, any day of the week. What better place to reach the people we want to serve than a successful nutrition center in the poorest part of town. I am finding that many days here are hard days when I feel that I have accomplished little. But this was a good day. We all left with our spirits lifted and with a glimmer of hope that we had found a place where we can do something useful.

Mornings, by far, are the most productive time. Mind you that I have been a tag along in the above events. These are all projects and opportunities that the 2nd year volunteers in Atar through their contacts and efforts have brought into fruition.

Another morning, Friday, the next day from above, I composed the rough draft of this blog from the comfort of my veranda while boiling my bissap. As the weather has turn hot AGAIN, I have only another hour before the heat necessitates that I put away my laptop. We had a few days reprieve from the heat and it was glorious. The day was cool enough that Mark and I went for a 3 hour hike which felt like heaven. My muscles objected to the mistreatment as they’ve been in repose for 4 months. I actually bought a blanket which I used. It was wonderful and although the heat returning has put me, for one, into a funk. The knowledge that the weather can be tolerable is reason to continue living.

A side note, one of the many things that I miss is a weather forecast. I have no idea, other than hot, what the weather is going to be. Is there a cool down headed our way? Rain? Wind? Interminable heat? What’s the forecast for the winter? Will it be mild? Severe? Who knew that brief 4 minutes each evening would be something for which I would long?

Lunch comes around 1pm. If we aren’t eating with a family, which will take the better part of the afternoon, we go to one of the 3 restaurants we frequent. Selection is easy as only cheyboujen at 200 um is served. I could get a camel sandwich, 200 um, which should be more aptly named french fry, mayonnaise and oily onion sauce on a baguette sandwich. There is nothing nutritious in it and I pay dearly, read diarrhea, for the indulgence. In truth, the camel sandwiches offered at lunch aren’t an indulgence; it’s just something other than cheyboujen.

After lunch, which takes 20 minutes, we might watch a DVD, read a book, take a nap, work on correspondences or blogs. I often must run home after lunch to use my latrine as it is the cleanest in town. Bleach is a miracle liquid and I go through a lot of it. In the summer that I have been here I have found that I can go hours between pit stops because of the sweat factor. Once it cools down I am going to have to figure out either the fastest way back to my latrine to pee or find some somewhat sanitary alternative. If I were a Mauritanian, old, young, male, female, I just cop a squat along some wall and do my business. But alas, to my American sensibilities, the world is not my toilet. Sorry if that is TMI in the States, but you’ve asked me for more specifics. Believe me; I am sparing you the details that an uninitiated have no need to know and little context in which to understand. Here, all of your bodily functions are a constant source of conversation and often amusement for your fellow volunteers.

Later in the afternoon, just at the time I am ready for a nap, I need to rally to head off to my French class at the French Alliance. I attend Monday through Friday 4 to 6. I’ll save the details of that for another blog.

After that, I wile away another couple of hours either by hopping online at the cyber if it has a connection and an empty seat, or preferably, at our bureau if it has a connection. I am heartsick about the wildfires in San Diego. Since news is sparse, I appreciate all of the information that you have been sending.

Dinner is around 8. We usually choose one of 3 restaurants, Sauce’s, Howa’s or Zeinebou’s. We almost had another Le Gazelle, but their plates far exceed our meal allowance. Sauce’s serves Couscous with a tasty Camel Stew Sauce or occasionally she serves Mafe, which is a peanut sauce over rice for 200 um. The place was dubbed Sauce’s because it offers both Soy Sauce and Hot Sauce with your meal. Howa’s serves the widest selection offering either a bowl of Beans- I believe black-eyed peas in a savory tomato sauce, Couscous with a meaty sauce, Rice and Sauce (kind of like chef Boy-ar-dee tomato sauce ((oh how I miss beefaroni and spaghettios. Comfort foods from my youth. Even those organic ones with the silly rabbits on the label)), Mafe or Spaghetti, which is spaghetti with a greasy oil sauce and bits of meat (we never order this) each for 200UM. On the nights you feel like splurging and are low on protein you can have Fried Chicken with french fries and a side of tomato or Beeftec, which is camel, with french fries and tomatoes for 500 um. (Information you need to really process this data. Our food budget is less than 700 um per day. I am always significantly over that with my breakfast splurge of milk and fruit- if I wrote a blog on my thoughts on the Peace Corps wages I’d probably get a quick ticket home. Middle class my eye!) The chicken is fried but not breaded and stuffed with a spicy paste, the same paste that is used in the fish cheyboujen, and it’s tasty. The beans, beeftec and chicken are also served with a big hunk of baguette. Not all dishes are served every night. I love the beans but more often than not they aren’t available. Each plate comes with an enormous cup of ice cold water. I remember well my first visit to Howa’s back in August. First came the cold water. Oh my god! So good! Then came the bowl of beans. After a diet of oily rice or couscous for every meal, the taste of something savory and delectable made me feel like I had died and gone to heaven? These dishes were and probably are the envy of all of the other pcv/t’s most of whom aren’t as lucky as to have a Howa’s at their site.

How is the ambiance you ask? It’s impossible to describe the interiors. We eat on long thin tables on long rickety benches. There are 3 positioned on each wall. Sauces furnishings are very similar to Howa’s except that the tables are pushed up against the wall so you are sitting, side by each, on the rickety bench facing the wall. Since Ramadan ended, both restaurants have spruced up their interiors, laying new, matching vinyl on the floor, tables and benches. All is held in place with a lots of thumb tacks. Howa’s is so a sauna. Its so hot inside that once you have taken a few gulps of the water you instantly break out with beads of sweat all over your forehead and more rolling all the way down to the small of your back. Did I mention that it’s hot here? You will also be entertained or surprised, take your pick, by the family of mice that scampers out to grab any morsel that has fallen to the floor. They seem to time their forage until after the offending patron has left. Maybe big feet keep them at bay. One afternoon, while sitting at lunch, we heard a loud car horn just outside the door. Suddenly a flock of sheep came tearing through the dining room, up the steps into the courtyard that doubles as the kitchen. After a few brief minutes, back came the sheep, down the stairs, back through the dining room and into the street. The patrons barely looked up. It’s astounding to me how quickly the absurd becomes commonplace around here.

We watched V for Vendetta the other night. I don’t know if you have seen it but there is a scene where the female character is being held captive in a cell. Her food is delivered and a rat comes out to eat it. I sat there thinking; only one rat, that’s not so bad. I usually eat with an entire pride of mice at my feet. (I don’t know what a group of mice are called pride/flock/pack/gaggle) Then the camera pans out for an aerial view of her room. She had a flush toilet with toilet paper. I am thunderstruck by the thought that she, in a scene meant to show deprivation, had better living accommodations than me. It still brings a smile to my face to recall that image for you. Forgive me for being so tangential today.

Back to supper options. Our last option is Zeinebou’s. She is a new friend. One of the volunteers moved to a new area of town and on his trek home he stumbled across her restaurant. He made some inquiries. Since she spoke a bit of English, was exceptionally friendly and said she served sandwiches (there is only one kind) we decided to try her place. She is an incredibly beautiful Wolof woman. We ventured to her restaurant for the first time just before Ramadan began. She also serves cheyboujen at lunch. She makes the cheyboujen at home then carries it on her head to the restaurant. Take a look at my flikr photos of life in Boghe and see the size of the pots they cook on and imagine carrying one of those down the street on your head. It is an impressive feat. Her sandwiches, which are her dinner fare, are incredible. They are light on French fries, reasonable on camel and contain tomatoes, hard boiled eggs and occasionally lettuce. Where the heck does she get lettuce? Every bite is a symphony. During Ramadan since she served neither cheyboyjen nor sandwiches, she offered Chakery, Bissap and Tejmardt. (no idea how that is spelled) Chakery is yogurt mixed with couscous and her recipe also has fruit. Yum! Oh my god it’s good and I imagine that it also contains calcium.. Bissap and tejmardt are drinks and hers are the best in town. We stopped by many a night for dessert. Sadly she dropped the chakery, bissap and tejmart from her menu after Ramadan because she’s a one man band and she can’t do it all. Now we have no where to go for dessert. Arrrrggghhhh the humanity!

That is it for the food offerings in Atar. For some perspective, outside of Nouakchott and Noudibou, we have the most and best food available in this country. This unfortunate fact is hard to believe because we are surrounded by the fine cuisine of Morocco and Senegal. The mind reels. My diet consists of beans, couscous & sauce, cheyboujen, sandwich and occasionally poulet and beeftek. It’s the lack of variety that drives a soul to…….

Most nights, after dinner I am ready to call it a day. A couple of nights ago we met briefly to go over some ground rules for the English classes we will be teaching. Sometimes we watch a movie or an episode of Lost at one of our houses. Season 2 isn’t nearly as good as Season 1. When I finally get home at the end of my day, I refill any water vessel that has been emptied during the day. Lord knows if the water will work in the AM and I have learned not to miss any opportunities. I wet my water filter cooling system, bissap bidons and set up the bowl and bandana to cool down the milk I lug out my bedding, take a quick bucket bath and go to bed wet and cool, via that same evaporation process. Then it’s off to dreamland. Inshallah.

PS. An update to my phone blog. Sad news, we can’t do business with Chingatel so the hopes for a high speed, free, unlimited, reliable internet have been dashed. Apparently the Sudanese government, what with all of their genocide, is a stakeholder in Chingatel thus Peace Corps will not do business with them. Unless some miracle has occurred at Mauritel, we are back to unreliable, costly, dial up at our new bureau. Boycotting is much easier when you have other similar options to use. It’s not so fun when its only real effect is to inconvenience you. I am sure Chingatel doesn’t give a rats ass, yes I said rats ass, about our piddly little account. AT&T certainly isn’t hurting from my 10+ year boycott of their services. But boycott we will. I have been saving all of the e-mail jokes to read when I had some leisure on line but that seems a pipedream today. Damn bad men screwing up my dream.

On an unrelated topic, I would like to get pictures of all of this up for your enjoyment. But bring out my digital in public is risky. I wouldn’t hesitate if I were a tourist; I don’t feel unsafe in that way. But being one of 6 toubabs in town, everyone knows where we live, so you don’t want to be flaunting your valuables. I certainly don’t want to give the impression that I live amongst a population of thieves. I do not. Most are charming and honest. Sadly it only takes one little bastard to ruin your day. It’s not the monetary value of the item that is at issue. It is that ipods, cameras, laptops, chargers, etc are unavailable for purchase here in Mauritania. Already, we have had a couple of v’s who have been burglarized and they are very, very, very sad. A laptop stolen with his journaling, the photos on his digital of his host family and time in training and his painstakingly selected collection of music intended to support him through this 2 year odyssey are all gone. It’s more devastating than you can imagine in the Promised Land.

Another bit of housekeeping. One of the other volunteers, Kelsea, who gets loads of phone calls from the states recommends getting phone cards at www.callingcards.com. Her family and friends use the African Safari card. You can check to see if they offer better rates than your current calling plan.

Lastly, I just finished reading The Curious Incident of a Dog in the Night-Time (or something like that). It is a quick read and quite brilliant. I highly recommend it.

Let the Feasting Begin

2007-10-14T02:50:00.000-07:00

If I could only remember the opening from Iron Chef. Your secret ingredients for today are.............................

Canned Meats
Tuna in oil
Corned Beef
Sardines

Canned Fruit & Veg
Pineapple
Peaches
Mixed Fruit Cocktail
Pears
Garbanzo Beans
Lentils
Beets
Peas
Corn
Mixed Vegetables
Diced Tomatoes
Tomato Paste
Oil- vegetable
Tons of fruit juice

Fresh Produce
Mangos only summer
Apples reputation as mealy
Dates
Mandarins, almost in season
Watermelon
Oranges, going out of season
Limes- sometimes
Cucumber= just in season
Carrots
Eggplant
Bananas
Onion
Potato
Tomato
Okra
Beets
Squash tastes like acorn enormous that you buy in wedges
Cabbage- tiny green heads
Peppers red and green
Red hot pepper
Raisins

Dry Goods
Corn Flakes
Weetabix= whole grain cereal
Oatmeal Quaker quick oats
Beans- look like black eyed peas
Lentils if they are peachy colored otherwise we don't know what they are
Rice
Couscous
Pasta, spaghetti and macaroni
Flour
Maize
Millet
Whole Wheat can be ground
Peanut-raw
Powered Milk
White Bread
Yeast
Dried Fish
Dried Onion
Popped popcorn, so there must be kernels

Dairy
Canned Cream- texture of sour cream but not sour
Evaporated Milk sweetened
Whole Milk- cow
Eggs
Butter
Fruity yogurt
Goat and Camel milk
Yogurt smoothie drink in strawberry and pear/peach medley
Vache Qui Riz cheese

"Fresh" Meat
Camel
Goat
Sheep
Chicken
Fish that looks old

Garden hopefuls
Herbs, basil, parsley, chives, etc
Carrots
Beets
Cauliflower doubtful
Radishes
Tomatoes
Sweet Pumpkin
Jalapeno

Other
Mint- fresh
Garlic
Salt
Pepper
Sugar
Soy Sauce
Hot Pepper Sauce
A few Spice mixes still undetermined
Nestles Quick chocolate
Dijon Mustard ish
Ketchup
Mayonnaise with no refrig, need to use the jar 8oz pretty quickly, too expensive for a couple of tsp.
Crappy Vinegar
Nescafe
Tea
Nutella ish
Honey

Candy
Coke and all Fanta flavors
Caramels – stale
Mars Bars - stale
Twix
Snickers
Bounty
Lots of average cookies
One that is good and similar to a graham cracker
Jelly strawberry and date

We cook on a one burner propane tank, we can manage 2 burners at once…also in the process of buying an enormous toaster oven.

As you can see, there is a dizzing array to choose from.

Let the feasting begin

Response to your comments

2007-10-06T11:46:00.000-07:00

I love your comments. I have been at my wits end with the dial up, crappy, unreliable internet connection here and have reached electronic overload, so I haven’t responded to each and every comment or individual e-mail, but know I love reading them. I devour them and they bring a smile to my face. It makes me feel connected to home to have you all along on this journey. If a situation seems daunting or unpleasant, I redirect my thoughts to how I can author it for your reading pleasure, and the stress subsides. Feel free to post questions to me, it gives me an idea for something to write about. Again, remember this is a public forum, so any really juicy question you may want to send to me in an e-mail.

The Peace Corps has 3 goals.
1. To bring education or technical skills to the country.
2. To facilitate greater understanding of Americans by Mauritanians
3. To facilitate a greater understanding of Mauritanians to Americans

I look upon this blog as part of my job and a way of facilitating this cultural exchange.

So here are some reponses to your comments:

Roylin, I’d love to hear about what’s going on in lovely central California. Actually, I get very little news. Here, the newspapers are in Arabic and we don’t have satellite nor TV’s. My best bet is shortwave radio, but finding an English station is difficult. Feel free to pass any little tid bit along. You are also welcome to pop a particularly interesting news magazine or section in an envelope for me. Sadly I get most of my news from the sign on page on yahoo. Heck, I know surprisingly little about the horrible flooding across Africa. It’s dry as a bone in Atar.

As for items to send, I have no idea how to facilitate that information but just know that nothing will go to waste over here. Mauritania is severely lacking in consumer goods, at least if you live outside of the capital. Maybe post whatever you send in the comments for all to see. We did already receive a package with measure cups and spoons, god bless Michelle’s aunt, so we’re okay on those. If I get too many of something I’ll pass it on to another volunteer and if they don’t need it (highly unlikely) it could always be a gift for a hcn who takes us under his or her wing..

Our taste in DVD’s is wide but no to the kid movies. It’s easier for me to tell you what we have vs. what we want. We watch a lot of movies around here. Anything you like and would want to watch a couple of times would be great for us. I love classics, drama, romantic comedy, cultish stuff—I am not too fond of horror but the others are.

We have:
I Robot,
Little Miss Sunshine
Chicago,
Pulp Fiction,
Shriek 2,
28 Weeks Later,
Gangs of New York,
Fight Club
Jackass 2
Mr B
Borat
Kill Bill 1 and 2,
Old School,
Battlegalactica,
XXX with Vin Diesel,
Adams Family,
Adams Family values,
Adventures in Babysitting,
Battle of Algiers,
Baseketball,
Batman Begins,
Beetlejuice,
Big Trouble in Little China (worst movie ever),
BlackHawk Down
Blazing Saddles
Rocky 4
Bourne Identity,
Bourne Supremacy,
Bullworth,
Dogma,
Enemy at the Gates,
Frailty,
Harry Potter Goblin of Fire,
Heat,
King Kong- new one,
Chronicles of Narnia,
Lock Stock and 2 smoking barrels,
Long Kiss Goodnight- another worst movie ever,
Lost (Seasons 1 and Season 2 except Disk 1 (that sucks))
Mad Max Beyond
Thunderdome,
Thank you for not smoking
Far and Away
A Walk in the Clouds
Sense and Sensibility
Meet the Browns
Family Reunion
House of D
The Dark Crystal
Diary of a mad black woman
Matrix,
Naked Gun,
Office Space,
Over the Hedge,
Il Postino,
Red Dragon,
RepoMan,
Road to Perdition,
Shaun of the Dead,
Simple Plan,
Snatch,
Sports Night Seasons 1 and 2 (the only seasons),
Swingers
X men 3
Star wars 4
Indiana Jones TOD
Indiana Jones Arc
Indiana Jones Last Crusade (partially filmed in Mauritania)
12 Monkeys,
Transformers old and new version,
V for Vendetta,
Lucky Number Slevin,
Usual Suspects,
Volunteers,
Pans Labyrinth

Holly, Toubab – basically is white person which is synonymous with foreigner. They will also yell Nasranyia which means Christian. I rarely respond to either. My father insisted that people don’t mean any harm in yelling these names at me; I insisted that never in your wildest dreams would anyone in the US chase after you yelling AFRICAN or FOREIGNER as you walked down the street---every single, solitary day. I now have an appreciation for how the celebs must feel about the paparazzi. Some days it is all I can do to not chuck a rock at the kids screaming Donne moi cadeaux incessantly as they crowd around me and follow you down the next few blocks. But all they would do is pick it up and throw it back at me. Besides, what example would that set?

Advisory, when traveling in a developing country, DO NOT HAND OUT GIFTS TO THE CHILDREN. IT MAKES THEM ANNOYING AND IF THEY DON’T GET WHAT THEY WANT SOME BECOME AGGRESSIVE TOWARDS TOURISTS OR PEACE CORPS VOLS WHO STAND OUT BECAUSE WE LOOK LIKE TOURISTS BECAUSE WE ARE WHITE OR RATHER, NOT MOOR OR AFRICAN LOOKING. Asians get lumped in with us too. I have had more than one little kid throw a rock at me because I didn’t give him a gift. The little urchins. As if 2 years of my life is not gift enough to the people of Mauritania. If you must give something, take educational or art supplies to the local schools.

Karen,
We have plenty of sugar here. Single serving anything would be great as we don’t refrigeration, particularly salad dressing.
Mail is fickle. I received one package, a fairly big box, in 2 weeks, but most take up to 6 weeks. You can use padded envelopes, which are cheaper than boxes, but don’t forget about that fixed rate box for 37 bucks….especially if you are sending heavy jars of peanut butter.

Keep those cards and letters coming.

Cheers from here, Sharon

Wo-men Without Hats and What the Hell is Wrong With the Phones?

2007-10-06T11:44:00.001-07:00

Holly asked me about head coverings and it turned into this posting. I am in Atar which is used to western tourists so no; I don’t cover my head very often. All other women (older, married, and respectable) here cover their heads 7/24. I do cover my head when I go to visit any officials out of respect. Why bite the hand that hands out the approvals for your projects? Also, the first few days of Ramadan, I’d start out with my head covered. I didn’t want some ill-humored (hungry and thirsty) local getting irritated at my uncovered self. But I’m over it. No head covering for me unless I’m on an official visit. It’s just too damn hot to have your head all wrapped up. Also, not being Muslim, I am not compelled to comply with that particular regulation. The rest of the Volunteers around me are covering their heads, at least during Ramadan. In the more conservative sites, the head covering issue is a hot, hot topic. I have heard that the PC can’t require head coverings of us (not sure if that’s true) but the locals, in the more conservative sites, can get really, really, really pushy about it. One must pick her battles. Head Scarves and pants seem to be my battle of choice. But being a bit older, I get more leeway. At least I think I do. Perhaps, in fact, I just take more leeway and let them be damned. Whichever.

On a positive note, some of the head coverings are very appealing. The clothing here is extremely colorful and your matching head scarf is like wearing a hat to church. The women will stop you on the street to compliment you on a particularly lovely ensemble. Possibly if I had more fashionable, matching head scarves, I’d wear them more often. But alas, no one told me to bring them and I don’t recall seeing it in the flurry of Peace Corps information I was sent. I have always admired a woman who could carry off a chic scarf. I only have a handful of bandanas that mostly don’t match my outfits. The 2 Mauritanian made headscarves that I do own (one always comes as part of a new outfit) only match that particular blue and chartreuse tie-dye outfit. As you can imagine, they match little else. Thus my decision not to wear a head covering is as much about fashion as politics. If only I could explain all of that in French.

If you are trying to call me, Mauritel, my cellular service, has been mostly down for the last week. It has always required a lot of persistence to call here from the US, but right now, it's just impossible. It seems there is something wrong with a satellite dish in Nouakchott, at least that is the latest reliable rumor that was supposedly reported on the news. An earlier reason floating around explained the situation was due to a strike on behalf of Mauritel because of the heavy tax levied on them by the government although that strikes me as more conspiracy theory than logic. I have no way of finding out the truth of the situation, and really, it doesn't much matter to me. No matter the reason, we have no cell service. Which in turn means no internet at the PC bureau here in Atar? So here I sit, composing this post offline at the bureau. My intention today was to upload the long awaited photos from my time here in Mauritania, but damn it, again today, there is no reseau (reception). Although I sure do miss all of your phone calls, the really difficult part of having no reseau is that texting goes down as well and that is how we, v's, communicate. It's either text or walk around this place trying to find each other and as you well know, it's quite hot here. It’s far too hot to be strolling around from place to place trying to locate each other.

beep ba beep ba beep beep beep “This just in” It is a work slowdown that is causing the problems. I finally asked PC Nouakchott for the skinny. Something about Mauritanian Mauritel workers allowed to strike for 2 days a week in protest of the Moroccan Mauritel workers making a higher wage. This combined with the overall bad connectivity has made communication impossible.

Here’s a cultural tidbit that should give you some insight into some challenges in living, working and I would think to their development here in the RIM is that the bank is unable to conduct business because of the cellular problem/strike. Its computers, at least in Atar, are connected through Mauritel. Without reseau, they can't check your account balance to give you money. Can you imagine the national bank shutdown because a cellular provider is having problems? You banky folks can explain better than I the problems to an economy with an unreliable banking system It brings to my simple mind the scene from “It’s a Wonderful Life” when Mary and Jimmy Stewart can’t go on their honeymoon because he uses their bankroll to stave off a run on his Savings and Loan. If you’ll remember, the bank had to sell out to old, mean Mr. Potter. That can’t be good. Banking is not something that has really caught on in Mauritania, and this week’s performance probably won’t help. Many Mauritanians just don’t use them. They are charged a fee to do so and they don’t receive any interest on their savings. Charging interest is not allowed in Islam. (I’ll let you do your own research on that topic) What would be the incentive to use a bank I ask? It seems to be more cost efficient to hide your money in your mattress than pay to save it in this current system. Have I mentioned there are no ATM’s in Mauritania? Credit cards are unavailable as well. I believe part of the problem is that the Mauritanian Ouguiya (uglies as I have heard them called) isn’t traded on the global market which I assume makes it hard to fix an exchange rate with other currencies and in turn, makes it difficult for credit card companies and banks to collect or assess transactions. Again, you banky types can provide a much better explanation than me.

So for now, much of the country is without communication. Mind you that there are 2 other cellular phone providers operating in Mauritania, Matel and the new Chingatel, but it seems that Mauritel has the mother lode of the business. We tried to find out the rates at our local Chingatel office, but they could tell us little than the price of a new phone. Our questions regarding the costs of making phone calls and texting either within their service and as importantly, outside their service are still unanswered. One issue with switching is that all of Peace Corps RIM uses Mauritel and to make a call to or from another provider costs a bloody fortune. I’ve heard that it costs as much to call between Matel and Mauritel as it does to call the US. To quote Kathy, just another little slice of wonderful.

I suppose that if I had grown up in these systems they would seem acceptable issues to work around or tolerate or just the way life is. But I didn’t so I find it all just one more piece of insanity here in the RIM.

Okay there is your Mauritania 101 lesson for today

You know it's hot when.........

2007-10-02T06:15:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I walk in my room around mid-day and think, wow it's cool in here. I check the thermometer on my broken Brookstone Travel Alarm Clock (hint) and the temperature reads…….Take a guess. 96 degrees. And those 96 degrees feel like a blast of cool. I keep telling myself that when the weather breaks I will be able to get so much done. When is the weather going to break? The stock answer is 30 days. But 30 days from when? Hopefully Ramadan's end will coincide with the coming of autumn or at least a day that doesn’t get into the 100s. Inshallah.

Ramadan is tough to faire in the Sahara. They don’t eat nor drink during the daylight hours and as you can tell from above, it is still really hot right now. My favorite part of Ramadan is roughly 30 minutes before sundown which is about 6:45. Dusk has settled in. The streets are empty. The town is quiet. The stores are closed. It feels like the wee hours of the morning. Everyone has hurried home, finally in a great mood after a surly afternoon. Not so patiently waiting to hear the prayer call that signals sundown. During this time they are deciding what delicious morsel they will consume to break the fast. They’ve spent the last hour mentally running through the potential menu options. The taste is going to be exquisite. It’s just before the beginning of Let the Good Times Roll. Drumming, singing and eating all night long.

I have been a little productive during this time. I signed up for French classes at the French Alliance. Also, I will also be sharing the load of teaching English to adults along with the other volunteers here in Atar. The class seems very popular. We will rotate teaching Friday and Sunday 4 – 6 pm. I will probably have to take the Sunday shift as Friday will probably interfere with my French lesson. Both of these classes, like everything else, will commence after Ramadan.

I also checked in with my community counterpart. We plan on getting together when? After Ramadan.

What I like least about Ramadan? That would be my neighbor’s cell phone alarm that goes off before sunrise each day. I appreciate that they need to get up and get something in their stomachs before sunrise, but must I have to wake up with them. Honestly. I suppose that if I were fasting, I’d appreciate the reminder.

This leads me to another topic, sleeping. As I mentioned earlier, the African night sky is amazing However, sleeping in this country is one of the trickier aspects of my Peace Corps service. Back in training I explained to my brother that I went to bed very early each night to give my self the best chance of a full nights sleep. My French ability and ability to cope were/are a direct result of how much sleep I can/could achieve. This rarely happened. One never knew/knows what the night would hold. First I had to get past the livestock noise. You can’t imagine how loud those animals, particularly the donkeys, are. The first night at the Lycee I was sure that a pack of wild dogs had gotten a hold of one and was disemboweling the poor creature. I was not alone in that belief. Later I learn, it’s not being disemboweled, thank god, it was actually mating. Just wonderful. If it’s not the weird noises of the livestock that run loose in the streets, it’s the weddings that last all night long for 3 nights in a row, blaring rap, whose lyrics they can’t possibly understand or they’d never be blaring them throughout the neighborhood. You can’t imagine how lucky I feel that my excellent command of the English language allowed me to fully enjoy the lyrics. Or, one never knew when she’d be abruptly awaken and have to make a mad dash, mosquito net, matala and any other sleeping item in tow, to the indoors to avoid a rain storm. And the sandstorms that precede the rainstorms are worse. Once indoors, the room was usually in the 90s, then add the 5 degrees that sleeping in a mosquito net adds, renders sleeping impossible. If there wasn’t some other disruption, everyday there is the predawn announcement from the loud speakers at the mosques which populate every block. I swear we had a set in our yard. Before I left Boghe, I could distinguish one voice from another. One was far better and much more musical then others. After the predawn announcement, there was the 5:15 AM call to prayer on those same loudspeakers. Stuffing my head under the towel that I use for a pillow didn’t even muffle the noise. Up by 6:15 each day to go off to language class. It’s a wonder I passed the language proficiency test.

Now in Atar, I have no language class nor is it necessary to use a mosquito net, but that leads to another set of issues. Until 2 nights ago, I slept on my roof. There is much more of a breeze and fewer crawly bugs up there. Plus it feels just a bit safer then sleeping alone in the courtyard even though my courtyard has 10 foot walls around much of it and barbed wire on the lower section. As for the sandstorms, I just wrap head in the sheet as I dislike getting sand in my ears and power on. But my neighbors, whose roof is right next to mine separated by only a 2 foot wall and a 3 foot space between the buildings, returned home from brousse, a summer long holiday. Or at least I thought they did. On Saturday all of their doors and windows were opened and a boy and man were fiddling with the satellite dish on their roof. Because of this, I have slept the last couple of nights in my courtyard rather than my roof. I haven’t yet been schooled in the etiquette of neighborly roof sleeping and am a bit disenthralled with the idea. Bare in mind a woman needs to be covered head to toe in this country at all times and it’s 94 degrees when I head off to bed. I am not going to cover head to toe nor do I want to insult or entice my neighbors. The next best option is that I am sleeping alone in the courtyard, positioned out of sight of my neighbors behind the stairs, feeling a little exposed to any ne’er-do-well that wants to hop my very tall wall, until I make the acquaintance of my neighbors. Sweet dreams to me.

Saturday, night one, I prepare the place by spraying the surrounding area with bug spray. Without a mosquito net I have no protection from the pesky little bastards. Thankfully there are no mosquitoes and zero incidence of malaria up here. However, did I mention that there are scorpions here? Did I mention that the mosquito net adds 5 degrees to the already 93 degree night? Did I mention that one of the trainees that opted to return home did so after a roach got stuck in her ear while she was asleep? I’ll leave the details of it’s extraction to your imagination. Back to night one, I take my nighttime cold medicine for my head cold and off to dream land I go. Not to bad a night sleep thanks the cold medicine. But par usual, the predawn cell phone, the ridiculously early call to prayer and the flies that arrive at 6:14 each morning to buzz your head. I am not talking a few flies; this place is fly heaven or hell, depending on which side of the fly issue you fall. Flies and sandstorms are combated by what I call the Mauritanian Sleep Shroud. I witnessed this technique while observing the sleeping habits of the hcn (host country nationals). One tucks the tops of the sheet under her head and the bottom of the sheet under her feet. Bear in mind that any piece of skin that sticks out from under the sheet is a choicest landing strip for the flies. The hcn’s can sleep this way completely enclosed, but I like to have the sheet pulled taught between my head and my toes so that there is a slight opening for airflow. (Note that this technique will not work well in sandstorms as the vent lets in all of the sand) Otherwise it feels too stuffy and too hot. Mind you, it’s early fall in the Sahara and still rather hot to my still not quite acclimated self. This ritual shrouding and battle to keep skin unexposed yet keep airflow circulating takes place, like clockwork, at 6:14 am each day when the first buzz starts up in my ear. Since these creatures fly, it’s the same whether I am placed on the roof or in the courtyard.

Night 2, I don’t spray the area assuming that the poison from the previous night will still be active. I plan to mitigate the restlessness of shrouding exercise by placing my fan via extension cord, with me in the courtyard. For your edification, flies like neither wind nor dark. Okay, I am prepared. Out of night time cold medicine (huge hint), but otherwise, prepared to take my best shot at a restful night sleep. Well, the bug spray is not still in effect. I learn that shortly after going to bed because I get pinched on my toe by what I think was a beetle. As the beetle was the only critter crawling away when I scoured the area with my flashlight, it must have been the culprit. Not a bad pinch, but are there ever good pinches? Not wanting to get bug spray all over my bedding and put off by the smell and poison that it leaves; I decide to brave the crawly bugs sans chemical defense. Have I mentioned the scorpions? Did I mention the cockroach story? These two possibilities kept me quite alert all night long. Did I mention the drumming and partying that goes on all night during Ramadan? Oh how I longed for that nighttime cold medicine. On a brighter, more successful note, the fan was the perfect deterrent for the 6:14 am wake up call from the flies. Yes, they came but with the fan, the struggle to keep myself completely shrouded was far less important.

What is the lesson, clean, climate controlled, well nourished, caffeinated (Nescafe and powered milk do not count), well rested folks who sleep indoors, in a bed, off of the ground, away from the bugs, in screened rooms? I don’t know but I thought I’d point out a few things that I miss and just a few of the luxuries for which you should be grateful.

Updates:

Yesterday, 9/30, I finished book number 3 since arriving in Atar. A Widow for A Year by John Irving. The first 500 pages were great. The ending was a little disappointing.

I am contemplating sending you cheffy types the list of ingredients available here and have a contest to see who comes up with the best recipe. No prizes just the good feeling that I can have some variety in my menu. What do you think?

As for the microwave question...i am sure they are available in the capital but i just have a propane tank with a little burner screwed into the top and little temperature control.

Stage in Review

2007-09-30T03:20:00.000-07:00

Greetings all, I want to try to piece together my life during the last 2 months of training also know as Stage, before I forget and the memories fade. So quickly the events and environs that were so strange when I first got off of the plane on June 29th with the 72 other trainees have become commonplace. Once astounded by the heaps and heaps of litter and dead animals, now I just step over, through, or around it without a second glance. A word like "revolting" was part of my early e-mails of Mauritania. Okay, it's still part of my description, but a much smaller part. If you come for a visit, brace yourself. Take heart, the place will grow on you. Possibly literally.

I have spent a lot of time working on the name for this blog. Namelessness has been the hold up. I considered In Search of My Roots as I am au natural of hair color for the first time in oh, about 25 years. Why Madame Toubab? Once upon a time I was walking to the market, and par usual, a gang of children were running to meet me and shake my hand, yelling toubab, toubab, madame, bonjour, ca va, ca va bien, bonjour, toubab, toubab, bonjour, cava. You get the picture. Anyway, this lovely little girl with enormous brown eyes who came up to about my knees came running to me calling Madame Toubab. Natually, I responded. How could I not. A title. That was the ticket. That was exactly what I needed and deserved. So from that day forward, I have been known in my Peace Corps circle as Madame Toubab and will answer to nothing else.

Most nights I sleep out under the enormous African sky. It’s a dramatic sky. When the occasional storm comes rolling in you can see if for hours. Then all of the sudden it is on top of you. The Lightening will light up the entire sky in the distance. The full moon is so bright that it wakes me up from a sound sleep as if someone is pointing a light right into my eyes. It reminds me of the scene from the movie MoonStruck. (Can you believe none of the v’s here have seen it) On a moonless night, it is pitch black. You can’t see your hand in front of your face. Eventually millions of stars will appear along with the Milky Way. When I am awaken by the first prayer call at 4:19 AM, there are a billion stars. It’s the sky of my youth camping in Southern Indiana, swinging on the swings, wishing on the stars, wondering what life will hold. Funny, I am still wishing on stars wondering what my life has in store for me. Who knew that all these many years later, I'd still not have that answer?

I’ve only been at my permanent site for 1.5 weeks but even now, Boghe, my training site, seems such a long time ago. Back then I was integrated, had a huge family full of handsome, gallant brothers to care for me, prominent community members that recognized me and greeted me on the street and I could shake hands with everyone, men and women. Ma shallah. I went to class everyday. I showed up at home each noon and evening for meals. I had to be home before dark. I couldn’t wonder off without telling someone where I was going. I spent all of my money on sodas and cookies for snacks. It was a simpler life.

The training in Mauritania is different from other PC countries. It is shorter, only 2 months, but it is community based meaning we live with a host family and take daily language lessons in groups of 2-5. We did spend the first week together at the Lycee, (a high school campus with it's classrooms turned into dorms) which after 5 days reminded me of a frat house the day after a party sans the stale beer smell. (Mauritania is a dry country and I don't just mean it's 2 deserts) Toilets overflowing. Luggage overflowing. Overwhelmingly hot. Not pleasant. Praise Allah it didn’t rain. I must commend the 50 women crammed into this dorm. We kept our sense of humor and compassion for one another. I, for one, was ready to leave and move into a family. Hell I was ready to move anywhere. The training was grueling both physically and emotionally. Try sitting Indian style on a hard floor for hours at a time. Damn it’s uncomfortable. At least now I don't squirm around as much as I used to trying to get into a comfortable position, which is an impossible task. We took 6 hours of language each day + the enormous amount of work for the projects that were required for training in our particular sector. Lounging on my chaise in San Diego petting the kitties, I could not have imagine just how tired, hungry, hot, dirty, cranky and overwhelmed I could get in just 2 short months. It is hot here. I mean really, really hot with no relief. For any of you that caught me in the last afternoon at the height of the heat, I was certainly the worse for wear, whining and whimpering. All made additionally uncomfortable because women have to wear all of these clothes. We live outdoors 7/24 in110 degree heat in long skirts. Add a slip if the skirts are too sheer. I can only think of expletives to describe it.

Actually, the first 3 weeks were the hardest trying settling into my new surrounds. Again, language is the key. I was lucky that I landed in a family, that if you had been magically plunked down in their courtyard, you’d have a hard time figuring out why the Peace Corps is in Mauritania. The father was from the Ivory Coast. He speaks French, English and Hassaniya as well as Bambara. My sister in law, a young lady of 21, is from Senegal. She has the most beautiful French accent. My youngest brother,18 , also speaks French beautifully as well as the language of chaos, a quote from Heather W, a fellow trainee. Meaning, he could understand my as well as the other trainees Frenglish and translate our needs and wants to his fellow citizens. It was utterly amazing. Dad came to Mauritania in 1967. He intended to stay for just awhile to earn money to move to France, but he met his wife and soon came the first of 9 sons. Thus in Southern Mauritania he stayed. He was an educator donc 6 of the 9 fils have passed the BAC and have or are attending the only University in Mauritania. This is an ASTOUNDING feat as only 10% of each graduating class passes the BAC. Sadly if you don’t pass the BAC, you can not attend University, and you have little opportunity but the military for work. We had 2 computers (no internet), a car, were building an addition to the house and we watch EuroNews each night. As I said, they were very progressive. We discussed politics, religion, mine as well as theirs (I was surprised by how much we agreed I’d love to give you more details, but not on a public blog), Steve Jobs, Bill Gates (and the competition between Apple and Microsoft), Warren Buffet, Barak Obama. I loved these discussions. They were a mixture of bad French, bad English and lots of patience while one of us would grab the dictionary to find the word we needed. All time being mindful of the dictionary so that the goats or sheep wouldn’t eat it. The other trainees were quite jealous of my interactions because I was able to not only practice my French and also have meaningful dialogue about issues of interest. My family is wonderful and I am so very lucky to have been placed in their home. We also exhausted what little I know of Rap. Is Beyonce white or black? Is Eminem white or black? Is Shakira America? Is that song in English? Apparently, America is a place where there are many ways to become rich, singing, acting, rapping or sports. Remind me to start applying to those professions when I get home.

One Friday I came home from class early and couldn’t help but notice that our yard was overrun with children. I asked Dad why. He replied Charity. We were feeding the neighborhood children. He then asked if Americans give to charity. An astounding question I thought as he had a Peace Corps VOLUNTEER sitting under his hangar. And I was the 4th trainee that had stayed at their house over the years. I am not sure that the word volunteer translates into this culture. I explained that yes Americans give both of their money and their TIME. He was aware that the US government gave a lot of money to aid but he wasn’t sure if the people did as well. Again, thru French and English, I explain that the US government has no money of it’s own to give. The American people pay taxes to support it and elect officials who will do our will. Inshallah. The money that our government donates to the world in aid is money directly from the American people. A government by the people, for the people, if you will. This concept seems so simple but folks, remember, Mauritania just this last Spring had their first free elections. Prior to that, speaking out against the government could prove fatal. That is why being in Mauritania right now, while they struggle with creating a democracy WITH accountability is so exciting. Inshallah They have their work cut out for them. From what I have been told there is still a lot of corruption and without connections and money, there is little opportunity here. That kind of atmosphere can breed much, much discontent. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for their progress.

I then spied a newly hatched chick that was the bright yellow color of Peeps. I had a quick flash of home and I tried to explain to Dad that Peeps were marshmallow candy that we give at Easter. Coming off of that charity conversation, he now thinks that we give little chicks to the poor at the Ascension. I didn’t have the heart to explain that indeed no, we give the poor nothing on Easter. We just eat bright yellow candy. Damn the nuance in language. I’ll save that for another day.

Another conversation with one of my brothers was about the internet. It will be a great catalyst for change in the youth of Mauritania according to him. Somehow we got on the subject of how in other parts of the world ie: Myanmar and China, the internet is regulated by their government. Those counties populations didn't have unbiased information and couldn't access Yahoo and Google. Stunned at that information, he quickly asked me if I had had problems with access to information via the cyber in Mauritania. I still am moved by the look of relief when I told him that no, I personally had not experienced any problems accessing websites while in Mauritania.

As progressive as my family is, nutrition and sanitation were lacking as was indoor plumbing. We laid in repose and dined with our livestock at arms length away or lapping out of our bowls if we weren't sufficiently attentive. It is impossible to describe my life here to you and as impossible to relay my life in the US to them. Par Example: they wanted to know if we all had great big hangars (permanent tents) in our yards as they do. I assume they believe that because America is the Promised Land, we must have magnificent hangars and undoubtedly, through American ingenuity, had made the hangers grander in ways they hadn’t thought possible. Alas, I tried to explain that we didn’t live in our yards. We lived inside our houses, in buildings with air conditioning when it was hot and heating when it was cool. Screens kept out the bugs. We also have furniture and thusly, did not sit on the floor, eat on the floor, sleep on the floor, cook on the floor. Oh how I long for a work surface that is not the floor.

I am in Small Enterprise Development (SED) 6 other SED volunteers and myself spent all of our days together either in language class or working on one of the many projects. We became a very close knit group. When no one else could understand our French, we always knew what the other one was trying to say. It was our own little language. This proved very helpful while working with our local business people on our Consulting Dossier. One of us always knew what the other was trying to express, and could usually find the correct verb. Creating a Consulting Dossier would normally be an easy task of sitting down for a few hours and discussing someone's business practices, I believe this is much of what I did with McGraw Hill. But alas, we spoke different languages which made this task monumentally difficult and challenging. Much use was made of the dictionary and something akin to charades. I applaud these folks for their enormous patience and the time they took to aid us in our training. All of their cooperation was a direct result of the work and integration that the prior SED volunteer had done at the last 2 years in this site. Aaron is beloved to them. He went home, back to the USA, on 9/15 and his enthusiasm for PC work and the people of Mauritania will be greatly missed.

But now, training is over. I left my family viklempt with a promise to call and visit soon. The now 66 were sworn in as new PC RIM (Republique Islamic Mauritanie) Volunteers on 9/6 and scattered all over this large country. I won't see most of them until Christmas in Nouakchott and then only occasionally during the next 2 years. That prospect makes me a little sad as they are quite dear to me. It is rare to get a group this large and have each and every one plugged in. No one is ever in the back rolling their eyes. Well almost never. We each gave up the comforts of home to try to make a difference to the world, to our spirits or both. I have moved to my permanent site which is Atar in the Adrar region of Mauritania. You can look it upon the web as it is the only tourist area of Mauritania. Yes, I am living in the Sahara. I now have a new group of new and veteran volunteers with whom I am becoming thick as thieves. As it was in Training, I am senior by many years but it's all working out. I occasionally offer up sage advice. Sometimes I actually believe that I sound like Doris. Who knew she was so smart?

For those of you interested in the age thing, at our closing party at our training site, I played the sound track from The Big Chill. Everyone enjoyed the tunes and after some discussion, I found out that some of the volunteers weren't even out of the womb when this movie was released. Enough said.

Also, does having to use reading glasses to read your ipod make you hip or old? Ruminate on that and get back to me.

Okay, this is enough for today. I have so many stories, thoughts, realizations and revelations from the last 2 months all of which I wish I could share with you. But alas. Lesley said it nicely when she pointed out to me that it is rare in your life when every single day provides you endless opportunities to learn something absolutely new. I try to keep that in the front of my brain with each new and exciting "opportunity". Tonight, I am going to try to buy popcorn in the market so that we can have it with our next two episodes of LOST. I see pre popped corn being sold in little baggies so the kernels must be somewhere. I believe the best verb to use is explode. Wish me luck.

Wow would I have packed differently knowing what I know now.

List of much appreciated supplies

Send Often
Deodorant, suave invisible solid, any scent
Q-tips
Disposable razors
Heel Razors
Excedrin or Tylenol PM
Alka Seltzer Cold Nighttime
Narrow brush picks by DenTek, they are blue and I found by the toothpaste in target. Come in 8 packs.
Emory Boards
All-in-one facial cleansers/moisturizers just add water.
(Olay makes a good one as does Mary Kay) plus the little towelettes can be reused.
Little Hotel soap, we always need some in our bags for sanitation
Ziplock storage bags and containers.
A big box of Kleenex-feel free to repack in ziplock
Small Spiral Notebook for my purse
Bumble and Bumble Shampoo
Books
DVD's (we have LOST 1,2 ; Season 4,5,6 of Seinfeld; All of Sportsnight)
Wine yeast : )

Sooner than later
Garden Seeds and plant food spikes (they are light weight)
Lettuces and spinach
Journal= Jane I have quite a few in that box I left for you

Just need once
Brush, detangler
Pocket French Verb book
Wikipedia off line
Purse sized Week at a Glance Agenda for 08
Twin Sheets
Sunglasses
Letter combo lock rather than numbers
Cutting Board (the big, lightweight, thin, roll up kind)
Pancake Turner
Can opener that works really well
Potato peeler that works really well
1 Cup Measuring cup and spoons
World map
Sturdy fold up hand fan for my purse
Wash clothes--cheap
Dish clothes--cheap

Undergarmets
Boxer shorts size L
Mens boxer briefs seem like they would be really comfortable. Size M. They are more fitted than regular boxer shorts but cooler than bike shorts (remember the hot temps and long skirts)
Wife beaters, size XL
Crocs, the bottom has a circle with a 5 and a circle with a 7 for the size. My wardrobe is primarily blue brown or green. Pick whatever you like

Nutritious snacks, nuts, dried fruit, beef jerky, protein bars,
Peanut butter
Hard candy
Parmesan Cheese (stinky socks)=needs no refrigeration and full of cheesy flavor (did I mention that there is no cheese in this country)
Deviled ham
Oatmeal packets= any flavor
Soup mixes = double check what I have to add besides water
Aluminum packets of salmon, tuna and or shrimp even Chicken
Bullion cubes/ chicken flavor and lower salt
Rennet - powered
Spice mixes = survival spice, garlic salt, celery salt
Marshmallows
Crackers
Any powered food mix that can be made with oil, butter, milk, tomato paste or water

Would love to haves
Replacement Brookstone travel clock with date and temperature reading in f and c-feather light if they still make it. I squished the current one and the alarm no longer works
Pirate gear
Badminton (I have a huge courtyard)
Volleyball
Blow up swimming pool
Apples to Apples card game
Twister = this might be on the way.

For the upcoming holiday
Thanksgiving side dishes = stuffing, pie crust mix with pan,
Brown sugar
Powdered sugar
Toffee (for making cookies)
Cinnamon, Nutmeg
Lightweight, cheap Christmas Decorations.

For the heavy stuff, remember USPS has a fixed rate box rate to Mauritania for $37 for what ever you can get stuffed in it. It's about 15 x 2.5 x 12 ish

Pack well. The boxes look like hell when they arrive.

Self closing containers are best.