Should I Stay or Should I Go Now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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