Observations

I apologize for not being online recently although many of you know that I am in Boghe. It seems each time I travel to Boghe either the internet or computers begin to have problems – although this time it was both. Internet was completely turned off for several days last week for “maintenance” although we were not informed until after it stopped working and the computer in the PC bureau is not successfully connecting to the internet. Long story short, my access has been limited although hopefully some of the problems have been resolved and will continue to improve during my stay.
Halloween was celebrated in American style with a variety of volunteers traveling to Boghe for the festivities on Thursday and Friday nights. Thursday commenced the weekend of debauchery with loud music, festive lighting, drinking (although it doesn’t take much for many volunteers since we don’t have an opportunity to drink very often), dancing and lots of talking. But Friday was the main event with the majority of attendees donning costumes for drinking and dancing starting around 3 in the afternoon. Costumes were mostly homemade or “found” at the local “dead tuubab” stores (basically the items that American goodwill stores rejected) but included 2 ballerinas, several rednecks and zombies, Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, a carrot, a pumpkin, a date palm tree, a tomato can child, Fred Flintstone and a special appearance by Senator McCain and Governor Palin. I discovered a 13 year old’s prom dress in the “bismillah” bag and decided to add a pink satin sash and tiara to transform myself into a beauty pageant contest, in particular Miss Alaska 1984. Overall approximately 50-60 volunteers attended the party with about half dressing in the spirit of Halloween, much to the amusement of the local children who enjoy looking over the compound wall as well as the local Mauritanian boutique owners who were patronized by a number of oddly dressed “tuubabs.”
This was the first time that I had an opportunity to spend a large amount of time with the second year volunteers and develop a better understanding of their experiences over the last year in addition to their overall attitude and feelings toward life and work in Mauritania. It was slightly reassuring to hear that many feel unproductive after an entire year of service since I have recently felt extremely lost in locating an area of need within my community and am thus having trouble pinpointing a beneficial project for the next quarter. In addition, it was nice to hear more about the variety of experiences within our country, both good and bad. I look forward to speaking with more of the second year volunteers in the future since Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays are planned with other regions but for now I feel that I am able to return to my side slightly more relaxed about my current position of uncertainty.
On a side note, I recently learned of several more Early Terminations both by people in my pledge class and the second year volunteers.
Lunch today was supposed to be Mauritanian Pad Thai because it is easy to make for a large number of people however typical of Mauritanian once several people had taken the time to walk to and navigate the market for ingredients they returned home to find that the most crucial ingredient, peanut butter, was bad. Now this is not peanut butter like we have at home but rather bitter, ground raw peanuts cooked into a paste, so it was extremely frustrating to have the vegetables and pasta cooked only to find that the sauce was ruined by peanut butter than tasted like plastic (this is not normal)! Therefore, I attempted to run to the closest boutiques to find some decent peanut butter for replacement but all businesses close between the hours of noon and 4 so I was out of luck. Welcome to Mauritania! Thus, we were forced to be creative and change our food’s nationality from Thailand to Chinese as we scrambled to find sufficient amounts of sauce mixes sent from the states to feed 15 Americans starved for flavor in their food. We succeeded in creating something which vaguely resembled Chinese food but not without spending over 2.5 hours cooking and slight disappointment around the table.
Over the last few weeks I have realized that although the food is not “bad,” it often leaves me unsatisfied due to lack of flavor or variation in texture and spice. I miss the ability to grab a snack whenever the craving hits or to generally eat what (and when) I want, so please enjoy some junk food for me.
Life in the RIM is slow paced with much of the day devoted to rest or prayer. As someone who is used to a busy schedule or at least days filled with numerous activities and time commitments, I am finding this to be one of the greatest adjustments. At points my boredom seems overwhelming and suffocating while at other times I find enjoyment in my ability to take a deep breath.
Although it is 90 plus degrees even during the early days of the cold season, life progresses like a simple children’s book for the Mauritanians in their grassless front yards. It is on this dry soil that women spend 1-3 hours each day in preparation for each meal over a hot, open fire plus hours of grinding and sifting in the hot midday sun while other times are spent resting and/or napping in the shade. Little boys run around without pants but often wearing shirts and sometimes shoes as they play with dull cooking knives or turn water containers and other peoples “trash” into toy cars, building blocks and a number of other playthings. Babies are swaddled in multiple layers with a winter hat perched on the top of their little heads (Most often with English phrases printed on the front) are tied to their mother’s backs where flies cloud their eyes as they sleep with their heads drooped to one side.
Most of my mornings are spent at the local health post with the nurse, Binta, and her daughter Hawa where I often find myself laughing under my breath as I watch African life unfold. In particular, when I try to place various random experiences within the strict guidelines of the American healthcare system, I can’t help but find humor in the situation. For example, just yesterday, Binta had just put on a glove to check the cervix of a pregnant patient when a child peered in the office window and offered fresh fish. As the woman laid on her back on the examination table with her feet to the side of her hips in preparation for the exam, Binta took time to hand the child money and a plastic bag for the three whole fish and then reaccepted the small bag with the fish tales hanging out the top, which she promptly laid on her office desk. She then returned to the gynecological exam wearing the same glove that she had worn during the transaction moments before. Now any lady in the audience who visits a gynecologist can likely sympathize with me when I say the last things I would want while in the examination room are 1. Being left for a period of time with your feet in the stirrups and knees spread wide, 2. The smell of hot fish wafting throughout the room during the exam, or 3. The use of a likely unclean surgical glove or 4. Having an opening to the outside world that is easily accessible for the general public’s observation throughout the entire exam. So, as I am standing watching this event I find myself smiling and imaging the face of a high-strung American woman in this situation as she turns red with embarrassment and anger, but to the African women this is just another moment in life.
I am also amused and simultaneously terrified on an almost daily basis as age is discussed at the health post. Most people do not know their own birth year or age and are always slightly amused that anyone should ask or care. Even mothers are unable to tell you the age of their child no matter whether the child is 2 weeks, 2 years or 12. And it is not like they just do not know their exact age, they have no clue of ballpark figures as well…we have had 29 year olds say that they think they are 20 and truly believe this to be correct or else many merely answer with a smile and a meek “Mi Anndaa” [“I don’t know”]. Other times a 23 year old will know her age only to be at the health post for a pre-natal consultation before her 3rd or 4th child. It is then that I often take notice of how much older the African women actually look. I understand that I look young for my age but women here seem to age extremely quickly with 18 year olds looking 26 and 23 year olds looking 30. Needless to say they are always amused to find out that no, I am not 17!
This indifference to numbers has also been noticed when a women is asked about her children. How many children do you have? How many pregnancies? A woman last week took 5 minutes to count on her fingers 10 pregnancies, 8 children currently living plus the current pregnancy and then late came back to say she forgot a child so 11 pregnancies and 9 children currently living. This is such a change from American mothers that often calculate the age of their child down to the week or day for the first year and 4 ½ years olds that make you very aware of that extra 6 months.
As hard as I try it is nearly impossible for me to explain the differences between America and Mauritania to the locals, although I often try. America is hard to imagine even for those lucky enough to visit the big, bustling city of Nouakchott. I am constantly trying to explain to Binta and Hawa that America has people with black skin in addition to white, red, and yellow and that America is home to people whose ancestors originated from every country in the world, including Africa and Asia but this concept is often too hard for them to fully comprehend. Sometimes they seem to understand only minutes later to ask something like, “so if America has black people they live in different villages than the reds, right?” proving once again that the idea is still not completely grasped.
Over the last few months, I have come to notice several ironies here including: 1. A late model Mercedes Benz parked under a tree in front of a grass and mud hut and 2. World Trade Center flip-flops that are worn by almost everyone I have encountered in this strictly Muslim country. Similar to Haiti, Mauritania is a place where the world’s Mercedes come to die. A car that in America denotes wealth and luxury is seen on every roadway here although also in every state of disrepair. It is common among the rust and stickers of Madonna to find a missing bumper, doors that no longer open so the passenger must crawl from another door, or even to see parts falling off as the vehicle moves slowly down the road. Occasionally though a new model passes by standing out like a red apple Ferrari in Harlem, only to park in front of a single room mud hut without a door or running water. The second irony is that after 9/11, the Islamic Republic of Mauritania must have received several shipments of flip-flops intended for the WTC gift shops or NYC street vendors. Thousands of Mauritanian men, women and children wear WTC flip-flops with a picture of the twin towers on a daily basis without any understanding that they are no longer standing in the great city of New York because Muslim extremists leveled them 7 years ago, but to me it is a constant reminder of that frightful day and the various people who lost their lives.
Thanks for all the warm wishes, messages and amazing care packages sent both via email and through snail mail during the last few months. Updates from home are an excellent way to feel connected – that in addition to my daily news updates from the BBC-and the American goodies are prized possessions around here so please keep them coming! I am still waiting on some letters that were originally sent to Nouakchott; apparently the Peace Corps Headquarters is really slow at sorting the multiple bags of mail, so I apologize if anyone is feeling neglected because they have not received a letter in response. If so, please send me an email or facebook message so I can begin remedying the situation. New pictures will be uploaded soon in addition to a short home video (caution to those who get carsick because it is very shaky) in OloOlogo, Inshallah!