Atar Trash Marathon

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

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

It Was Bound To Happen

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

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

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

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^th and 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

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