Homeward Bound

Speculation over the future of RIM PCVs has continued for weeks as the political situation within Mauritanian continued its decline. Within the last 2 weeks, vague threats to Americans began to spread throughout the country like wildfire, followed by the official cancellation of our training class (which was postponed in mid-June) and then the death of an American in the Mauritanian capital, Nouakchott. Although the American was killed because of his “Christianizing activities” in a country with strict rules against teaching any religion besides Islam, his death surprised everyone and caused numerous questions in the minds of other Americans about motivation. Peace Corps and the American Embassy assured us that in spite of the killing and the second kidnapping threat, volunteers were not in danger so we were encouraged to continue as normal but remain extra vigilant.

Eventually I got word that Peace Corps headquarters in Washington in collaboration with PC Mauritania was offering “Interrupted Service” (IS) to all current volunteers. Interrupted Service in essence is a choice: take an early COS (close of service) with full RPCV benefits and the possibility of “re-enrollment” with another PC program or to remain in country as planned for the next year. I received the news while in Olo Ologo giving me a lot of time for much soul searching and thinking before traveling to Boghé and talking to many of my region mates. In the end I decided to follow my heart and thus I will be returning stateside a year early and in time for my birthday!

In total, 20 volunteers chose to accept IS; approximately 1/3 of the volunteers currently in country since the second year volunteers have mostly all completed their service and returned home and no new volunteers will be arriving, yet. Everyone has different reasons for their choice, either to stay or return and I respect each and every one of them and I am thankful for the support I have been receiving throughout this difficult time. Things are changing rapidly and no one will be unaffected, especially those who remain to finish their service.

I had hoped to remain in country for a few weeks to wrap up a few loose ends and participate in Eco-health camp 2009, but my date of departure is currently scheduled for 12 July so the last week has been whirlwind as I traveled to Kaedi for a quick 4th of July celebration, followed by a night in my village to pack and say my goodbyes, a 5 hour trip North to Nouakchott with all my belongings and then several days of government paperwork and medical testing. Since the Mauritanian weekend officially begins at 1 on Thursday, I am finally getting a little time to relax in my air conditioned hotel room, remote control and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in hand and lots of planning in my head.

My plane is scheduled to arrive in Richmond around 10 am on the morning of July 13 and from there I will commence rescheduling my life.

To all my friends in the RIM (especially my region mates who I am leaving in a slight pickle), Best Wishes for the upcoming year and know that I am thinking of you often and sending you my love, remember I am always a Beep away for medical emergencies. To my family and friends in America, I look forward to seeing you in the immediate future and picking up where we left off…

Brief Return to the Western World

Instead of returning to the states for vacation this summer, I met mom and dad in France for several weeks of comfortable beds, showers that did not require a bucket, meals that did not consistently include rice or fish and sightseeing in the city of lights and beyond. Although I can’t say the trip was extremely restful, it was an exceptional experience made priceless by the fact I was reunited with mom and dad after 11 ½ months of my African adventure. The first hugs are etched into my mind forever as they are a testament of my ability to survive in a foreign culture without the comforts I had relied upon throughout my life or the daily interaction with family and friends, especially in times of frustration and trouble. Stepping onto the plane to leave them once again was probably the most difficult experience of my life to date but here I am after hours of difficult travel slowly readjusting to life in the RIM.
From the Louvre down the Champs Elysees to the Arc De Triomphe, to the banks of the Seine and the historical beaches of Normandy, to the golden gates of Versailles, the street markets around the Place de la Republique and the gargoyles of Notre Dame – I set eyes on a lot while on French soil. Half of my time was spent exploring Paris and the numerous sights it has to offer, including the Eiffel Tower and hundreds of paintings and sculptures housed in museums across the city, while the other time was spent reconnecting with family in Normandy. With a cold rain falling during most of our time in the north of the country, we managed to visit Mont St. Michel and the D-Day beaches (although I missed President Obama’s visit for the 65th anniversary much to the dismay of the Custom’s Officer at Orly Airport) plus multiple enjoyable visits to the local grocery store and one morning mom and I were pampered with much needed water based spa treatments in Bagnoles. However, the best moments were those spent within reach of my family, huddled up on the couch in front of a roaring fire or sitting around the dining room table for delicious 4 course meals.
In a country where I am rarely alone, I often feel isolated without a concrete understanding of the local culture and my position within it. Here, men and women rarely touch even within one’s family group and interaction is limited between women. Hugs are unheard of and while small children are sometimes kissed on the forehead I have never witnessed kissing between adults not even the cheek kissing common in many European countries. I have come to realize how heavily I relied upon interactions with male friends and basic physical contact with my family and friends. A hug, an extended handshake, snuggling with my roommates on a single bed during college, a hand placed on your back in passing and many more daily interactions are all things that I miss greatly.
While in France I was lucky to see not only mom and dad but Martha Key (a cousin of mom’s) and her husband, Graham, who we stayed with in Normandy in addition to my cousin Becky and her friend Pete who were passing through Paris during my last few days. Both Becky and Pete are architecture majors and so I enjoyed spending much of my last few days discovering hidden parks and interesting buildings scattered throughout Paris while also getting my fill of chocolate mousse and a variety of ice creams on the unofficial chocolate tour.
I was slightly nervous weeks before leaving for France that my French was not sufficient so I spent each night reviewing a few vocabulary words and sentence formation only to land in the airport and realize that most people speak English. Each time I tried to ask a question in French I was usually answered in English, thwarting all plans to show off my improving skills. However I did have the opportunity to impress my family with a little taste of my new language, when I ran into a Pulaar speaking Senegalese man during my last dinner in Paris.
While in Normandy, I was informed via email that the new class of PC Mauritania volunteers were denied visas by the Mauritanian government due to the unstable political situation started with the peaceful coup last August. Although rumors and speculation had been flying for months that this was a possibility since no Americans are currently being issued visas, no one truly believed that it would occur, so now everyone is watching and waiting to see what will happen next. We are told the new volunteer training is merely postponed until after the elections scheduled for July 18th (originally planned for June 6th) but the likelihood of the election date being postponed again is high, so now that I have returned to the RIM the wait continues among increased speculation.

Thoughts on Tradition

A 24 year old girl from my village died last week due to complications from eclampsia. Although she was transported via ambulance to the hospital in Boghe, then Aleg and finally to Nouakchott – the most sophisticated hospital in country – she still died along with her baby born prematurely at 5 months. As I listened to the wails of her mother which were audible for days as they rang throughout the village, I returned to thinking about culture and its intersection and influence on the health of communities and individuals.
Culture is something I have spent a lot of time observing and contemplating over the last year. Adjusting to a new culture is a day-to-day, moment-to-moment rollercoaster and as I learn more about local culture I have found myself becoming more enlightened about my personal culture which is highlighted against the backdrop of a country different in numerous ways. I do not fully understand the Mauritanian culture (and maybe never will) but I am appreciative of many of its elements and of the families who have generously provided food and shelter [free of charge] to me during my stay. Each day I continue to accept the inevitability of many Mauritanian ways although I often do not like or approve of them and have come to turns with the fact that traditions are hard to break, even those which are dangerous to the health or livelihood of one’s family.
This trend exists worldwide – take for example the fact that many Americans and Europeans smoke although research proves that smoking and chewing tobacco can increase the risk of a number of health problems including lung and throat cancer, heart disease, etc. Thus it seems information, although necessary to making an informed decision, is rarely enough by itself to produce behavior changes in people. Change takes a long time and is difficult because one is often working against social and environmental conditioning and thus the benefits of behavior change must be compelling. America is scientifically advanced with studies appearing daily that provide data to encourage healthy living and choices but people still resort back to old habits which are comfortable and often acceptable within the community, so my hopes for Mauritania are limited.
Based on my observations, the biggest health concerns in the south of Mauritania seem to be malaria, schistosimiasis, childbirth and dehydration secondary to diarrhea. Diabetes, heart disease and high blood pressure, cancer and strokes are likely problematic but are often undiagnosed prior to death due to limited health care and no preventative medicine. In America and other developed countries, many of the same problems exist but they are often caught early and treated in technologically advanced health centers leading to a significantly longer lifespan for men, women, and children. Modern medicine continues to progress but the trickle-down into the developing world is long and tedious.
Culture and tradition seem to be exceptionally strong factors in Mauritania. Take for example the acceptable practice of arranged marriages, during which women are often forced into marriage between the ages of 12 and 18 to men often 10 years their senior. The first child is usually conceived within the first year of marriage and within their lifetime women often deliver 7 to 12 children although not all survive into adulthood. Nonetheless, how do you encourage a teenage girl to wait until 19 or 20 to have sex when everyone else in her life – parents, grandparents, friends and peers – are perpetuating an unhealthy behavior. Arranged marriages at an early age are an age old tradition which obviously does not always have tragic outcomes or else the population would have disappeared years ago, so people continue with the behavior because it is expected within the community.
The fairly recent creation of health posts throughout many developing countries has lowered the rate of deaths by providing a place for treatment without having to travel hundreds of kilometers for basic treatment and by encouraging pre-natal exams and allowing women to deliver in the presence of trained health professionals and in theory with increased sanitary conditions when compared to one’s home. The rate of maternal and infant mortality is still uncomfortably high, and it has progressed significantly in the last decade, suggesting more needs to be done in all aspects of health and medicine.
Eradication of malaria is currently impracticable and a vaccination is still unavailable but malaria is often preventable with an appropriate prophylaxis and treatable with a variety of drugs, but both the prophylaxis and treatment are generally expensive for long-term use and in many affected countries hard to find. Thus, programs promoting prevention are important in many countries, including Mauritania, especially since the likelihood of contracting malaria can be significantly reduced with a few simple precautions such as limiting the exposure of skin throughout the night - wearing long sleeves and pants, using mosquito netting to cover windows and doors or sleeping under a mosquito net – or wearing neem cream – a cream made easily out of locally found materials that repels mosquitoes – after dusk. Although the use of mosquito nets has increased greatly over the last decade, little seems to be done to prevent bites from dusk until bedtime, approximately 4 hours later. This practice seems to be cultural and often the activities before bedtime include watching television, napping or generally sitting and talking in the open air – nothing that could not be performed under the protection of a net.
Schistosimiasis in contrast to malaria is unpreventable because life in many African villages revolves around rivers – bathing, swimming, watering plants, washing clothes and dishes- and has done so for centuries, but it is easily treated if caught early. In Mauritania, it is a common disease that leads to high morbidity rate because many people do not seek treatment before bodily damage has started. Symptoms are often ignored or are pushed aside as unimportant until major medical intervention is required.
A recent study by WHO discovered that car crashes are soon going to become the number 1 killer of children in the developing world, bypassing malaria and dysentery. Although Mauritania is a dry country that likely has a slightly lower rate of automobile crashes, it also has no laws requiring seatbelt usage (seatbelts are not even available on most cars), restraining devices for children (children always sit on the laps of parents to prevent having to buy another seat) or limiting numbers of passengers (10 people usually in a car made for 7 or 8), thus serious car accidents likely result in the death or injury of all people involved. Without governmental laws, cars will continue to be overcrowded and children sitting on laps because it is economically beneficial for the drivers. Once again, money seems to be more important than safety when bureaucracy is involved.
How do you remain culturally sensitive while encouraging a population to change deeply ingrained cultural foundations? How do you tell a midwife who began practicing before I was born that many of his/her practices are inappropriate and dangerous, when thousands of her patients have beaten the odds, and survived? How do you teach people to eat more fruits and vegetables when they are not always available or may be unaffordable? How do you encourage a family to limit the number of children they produce when society dictates a big family is necessary for adequate continued existence? These questions and more fill my head daily as I try to change perspectives while attempting to remain culturally sensitive and respect the reasons and decisions behind tradition.

Survivor: Mauritania

I was recently talking to Teresa about the fact that Peace Corps Volunteers are supposedly ineligible to become contestants on the reality television series Survivor. After watching two episodes sent to us “for your consideration” by the Emmy Nominating Committee we realized why – 39 days on an isolated beach seems more like a short vacation than a challenge at this point. With the backing of CBS who will surely step-in to ensure survival if necessary (i.e. provide water to prevent dehydration and meds in case of illness) and without the presence of locals who require cultural sensitivity - ankle length skirts and covered shoulders day in and day out- plus the opportunity to swim in the ocean without the threat of Schistosimiasis seems ideal. Can’t boil water because you haven’t won fire yet, Oh, well what is the worst that can happen? Giardia? Been there, done that and I survived months without the first round of medication. Rodents that arrive at night to nibble foods that are not stored in airtight containers remind me of daily life at the regional house, not to mention the current infestation of ants throughout my new room that are amazing in their ability to break into a number of storage containers including Ziploc bags, sealed peanut butter jars and locked metal trunks. Complaints about eating rice and fish daily after a week, don’t forget that is they typical diet of several million people in the developing world. Each day I "outwit, outplay, outlast" and yet at the end of it all, I have the hopes of “winning” only 6 thousand dollars without the title of sole survivor or a picture with Jeff Probst!
As we started brainstorming ideas for her blog (http://teresa08.blogspot.com), it got me thinking about the ways in which my current life resembles several reality television series. Although television cameras are not waiting to capture my every blunder and frustration, the general premise remains…
“So now America, with an open heart and an empty stomach, I say unto you in the words of my uncle: Allez Cuisine” states the host of Iron Chef America and nothing could be truer whenever I arrive in Boghe. Since the marketplace in Boghe is constantly changing as the availability of fruits, vegetables, eggs and a variety of other food items are dependent on a number of non-reliable factors, many days feels like an episode of Iron Chef or Top Chef with quickfire challenges based on a “theme” ingredient or a regional taste. As of recent tomatoes have been bountiful and cheap but lettuce and cucumbers are gone for the season and bell peppers are spotty so although we often try to plan meals 24 hours in advance we often have to be prepared to create a delicious meal on the fly. Combined with a limited budget (I try to spend 200 ouguiya – approximately 1 US dollar – on each meal) and the recent unpredictable availability of water, the regional chefs compete in kitchen stadium under a number of unusual circumstances to create inventive culinary masterpieces that hopefully satisfy the constant desire for flavors seldom found in rice and fish.
This is the true story…of thirteen strangers…picked to live in a region…work together and have their lives blogged…to find out what happens…when people stop being polite…and start getting real. Life in South Brakna often resembles Real World: Mauritania complete with people from all walks of life converging on the developing world in hopes of making a small difference. We have English teachers, Agroforestry volunteers, Health Education volunteers, Small Enterprise Development/Information, Communication and Technology volunteers, Environmental Education volunteers, and Girls Empowerment and Development volunteers all working within several adjacent communities but using the regional house as a central meeting place and youth hostel. Thus the regional house becomes a crossroads where ideas and stories are passed, laughter and tears are shared, frustrations are voiced and true personalities emerge since two rooms can house up to 40 volunteers. Every visit is unique: full of surprises and stories only possible West Africa.
Each month it seems 25 or more men compete to win the heart of the local female toubab (white foreigner) with the hopes of acquiring the coveted green card to America in a traditional ceremony. Neighbors, musicians, moors, boutique owners, bankers, shepherds, married men, taxi drivers and a number of other guys try to attract my attention whether they know me to be an eligible bachelorette or a supposedly married woman. Each seems to be creepier than the next as they demand my hand in marriage within minutes of meeting me and more often than not in a language I do not completely understand. After months of deflecting proposals, I continue to be astonished by the number of men who make inappropriate offers although I wear a wedding band on my left hand and often claim to be betrothed, not to mention the men who truly seem to believe I would be willing to accept a position as a second or third wife.
Big Brother: Season 8 is in full swing around the world, including an unofficial season in Mauritania. Nowhere is safe from unwanted eyes (although I like to pretend they don’t know I am now jump roping and exercising inappropriately in my new room) and my family seems to be very aware of most everything that goes on throughout the village which suggests the web of spies is wide and gossipy. Weekly I meet strangers who enjoy telling me places I was spotted or activities I was witnessed performing, “I saw you walking by the big tree in Boghe, did you see me,” they will ask or “Did you finish washing your laundry in the river yesterday morning?” But the talk also moves beyond my immediate location and seems to travel throughout the country [and sometimes jumps continents] with other volunteers hearing stories about people several kilometers away (“So-and-so rode to Nouakchott with the Bababe volunteer, why didn’t you go to Nouakchott?”). Overall, no action or task goes unnoticed by the ever watching Mauritanian eyes.
Since we arrived last June, an informal competition arose during stage to see who can be the “biggest loser”. Disgusting food, repetitive meals, unclean water and a number of common gastrointestinal illnesses all increased one’s ability to shed a number of pounds within a matter of weeks. Although I have continued to gain weight since my arrival, a number of my peers lost significant poundage – 50, 70 or even 90 pounds or more – and so the competition continues to see who can be the biggest loser.
Travel within West Africa scarily resembles the amazing race as it often includes a variety of transportation: planes, trains, taxis, buses, boats, animal carts or even the occasional camel in a race-like journey to the Carrefour or “pit stops” at the end of each leg. Traveling within each country seems to offer new challenges associated with distinct laws and cultural norms plus a variety of languages and frequently without the accompaniment of a friend for support and/or assistance or the enticement of a 1 million dollar prize. Additionally, most trips within Mauritania and Senegal include a lot of frustrations due to unpredictable bargaining, unforeseen car problems, uncomfortable traveling conditions and unlimited waiting.

Roof

My roof is Complete! Before I left for my Morocco trip I was pleasantly surprised by a complete roof, although I currently have no door. It seems to always be one thing or another, however, I am optimistic that it may be completed upon my return since a)I bought and sent the materials on the van earlier this week and b)according to another volunteer a rumor is circulating that my American father will be arriving in OloOlogo today so the door must be complete. If this tactic works I may have to invite dad to Africa more often...

The above photo is of my room as pictured from my current house and the below photo shows my completed roof and the construction from the interior.

Dental Appointment in Africa

I spent several days in Nouakchott prior to a scheduled mid-service medical exam and dental cleaning, enjoying a few last minutes of vacation. Most of the time was spent in my air conditioned hotel room watching various old movies and reruns of NCIS on mbc action and fox movie – the two channels in English – in addition to several showers a day in my personal bathroom with thick, comfortable bath towels.
My dentist appointment was scheduled for 11am on a Sunday and by 1117am I was handed a clean bill of health and trying to find a taxi back to the PC bureau. The dentist was from Jerusalem and spoke perfect English (thankfully because I am not optimistic about my dental vocabulary in French) and did both the cleaning and polishing after the typical dentist poke as he checked for cavities and other problems. He was very impressed and complimentary with my dental work from America (Thanks Dr. Gilrain) and was the quickest full service dental exam in my life although I am not as confident in his assessment as with my dental practice in America. Nonetheless I left the office feeling minty fresh and blindingly polished with a brand new set of flamingo pink toothbrush, floss and tongue scraper to keep me entertained in Olo!

Wine Thrives in Muslim Morocco

Interesting news article about the production of wine in the predominatly Islamic country of Morroco. Especially relevant since all the wine I enjoyed during my recent visit to Morocco was produced in Meknes and because I am currently living in a dry Islamic Republic!

Wine Thrives in Muslim Morocco:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090405/ap_on_bi_ge/af_morocco_wine;_ylt=AozYXnit9iedu58dhsl7r9296Q8F

Slippers? Purse? Berber Husband?

Morocco is a fascinating country full of colorful sights, exotic experiences in addition to a crossroads of many rich and diverse peoples and cultures. I would have loved to spend months exploring the various cities and villages hidden throughout the Moroccan landscape instead I joined six other Mauritanian Peace Corps volunteers and one of Elise’s friends from America for a world wind vacation of five cities in 14 days. We gathered in Nouakchott for a quick meal before traveling to Nouadhibou, Mauritania and then Dakhla, Western Sahara with Brahime, an amazing chauffeur we discovered by chance in the Nouakchott Garage.
Took numerous hours to cross the Mauritanian/(Western Sahara)Morocco border in addition to the several km no-man’s land between the two countries which is covered with landmines due to 6 unorganized border checkpoints. Once into Western Sahara we followed the Atlantic coast for another few hours through flat, orange desert until we finally arrived in Dakhla. After a quick tour of the coastal town we ate a nice dinner of traditional mint tea and cheese pita while watching football (European soccer match) before our flight to Casablanca.
Arrived in the Casablanca Airport around 2am and needed to meet our American visitor’s plane a few hours later, so with no time or desire to leave the airport and a train to Tangier leaving soon after Stephanie’s arrival, we chose to do what any self-respecting poor man would do – sleep in the airport. A friendly security guard guided us to the children’s corner of the airport located adjacent to the baggage claim for a few hours of sleep in sleeping bags next to plastic play houses and caterpillar crawl tubes, perfect entertainment for seven tired twenty-something year olds in an exotic country. I woke up at one point a few hours later to a small child watching us all sleep in his designated area and greedily eyeing the Barbie themed playhouse located not far from Elise sleeping head. Notably better than some of our future hotels, the airport provided exceptional bathroom facilities for washing off the grime of flying and brushing our teeth in preparation for a several hour trip north to Tangier.
Tangier, located on the Strait of Gibraltar, is a unique city which is heavily influenced by its Spanish and Portuguese neighbors thus creating a city which elegantly combines its North African and European roots against the backdrop of the turquoise Mediterranean. Built from the water edge straight into the foothills of the Rif Mountains the city is beautiful with tiered housing districts containing numerous whitewashed houses in addition to two distinct market areas, the medina and ville nouvelle. The medina or old city contains a traditional mazelike network of streets called a souq which is lined with vendors, boutiques, cafes and pensions and creates the commercial backbone of the city while the ville nouvelle which was created by the French during their occupation of the area in the early 20th century contains more of the modern commercial buildings – banks, commerce, car rentals, movie theaters, bars, etc.
We stayed in a traditionally decorated pension (bright colored tile accented with dark wood) in an alley of the medina called Pension Victoria because of a recommendation by Lonely Planet. Although the hostile style rooms were drafty and the bathroom consisted of a Turkish toilet and a breathtakingly cold shower, the rooms were clean, comfortable and sufficient for a large group on a small budget. Stephanie, who was fresh from America, had a little trouble adjusting to the bathroom situation but the facilities were better than usual in comparison to my black hole latrines and bucket baths so I accepted them happily. In order to endure the unexpected and at times unpleasantly cold temperatures in Tangier in addition to avoid the icy water at the Pension, we frequented hammams or traditional public bath several times throughout the trip. Situated throughout each city and separated by gender, the public baths contain 4 rooms, of which the fourth contains a source for hot water (usually a fountain or possibly a faucet) and resembles a sauna plus 3 rooms that are decreasingly hot in which locals (especially older, heavyset women) bathe with the help of an attendant.
Spent most of our time walking throughout the city, discovering new alleys and catching glimpses of decorative wares - lanterns and teapots, Traditional fabric and clothing, metal accented mirrors, sterling silver jewelry and various items crafted out of leather created in local tanneries - which abounded from every corner. Plus enjoying numerous tastes of the kingdom including roasted peanuts, orange juice pulped in your presence, traditional mint tea, café au lait, fresh goat/cow/sheep cheese created daily by local women and bought wrapped in palm fronds, handpicked olives and dates, Spanish inspired tapas and French bread. Although our first meal immediately upon arriving was $6 Big Mac’s from McDonalds.
Visited several colonial era bars for beer and local red wine from the neighboring town of Meknès during the evenings and attempted to experience a European style discotheque but refused to pay the high admission price so we listened to the techno music from a classy bar next door.
Ignoring the large “Gare de Fès” located outside our window; we remained in our cabin on the train for more than 45 minutes at the Fez station because we were told by several strangers that we had not arrived in Fez yet. At least we have all become capable of passing large amounts of time without entertainment so it seemed like only minutes. Thanks Mauritania. Once we finally disembarked we ran into a group of Americans waiting to travel elsewhere and they informed us of a great little hotel on the medina outskirts. Pension Dalila was owned by an Obama lookalike who willingly granted every request at a brisk walk and 3 floors of bright colored rooms which combined traditional blue and white tile with red/orange/yellow/green/gold patterned fabrics which covered every available surface. Complete with hot water showers and western style toilettes not to mention a rooftop terrace which exceptional views of the Rif and Middle Atlas Mountains and labyrinthine medina comprised of more than 9400 narrow, twisting alleys.
Fez is a historic medieval town with a distinctly Arab feel that is an ancient center of religious learning, culture and craftsmanship. A guide is needed to successfully navigate the medina which is filled with ornate mosques, Qu’aranic schools, markets, old palaces, fondouks (lodging and trading houses, especially for the desert people), active artisanal and guild workshops which can be observed chiseling wood, tanning and dying hides, engraving brass and silver plates, weaving fabrics, and much more in addition to ward off the numerous number of locals offering everything, “Scarf? Silver Jewelry? Slippers? Purse? Berber Husband?”. In particular, Fez is known for its tanneries which stretch throughout much of the medina and practice the craft in a traditional manner with only men being allowed to work amongst the mud barrels consisting of lye and various natural dyes including pigeon poop, saffron and indigo. In fact, the rank smells of the tanneries can be whiffed throughout much of the medina outskirts requiring a sprig of mint to take the edge off.
In addition to the medina, we visited a National Arms Museum to learn about the progression of weaponry in Morocco and the world; ate a three-course meal in Bab Bou Jeloud (famous point of entry to the Medina); watched the seven year old Crown Prince Hallan IV (wearing an adorable brown snake-skinned jacket) walking through Bab Bou Jeloud with friends, nanny and entourage, climbed a small mountain, explored the ville nouvelle which contains sophisticated cafés, stores, restaurants and supermarchè in addition to the Fès el-Jidd containing the mellah (Jewish quarter) and royal palace and walked along the crumbling city wall.
As we walked throughout the various parts of the city we stopped to savor the flavors of the region and enjoyed sausage kebabs, meat tajines, kefta meatballs with egg, couscous, Harira (traditional Moroccan soup), numerous flaky pastries filled with nuts and honey, escargot, strawberries and various fresh breads in addition to orange juice, avocado milkshakes and mint tea.
Woke up early to catch a train to Marrakech and immediately board a bus to Essaouira for several days of beachside lounging. Essaouira is a calm coastal port town known for its glorious beaches; active harbors with fishing boats unloading their daily catch and the pounding of hammers as traditional wooden boats are being built; small, intimate medina; and seafood sizzling on outdoor grills.
Arrived after sunset and walked in circles for a while as we tried to find our way through the hustlers, alleys and general craziness that is located within the town halls. We finally located Hôtel Smara and after sending a few members of the group out to look at an apartment offered by a sketchy man we were offered a cute apartment, often used by peace corps volunteers, by the hotel. Located on the second floor, the apartment was comprised of colorful stained glass windows, dark wood accents and exposed rock windowsills plus a small kitchen and breakfast nook in addition to 3 sofas, 2 double beds and a mattress on the floor (after I cuddled in a double bed with Steph and Elise for a night).
I attended a fish auction held each weekday between 3-5pm in the harbor and “fought” fearlessly with the help of Barnett for a whole Barracuda that we bought for 50dh. After more time sunning on the beach and a beer on a nearby terrace as we watched the tide roll in we took our prize barracuda and walked to a nearby grill. For around 5 dollars a person, we all enjoyed a delicious seafood medley of boiled shrimp, scampi, sardines, rockfish, calamari, barracuda (that we won at the auction), and 3 whole spider crabs in addition to bread, salad, French fries and coke.
In honor of Stephanie’s visit and out of a personal desire, Steph, Pablo, Eric Barnett and I decided to ride [White Sudanese Racing] camels throughout the surrounding dunes. For 30 minutes we bounced among the golden dunes and through the crashing surf with our guide several feet off the ground and on the back of one of the world’s most awkward looking animals. Because camels move both left legs in sync and then both right legs they have an extremely gawky gait which leads to the rider being bounced somewhat uncomfortably and precariously through the uneven sand.
Rest of our time was spent walking through the medina and enjoying ocean breezes while shopping with the girls, sipping warm drinks in local cafés, stopovers in local bars and classy restaurants for a drink at night, spontaneous midnight dance parties in our apartment, delicious pastries from whole-in-the-wall bakeries and watching festivities from a Women’s Rally in Essaouira for the weekend before we caught a bus back to Marrakesh as the skies began to darken threateningly. By the time we arrived, a strange wet substance unknown to me for months was falling throughout the city leaving everyone cold and uncomfortable. Luckily the rain did not last for long and stopped in time for us to find a comfortable riad (traditional Moroccan town house with rooms surrounding an interior courtyard) next to Djemaa el-Fna and the Koutoubia. Djemaa el-Fna or “heartbeat of Marrakesh” is a well-known square that comes alive around sunset with open-air food stalls, lantern silhouetted juice stalls and street performers including snake charmers, acrobats, Arabic storytellers, henna artists, monkeys on leashes and more under the constant shadow of the famous Koutoubia mosque whose minaret stands 70m tall and is visible for miles in every direction. Spent several days exploring the terra cotta colored medieval desert town, visiting the Kasbah which contains the ruins of Palais el-Badi and the golden arches of the Saudiaan Tombs, discovering flowering gardens throughout the city on rented bicycles, catching whiffs of spices and herbs used in everything from cooking to perfumes to witchcraft inspired medicines and continuing to enjoy the flavorful tastes of Morocco.
Sadly returned to Mauritania after traveling by train, plane and automobile and sitting once again for 6 hours at the hands of incompetent border guards. After a quick stop in Nouadhibou to visit the large, glorious apartment of another volunteer which contains chandeliers, crown molding accents, 4 rooms and a full kitchen for a night before we continued south into the heart of Mauritania.

Room Update

I walked to the market with Mark last week to buy roofing materials as planned. Before I had even walked into the hardware boutique I encountered my first obstacle of locating the OloOlogo car which normally parks in the same location day-in and day-out, except for this Saturday when the auto I normally take between my village and Boghe was parked in the Carrefour several miles away. After calling the driver and unsuccessfully explaining in Pulaar why I needed him to return to the market, but eventually locating his brother who seemed to think the items would not be problematic, I decided to make my purchase anyways. The actual buying was relatively painless, but then the drama commenced.
When the boutique owner mentioned that I needed to locate men to help carry the wood beams and large metal sheets to the car and tipping was expected plus an unexpected transportation fee I almost lost my composure in the middle of his store. Once again language became problematic when I tried to explain to complete strangers that I needed help carrying a few large items to the auto…I often imagine the difference it would make if I had been lucky enough to be stationed in an English speaking country, but alas I awake from my daydream to discover I am still in Mauritania!
In general, the additional costs would not have been problematic except I am currently feeling a money crunch as I purchased items totaling over 55,000 ouguiya (over 200 American dollars), an amount greater than my monthly Peace Corps Volunteer Salary and when I learned that the Peace Corps is only willing to reimburse me for 25,000 ouguiya (100 American dollars). It doesn’t seem to matter that since my first visit to OloOlogo in July 2008, Peace Corps personnel have consistently been reassuring me and my family that the roof will be paid for by Peace Corps Headquarters or that I was ensured suitable and appropriately secured housing upon my placement in late August, due to department-wide budget cuts I am being forced to spend an overwhelmingly large amount of money on a traditionally guaranteed item.
After spending almost an hour trying to explain to several men I randomly located in the market my need for help, an overly involved third party mediator finally joined the conversation and negotiated with multiple parties to eventually decide upon an afternoon meeting at the hardware store to load all the roofing supplies. So, I finished my other errands in the marketplace and returned home to eat a quick lunch before returning to the hardware boutique a few minutes before the prearranged meeting time.
I waited…and waited…and waited for the boutique owner to arrive. Thirty minutes after the settled upon time and minutes before the auto normally leaves for my village he finally opened the shop although the auto was still MIA. I started panicking as I began trying to create a back-up plan in case the auto left me in the market without the language or money to rent another car and unable to walk to the regional house with 20 sheets of metal roofing, 11 4meter long wood planks, a bag of cement, and a new plastic floor mat. Minutes before I began yelling in English out of pure frustration a fellow OloOlogan arrived and ensured me that the car was enroute to the boutique.
After my supplies were loaded, I watched for another hour as various other supplies were bought and loaded for the village and numerous coolers were filled with fresh fish. Finally, we seemed to be heading towards home when we made one last stop. I was already sitting on top of 50kg sacks of sugar, rice, and charcoal because the car was overly packed when I was encouraged to move back farther. In the only 3 foot space without a sack, 4 men loaded a cow (not calf) into the passenger area – tying its feet to prevent escape but otherwise allowing it to moo and thrash in an extremely small area!
Since we left over an hour and a half later than normal and because the car was full to the rim with supplies we drove straight to Olo instead of stopping at a number of other villages along the road. Each time we hit a bump the cow moo’ed, the stacked food sacks slipped forward, the patrons yelled, and the fish filled coolers jumped in the storage rack on top of the car – one eventually was bounced off which led to a brief pause as the driver collected the sandy fish- but otherwise the entire trip was longer and more tiring than usual.
When we finally arrived in the village I was forced to disembark as the cow was forcefully removed from the auto and because I was not interested in being knocked about by the large, horned animal I chose to walk the final three blocks home.
I was almost asleep out of pure exhaustion when I heard the familiar rumble of the auto approaching and opened my eyes to watch it ramble down the dirt road in a cloud of dust, turn right into my living compound with the right blinker flashing orange into the night and eventually stopped in front of my half-finished room. At least everything made it successfully even if I arrived extremely flustered and frustrated.
My mood was not improved when my host father woke me later in the night to ask, “Why did you not buy a door?,” even though a door was never promised by the peace corps and I am fairly certain he has stated several times throughout the months that the door was “no problem.”
After a restless and worry filled night, I woke up in the morning still frustrated and on the verge of calling my service quits. I eventually pulled myself together and managed to walk to the health post only to be continuously questioned about my puffy eyes and generally annoyed by numerous coworkers, in particular I was not in the mood to explain yet again why I was not married or looking for an African gorko [boy]. At least I learned that a mason should arrive Wednesday, Thursday or Friday to begin work, Inshallah [Allah willing] so I continued to remain optimistic about a relatively soon date of completion…however, I currently remain roofless.
Due to a religious celebration of the prophet Mohammad’s birthday that is occurring this week I am not optimistic that the mason will arrive Wednesday, Thursday or Friday of this week either, so who knows when I will finally report a completed room...

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished in Africa

I have returned to Boghe in order to purchase roofing materials in the market tomorrow morning. Although I am still working through some problems with monetary reimbursement from the Peace Corps I am optimistic that I will at least be able to report an estimated time of completion by the end of the week. Earlier last week I aided my host brother in moving and packing dirt for a raised platform outside my room that will likely be covered in the upcoming months to provide a cooler place to sleep and pass the day. Overall, I am optimistic that my living situation will drastically improve ‘tout de suite” (a favorite saying of the Mauritanians literally meaning “at once” but that more often refers to a time period between immediately and a week from tomorrow, no matter the question) and hope to post pictures of the finished project on my next visit to Boghe.
Did not work at the health post this week because neither of the nurses were in the village! Although the OloOlogo health post is technically operated by two nurses, the male ‘head nurse’ and the female ‘midwife,’ with the help of two assistants, the head nurse has been present in the building for less than 40 days since my arrival on 1 September 2008. Even during his short presence in late 2008, he appeared to do minimal work in the office and often sent patients to the midwife for diagnosis and treatment while he merely assigned numbers in the logbook and collected the fees for treatment and medicines. I am still astonished, although unreasonably so, that he is able to maintain his position of power and title of influence without being present to be a beneficial participant in the health post, but This Is Africa! Mauritania is governed on a corrupt and extremely patriarchal system which often provides positions of power and authority to male family members or friends instead of appointments based on qualification or entitlement. Thus, even though the midwife performs more than her share of the work she remains subordinate to her male “counterpart” with limited participation in regards to overall governing of the workplace.
Since I did not go to the health post all week, instead I spent hours cooking spaghetti for my host family in OloOlogo one evening as a form of cultural exchange, only to be frustrated by most of the family refusing to taste my international cuisine. I had been warned that it was likely they would not enjoy untraditional flavors, but I was inspired to prove my cooking abilities after being constantly teased that I would make a bad African wife due to my inability to cook; however, I was annoyed when many refused to even taste and the few who did adventure to into the bowl ate a spoonful before refusing to eat more. I did find a few villagers who eagerly ate my cooking with some compliments but overall I learned a lot from the experience including the general lack of willingness to try something new or actively learn about other cultures.
Also, I presented my family with some photo prints of the village that I had taken since my arrival. After looking through the stack several times I had multiple people seek me out to demand copies of the “other” photos. It seems they were not satisfied with the selection that I gave them and wanted the other hundred printed and available for their review next time I returned from Boghe. I tried to explain that it was not quite that simple but the rural Mauritanians have little to no understanding of the post system and when I said it could take months they were extremely disappointed. Further proof that no good deed goes unpunished…
Was sitting outside reading and talking with my host father mid-week when I looked up and noticed a dirty haze moving rapidly in my direction. Quickly gathering my belongings and the mat I was sitting on, I rushed inside the house seconds before a massive sandstorm hit the village. Looking out the open front door, the storm reminded me of a hurricane as I watched the sky darken and the trees bend violently towards the ground, threatening to snap. Although the rhythmic chant of falling rain was missing, it was replaced by howling wind that carried sand through every hole in the walls and windows covering my room in dust and creating wave like patterns across all flat surfaces.

WAIST

Returned recently from an amazing trip to Dakar, Senegal for WAIST (West African International Softball Tournament) where Mauritania Peace Corps dominated the softball field and clinched the Championship Title in the Social Division! After a brief visit to Rosso, Mauritania for a mandatory safety and security meeting, all Mauritanian PCVs attending the tournament loaded two coach buses before sunrise Friday morning and drove 10 hours south to Dakar. The bus stopped a few times for bathroom breaks that included squatting behind prickly desert bushes or finding a large fissure in the arid desert terrain and once for lunch plus a visit to the local Senegalese bar but otherwise made good time which was celebrated with singing and shots.
Arrived at le Club Atlantique for tournament check-in a few minutes after 5 and joined hundreds of other West African PCVs to verify sleeping accommodations – either hotel or homestay – and for a quick dip in the beautiful but chilly club pool. Each year dozens of ex-patriots and local English speaking families open up their homes to Peace Corps Volunteers for the long weekend, cutting down on PC costs and allowing volunteers a taste of home cooked American-style meals, warm showers and comfortable beds. Although I had expected to be placed in a hotel since I was not signed up to play on one of the three Mauritania Peace Corps teams, I was pleasantly surprised to be placed in a homestay with 4 other Mauritania Volunteers, one of which attended Dickinson College with our host parent’s son.
The house was located in Ngor, an area in Northwest Dakar adjacent to the airport (biggest in West Africa) that is characterized by large houses and beautiful beach views, and was a welcome change to mud houses especially in it’s beautiful incorporation of African influence (My host parent’s were both English speaking Cameroon natives) with American luxury. The moment we entered the house, we were greeted by a delicious dinner of rice and couscous with a chicken and vegetable sauce that was enjoyed while sitting at a table with individual eating plates and cutlery in addition to a bottle of red wine. Dinner was followed by relaxing warm showers and eventually comfortable mattresses that lulled each of us to sleep within minutes of laying our heads on the [non trash filled] pillows.
The tournament was kicked off at 9am Saturday with a game by the Mauritanian Scallywags and followed at 1010am by the first game of the Mauritanian Pirates. Although Mauritania entered three teams into the tournament they were picked based on tryouts and ranked based on their likelihood to win the trophy. Each team featured t-shirts that identified the team as Pirates (Team A), Buccaneers (Team B), Scallywags (Team C) or Poopdeck Seamen (Cheerleaders) in addition to personal nicknames. Each team played 2 games on Saturday and 2 games on Sunday followed by an extra semi-final game on Sunday and a Championship game on Monday for the Pirates.
Other teams represented the other Peace Corps countries in West Africa – Gambia, Guinea, Mali, and Senegal – plus a variety of others which included local ex-patriots, Children of the American Embassy in Senegal, International School of Dakar High School varsity team, Employees from the American Embassy in Mauritania, Senegalese natives, etc. Several other teams sported themes including Peace Corporate, Braveheart, Peace Corpse, ‘80s Dance Party but Mauritania outshone the competition with enthusiasm, participation and most visits to the bar – maintaining our yearly reputation as crazy and heard-core.
In between games the players and fans alike enjoyed lounging poolside, eating delicious flavorful wraps and soft-serve ice cream in addition to enjoying numerous spontaneous dance parties. Each night I returned to my homestay family for freshly prepared Cameroonian and American inspired dinners plus a nice shower before heading to a WAIST sponsored event in downtown Dakar. After winning the championship game on a field overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, I attended an Awards Banquet where I won one of the door prizes– a gift basket full of bio bath products…To ensure I have the best smelling latrine in Mauritania, of course!
Before leaving paradise to return to Mauritania, I spent a few hours walking the artisanal market followed by pizza in the downtown area, visited a local beach to watch a little surfing and enjoy a few hours of beachside sunning, discovered an amazing place called N’Ice Cream that offered more than 50 flavors of ICE CREAM, treated myself to chips and salsa at Casino Supermarche (a large western style supermarket which offered a large selection of fresh fruits, cheese, chips and meats) and met lots of new people including Eddie, Teresa’s boyfriend from America, and Larissa, Mark’s girlfriend from America, who both flew into Dakar for several days of vacation throughout Senegal!
Additionally while in Senegal I briefly visited Richard Toll – a historic colonial town - to eat lunch at le hotel gite d’etape and enjoy a brief dip in the beautiful pool before traveling hours by taxi brusse, horse cart, bed of a truck and multiple pirogues to return to Mauritania. Because of Mauritania’s poor internal infrastructure several South Brakna volunteers returned home via Senegal because it is quicker than entering Mauritania through Rosso and then traveling 7+ hours north to Nouakchott and back down to Boghé, located on the Senegalese border.
Overall, the entire trip was characterized by overzealous third party mediators or bystanders who aided with language translation, price negotiation or even provided free services at various points throughout our expedition. Most notably, the kind Frenchman who offered to pay the four thousand cfa (Senegalese currency) difference in our hotel bill because we were placed in an air conditioned room instead of the cheaper non-air conditioned room as requested, the sixth passenger in our taxi brusse to Richard Toll who spoke English because he had spent the last 5 years living in Columbus, Ohio and arranged for a second taxi to pick us up from Senegal and drive us to the final river crossing into Mauritania for a fraction of the normal ‘American’ price, the guard at my homestay who helped Teresa arrange for an early morning taxi ride to the airport to pick up Eddie in Wolof (a black African language common in Senegal), and multiple bystanders who offered various forms of language assistance when a taxi driver got confused over Pulaar numbers and tried to argue that we agreed to pay 5 times the normal price.

MouseCapades Continue

Although rain fell in the African desert several days ago – an unusual occurrence outside of the rainy season – it seemed to bring with it a welcome change in temperature. Days recently have reached to the high 80 degrees while nights continue to drop to a low of 60 degrees, a good temperature for sleeping indoors but a reminder of the intense heat that is rapidly approaching. Even without the nightly heat, I am amazed that I still wake most nights in a panic, completely unaware of where I am located. Without the glow of streetlamps or a hall light filtering through a window or from under a door and without the blinking “12:00” from the clock on my DVD player that I never took the time to set, I am lost for several seconds as I frantically search for a clue to my location. As a cold sweat begins to form on my brow, I often reach out to discover the easily recognizable feel of mosquito net that hangs over my matellla and snaps me back to reality and my location on the floor of a mud house in a small Mauritanian village.
Spent last weekend in Boghé for a quick trip to participate in a viewing of the January 1 Rose Bowl Game between the Penn State Nittany Lions and USC Trojans. Ryan, a fellow region mate and Richmonder who attended Penn State and is a “disturbingly fervent” fan, had planned an afternoon of football and food in honor of his beloved alma mater. Projected onto a wall, the game was watched as we ate chili followed by Chicken Tacos and gin shots that were enjoyed at every implication of Joe Paterno’s age (82 or older than sliced bread) and scored point. Although everyone in the house, but Ryan, knew that Penn State loses to USC in the game, the afternoon was remarkably enjoyable as we tried to diminish Ryan’s anguish at the brutal loss and continued to eat delicious, homemade Mexican style cuisine.
Returned to OloOlogo after a pancake and hash brown lunch plus a refreshing cool bucket bath on a warm afternoon, after unpacking my bag and greeting the family I unfolded my sleeping bag and climbed into my mosquito net for a little R and R before dinner. Lying down in the darkness of my room, I was startled by a strange scratching noise that seemed to originate close to my head so I quickly grabbed the closest flashlight and took a look. But searching the edges of my matella, where my mosquito net is tucked to prevent unwelcome intruders – beetles, spiders, scorpions, frogs – from crawling on me while I sleep, I found no sign of a disturbance so I turned off the light and lay back down. Seconds later I sat straight up when I heard the noise repeated and quickly crawled out of my tent when I noticed my bed sheet move. Turning a flashlight on the previous location of my head, I suddenly saw a mouse frantically trying to escape from my mosquito netted bed. As the rodent attempted to climb the net, I began jumping around my room, screaming for my host family. They came at a run – host mom and sister, two host brothers, Hawa and the two 3-4 year old cousins – as I tried to explain that I was scared of the thing [never learned the word for mouse in Pulaar but now I am proud to report the word is dóomburu] moving in my tent. Finally releasing the rodent into my room, more than 30 minutes was spent searching behind every bucket, cup, storage trunk and under my suitcases as the 8 of us attempted to remove it from my small room. Eventually its hiding place was discovered and it was frightened outside where it proceeded into Hawa’s bedroom next door and eventually into the salon. More than an hour was spent chasing a stupid mouse around the house until we eventually lost sight of it and called off the search, although my family continued to reassure me that it had run outside.
I can only assume that the mouse must have found his way into my sleeping bag or the stuff sack for my sleeping back prior to my departure from the Boghé regional house because there is no other explanation for his discovery in my “secure” mosquito netted bed mat. So, I promptly put in a call to Teresa to let her know that I am doing my part, although unintentionally, to help rid the regional house of mice and pray that the one that returned to OloOlogo with me was the procreating mama!
After the mouse ordeal and all objects being moved to the center of my room as we systematically tried to discover the stowaway, I headed outside to escape the madness and spent a little time with my host family – not to mention calm my racing heart! I stepped into the darkness of night to the sound of an axe being used to cut something I initially thought was wood (not uncommon) but discovered moments later to be a cow head/skull. As I watched and held the flashlight, my host brothers quartered the skinned skull before chopping other unidentifiable cow pieces into dinner…yummy?!?!?! The remainder of the meat was cooked with potatoes overnight and served for breakfast with lettuce, bread chunks, onion and camel biscuits - a delicious African style salad.
When I presented a report on Giardia Lamblia three years ago in Microbiology I never imagined I would experience it first hand – yet another reminder of how my life has changed! A common amoebic infection that sends its victims running to the closest latrine and praying that they will make it in time, Giardia is caused by the ingestion of fecal contaminated food or water and is a common cause of life-threatening dehydration from diarrhea in many children in developing countries. No wonder the Pulaar language contains a verb which specifies “to defecate in one’s clothing,” bónnitaade!
So as I prepare to head to Senegal for a weekend of fun at WAIST (West African International Softball Tournament), I am trying to finish a round of drugs and attempting to pack to represent Mauritania PCVs as a “cheerleader.” Mauritania won this tournament two years ago but lost in the final game last year so we are on a mission to reclaim the title, even if we can no longer claim we are the only West African volunteers to survive a coup in the last year!

But Where is the Roof?

I discovered many small changes when I returned to site on the 12th of January including a new raised road being built behind my host families compound that will supposedly connect the village to Boghe, completed walls on my room [although the roof is another story], two extremely pregnant looking host sisters, as well as the closest well has apparently run out of water. ..Just another reminder of how much can change in a short period of time!
Although the walls of my house are complete and look beautiful, the roof is nonexistent which was a huge disappointment when I arrived back at site. After several days of confusion, I eventually talked to my host father and learned that he is still waiting on the Peace Corps to pay for it out of Safety and Security funds that he was told would be readily accessible when I originally visited the area in late July – wish I had known this months ago so I could have been getting estimates and submitting paperwork, but TIA (“This is Africa”)! So, I have returned to Boghe this weekend to catch up on some paperwork for Washington as well as go to a local hardware store and use my new French construction vocabulary to discover the price of a variety of roofing supplies including kilo le fil de fer (iron wire), le poutre (wood beam), kilo#10 les clou (nails), Liibar#5 les clou, and a sack of le cement (cement). I have been ensured by my host father that the ceiling will not take long to construct once he receives the supplies so I am wishing daily for a quick turn around and hopefully the materials will be delivered to OloOlogo before I travel south to Dakar in mid-February.
In an effort to gain a better grasp of both Pulaar and French I have begun spending two days each week reviewing notes, dictionaries, language books and a variety of other resources in hopes of eventually being able to efficiently communicate health related material to every person I speak to. Although I am confident of my personal knowledge regarding most health problems in the country I find that the language barrier is my biggest restraint as I try to progress in my work and am thus trying to remedy the situation. Wish me luck!
Do not have a lot of new or interesting things to report from the last few weeks since most of the cases at the health post were same old malaria, pregnancies, and infections that are encountered on a daily basis with little variation and are treated with lots of pills but no examination.
Seven months into my service and I am still highly disturbed by the daily slaps bestowed upon children within the community. Early last week a 10 year old boy was brought into the health post by his father because he had a painful infection on his scalp. Approximately 5 inches in diameter, the circular area was red, raised, and warm to the touch and slightly resembled an offset yomaca and was likely caused by a badly cleaned razor blade. When the nurse told the child’s father he needed to go and buy a razor blade so that the wound could be lanced, the child ran out of the room screaming. Twenty minutes later the child was dragged back in the office by his displeased father who was flushed and slightly out of breath after running throughout the village chasing the child! After a quick incision during which the child was hit multiple times for screaming, the wound was emptied by a large amount of puss and blood before being cleaned and covered and the child sent back to school for the afternoon classes. When the child returned several days later for another visit his mother help tightly to his arm as the nurse poked and prodded the area again to ensure it was healing appropriately and even underwent a few more slaps when he whimpered in fear at a second small lancing. Even though I understand that the culture encourages both men and women to undertake pain quietly as well as be respectful of their peers, I am still frustrated by the almost constant hitting that takes place between all members of society.
Additionally, I continue to be frustrated by the unwillingness of Mauritanians to admit when they are wrong or consider other points of views as well as the accepted practice of belittling as a form of encouragement. In Mauritania, children seem to be belittled on a daily basis by parents, teachers, and siblings in the hopes of encouraging them to be stronger and work harder. In opposition to the teaching methods and guidance I have learned throughout my life in the United States, I am deeply bothered by the children who I encounter on a daily basis who are indifferent to their individual attributes and abilities or the possibility of success since they are unable to see beyond their immediate future. This goes hand in hand with the Mauritanian belief that one should never admit they do not know the answer to a question or that they are wrong but should rather make up an answer or a response no matter whether they are a teacher, a parent or a peer, because to express uncertainty or to be incorrect is a sign of weakness. But more on that another day…

On an animal related side note, I have recently discovered the fun activity of “chicken chasing” whereby all the children of the family chase after chickens in hopes of catching them and shoving them into their “houses” for the night. Usually this involves, throwing rocks to force them out of the closest tree, searching for them in the closest building as well as running frantically around the yard with hopes of cornering them in an attempt to grab one or two by the legs before listening to them squawk horribly and flap their wings as they are carried upside down to the chicken coops!!

West African Travels

The New Year is here and I have finally returned home to Boghe after several weeks of touring West Africa as we celebrated Christmas and New Years in Nouakchott and St. Louis, respectively, and then returning to Nouakchott for a week of meetings. More has happened in the last three weeks than in all of my time here as I traveled from city to city so I will do my best to recount the highlights of my trip since it would be nearly impossible (and likely very boring) for me to document every moment.
Christmas Eve and Day were spent at the Mauritanian PC Country Director’s house in Nouakchott where we were fed delicious American food, while drinking celebratory cocktails, and given free range of the ‘mansion’ which included a theater style movie room and covered veranda for dancing in addition to many comfortable couches and chairs. Although my mind still hasn’t grasped the fact that I missed Christmas, it was nice to spend the holidays with fellow Americans and Christians in a festive environment – and the free hotel rooms with air conditioning, hot showers, English movie channels and comfortable beds with mattresses were a welcome change to my room in Olo Ologo.
On Christmas morning, I attended a Catholic Mass in Nouakchott with a dozen other volunteers in an attempt to refocus myself for the upcoming year. Although all Mauritanians are Islamic, there are 3 Catholic churches throughout the country for ex-patriots and other non-Mauritanian visitors. The service itself was performed in French by 4 priests but included a number of songs performed in several Traditional African languages, and was overall a fascinating experience. I especially enjoyed the dance party (accompanied with African drumming and clapping) that occurred on the alter at the conclusion of the service and the nativity scene that included all figures dressed in African Wax Print (think bright colored cloth),
The moment I crossed the river into Senegal, I discovered a glorious land filled with flowering trees, greenery, traffic laws, booze and a variety of nice people although even Senegal had its downfalls. The trip to St. Louis via ferry and taxis was interesting, particularly since we were stopped within minutes after leaving the garage by the National Guard and forced to turn around because of a clandestine fleece blanket purchased in Kaedi, Mauritania. After returning to the garage and leaving the contraband blanket at the garage we started the trip south.
Travel in Mauritania is uncomfortable to say the least with the majority of trips being made in 3 row station wagons that accommodate a total of 9 passengers in 7 seats, so I was ecstatic to hear that Senegal has laws requiring each passenger to have a seat; however, I had the luck of being seated in the third row with two large Pulaar persons including a woman who insisted on keeping her purse on the seat beside her forcing me onto the wheel well for most of the 3 hour car ride. Combine that with a severely potholed road that forces drivers to swerve continuously and drive on the sand shoulder made the trip almost unbearable although I remained optimistic and tried to keep my eyes on the prize – 5 days on the tropical island of St. Louis.
We arrived at our hostel – Auberge de Jeunesse – early afternoon, grabbed bathing suits and some cheap Senegalese Gin and headed to the beach. Located on the ocean side of a thin peninsula, the beach was deserted except for our group of 40 Mauritanian Peace Corps volunteers and an occasional man trying to sell wood carved necklaces or statues.
Around dusk I returned to the island for an amazing dinner of thin-crust pizza with tomato sauce and cheese (a delicacy in this part of the world) before enjoying a hot shower and attempting to dance the night away at a local bar called the Iguana.
The following day was spent exploring the island and enjoying homemade sandwiches with cold cut slices and cheese bought at the local supermarket, including fresh French bread. St. Louis was the first French settlement in Africa and retains many elements of its French heritage including classic colonial architecture, although much of the city has been badly maintained (it reminds me of a slightly dilapidated New Orleans) in addition to many local bakeries and French pastry shops. We eventually returned to the beach for 6 hours of fun in the sun, including an obstacle course created out of sticks by two volunteers. Although it was December, the weather was remarkably warm and even the water was tolerable for a quick swim.
I returned to the hotel in style on the back of a scoot-scoot, cheaply rented mopeds, with plans to join several other Volunteers for a Vietnamese dinner. La Saigonnaise overlooks Mauritania but offers food much different than anything I had eaten in 6 months on the continent, so I was delighted to have the opportunity to eat [with a fork] a delicious plate of spicy beef with rice containing no trace of oil! After dinner I slipped on a jacket and hopped on another scoot-scoot to return to the beach for a relaxing campfire hosted by the 2nd year volunteers.
New Years Eve festivities began with wine and cheese in our hotel lobby but the year ended with me sitting on the bar of a local watering hole with a glass of champagne. Overall the entire evening was a lot of fun with over 150 Peace Corps Volunteers meeting at a local bar called the Taverne for drinks and some African drumming as we rang in the New Year. Eventually we tried to move to a local dance club but a series of hilarious events, including a contraband bottle of beer and several cups of cold water changed our plans. Nonetheless, I am fairly certain that PC Senegal was a little overwhelmed and possibly scared by the Mauritanian Volunteers…just imagine 140 college students who have spent several months in the universally declared ‘hardest PC country’ that is also dry being let loose in the tourist town of St. Louis….The night was amazing!
Our hostel was clean and charming with an open air foyer, grass-covered bar in addition to dorm style rooms that contained multiple four poster beds and mosquito netting for the illusion of a tropical get-away. Four hall bathrooms served the 12 room hostel and the showers contained water warmed by a gas flame mounted on the bathroom wall.
After an amazing few days in the paradise of St. Louis, Senegal, all first year volunteers returned to Nouakchott for 4 days of Early Term Reconnect (ETR) and In-Service Training (IST). Although the sessions were not exceptionally thought-provoking, I greatly enjoyed the opportunity to explore Nouakchott and remain in hotels for a few extra days. In addition, 4 other girls and I treated ourselves to an afternoon of spa treatments which felt miraculous after 6 months of hot, dry desert air. The Peace Corps headquarter in Nouakchott is beautiful and in the tallest building in the city it provides exceptional views of the vast capital city. Luckily, it also provided plenty of space for all the volunteers who got locked-in during several protests/demonstrations in support of Palestine. Although most of the protests within Mauritania are generally peaceful, the recent Gaza situation in addition to the ongoing rule by military junta, left many people angry and we witnessed a bunch of mass marching that often included burning tires and throwing rocks at policeman. All in all, I felt safe throughout the entire visit and was relieved by the increased military presence throughout the city to ensure peace. But maybe the best part of our visit to Nouakchott was the food choices. Most meals were spent visiting a variety of burger, pizza and sandwich restaurants that are located throughout the city and trying to ingest as much cheese, ice cream and non-goat meat as possible. I also visited the local American style grocery store several times to stock up on a few canned vegetables, cereal and cheese before returning to Boghe yesterday.

I’ll be Home for Christmas, If Only in my Dreams

The Boghe regional house is decorated like a winter wonderland in an attempt to bring the Christmas spirit to Islamic West Africa. Handmade stockings are hung by the mosquito net with care, paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling, red and green garland is draped along the walls and a miniature Christmas tree sits upon a small pile of gifts. Each volunteer in the region created small gifts to put in the stockings and last night we dressed as festively as possible and gathered around the tree to look in our stockings while toasting the season with cheap gin and a few rounds of flip-cup. It seems I have travelled a long way from jingle juice and the family festivities of last year…

December 1 was World AIDS day so in celebration a local NGO, World Vision, sponsored a panel discussion in my village on Wednesday, December 3. I arrived at the local preschool with Hawa and the two nurses and was surprised to learn that I was expected to present a sensibilization in Pulaar although I had not been informed of this ahead of time; therefore, I politely declined and explained that I had not prepared and took a seat on the side of the stage. Instead, I took the opportunity to take a bunch of pictures as I watched local school children present a play about AIDS in both Pulaar and then Hassaniya and then listened to both Diallo (head male nurse) and Binta present on various aspects of HIV/AIDS. Although I did not fully understand the presentations I was pleased that everyone seemed interested in the topic and was extremely happy about the large turnout.

Afterwards I was invited with the other participants to eat Banafe – a delicious meat and potato dish – at the local World Vision Director’s house. As I was waiting for dinner to finish cooking I was talking to the Regional Director for World Vision, a man that I had met about a month before at the Silbe sensibilizations, and he mentioned that he had a gift for me and headed towards his car. When he returned he handed me an internet printout with my picture and an article about the EMS scholarship that I was awarded last fall and said “I think this is you” and we proceeded to have a conversation about my scholarship but the entire experience was extremely surprising and further reminded me of all that is possible with access to the internet.

The weather has gotten progressively colder and bathing is becoming more and more complicated. Most nights and mornings I am wrapped up in pants, skirt, and multiple shirts and a sweatshirt in addition to a blanket or two and several days I have remained inside due to the ‘frigid’ weather; however, I would imagine the temperature has not dropped below 50 degrees. The Mauritanians are often decked out in wool hats and heavy, snow jackets over their traditional clothing which is an interesting sight.

Attended the naming ceremony of a host cousin and watched all day as the women cooked for a hundred plus guests in three huge iron pots. Although I doubt I will ever be able to cook as well as the African women over an open fire, I am learning the skill and hope to attempt African-style cooking at some point in the future. The ceremony itself includes the slaughtering of a male goat which is then cooked for the evening male although the heart is cooked directly on the coals and eaten by the village elders in a slightly ceremonial style.

Tabaski, the Islamic celebration of meat and animal slaughtering, was December 8. I went to bed early the night before when I was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Throughout the evening I got progressively worse much to the concern of my host family whose response to my illness was to call the local nurse who would encourage me to take a variety of unnecessary medications, including amoxicillin, although I continually repeated that I did not need an antibiotic and really wanted to be left alone to sleep (and not attempt to think or talk in a language other than English).

By the next morning I was still feeling lousy and my host family almost brought me to tears with frustration since they refused to leave me alone to sleep or deal with my illness alone. Within hours of waking up, my host mother had left the children to prepare the celebratory meal and was sitting on the floor of my room watching me rest and asking me every several minutes how I was feeling and forcing me to eat coffee and bread no matter how many times I told them I was not hungry.

Throughout the afternoon I began feeling slightly better and by 2 I had joined the family outside for the first round of meat and to greet a number of visitors. Within the hour 7 other meat dishes had been delivered to our household plus the saffron couscous and meat dish that my family had prepared for the occasion. For lunch we ate half of the dishes, reserving the other ones for dinner, and followed the feast with the traditional three rounds of mint tea.

An hour before sunset I dressed in my new African clothes, donned pearls and make-up and embarked into the village with Hawa and Aissata (host sister) to visit a number of houses within the village. At half a dozen compounds we were invited inside to eat more meat and potatoes. Much of the night reminded me of Halloween night minus the Power Ranger costumes and candy, since we moved from house to house in bright colored outfits and was often passed by large groups of loud children. Eventually returned home to drink more mint tea and eat 2 more meat dishes.

The next night I was called into the health post to aid with a delivery. After a particularly prolonged labor with little advancement of the baby, the mother was eventually given a shot of oxytoxin to further induce labor and within minutes the baby crowned. The baby was blue upon delivery and failed to cry within a reasonable amount of time so it was wrapped in a cloth and slapped, flicked, tapped and rubbed in an attempt to encourage breathing. After 30 minutes the baby’s color had improved slightly with a few breaths but the baby had still not succeeded in a deep wail and its breathing pattern reminded me of a baby lamb.

I left the health post discouraged and concerned that the baby would not survive through the night likely because of causes easily resolved within the developed world. In my opinion the baby would have likely improved with a little oxygen but in the middle of the African desert I was once again forced to recognize the limited resources available to many people within Mauritania and likely most of West Africa. This experience further reinforced my desire to continue my studies in medicine and to return at some point to provide medical aid to the underprivileged people of developing nations, but a few minutes after 1am I was exhausted and forced to grief in private as many African women are accustomed to the possibility of a child’s premature death.

Midday on the 10^th of December I heard the beat of drums begin near the river and watched as many of the local children ran in the direction of the sound. The drumming began again later in the afternoon but was located to the north of the village and this time women and men joined the mass movement of children towards the sound. Gathered in a cleared area of desert on the northern outskirts of town, a group of villagers were gathered around 5 musicians keeping beat with a variety of African drums. Throughout the 2.5 hour performance, various women from the village stepped into the circle where they danced to the beat for several minutes while other women took turns stepping forward to hand them money and place headscarves around the dancing women’s necks. In seemed to me that the money and scarf donating were done as a sign of enjoyment since some women received more gifts than others and often the better dancers were lavishly decorated by the time they returned to their place in the circle.

The drumming began again at the same time the next day and flocks of villagers once again moved to the desert clearing; however, I chose to remain behind and hold a personal dance party in my room while all other host family members were gone.

A week ago, I traveled with my host family and several other villagers to a neighboring village for a small fete. After a 30 min ride west on horse carts, we arrived at a waiting canoe that transported us to the opposite bank where we then walked a kilometer or two as the sun began to set. Upon arrival everyone dressed in bright, colorful garments and the girls put on thick makeup before following the sounds of drums to a generator-lit, rice sack enclosed area loud with the sounds of talking and laughing. As I entered the ‘arena’ I was taken aback by the large number of teenagers gathered in such a small area but I progressed forward with my party and took a seat on a plastic mat on the outskirts of the enclosed area. In the empty center of the area, a dozen of scantily clad men were stretching and jumping as if in preparation for an athletic event. The competitors wore speedo-ish costumes with sewed fabric ‘tails’ or ruffled extensions on their buttocks that shook as they moved in addition to knee-high soccer socks. After what seemed like hours, the center ring cleared and two men emerged to the cheer of the crowd and the fast beat of drums – and began to wrestle. Although I am unsure of all the rules to this African version of wrestling I am pretty sure that during the 4 rounds points are awarded for successfully touching or removing your opponents ‘ruffled tail’ in addition to throwing your opponent to the ground. After about 6 minutes one man was declared the winner and then the enclosed area began to clear slightly.

During the next three hours, different groups of people gathered around the drums and collected money in honor of a woman in what appeared to be a fundraiser. Each girl’s name was called over the speaker initially and then as money was collected the name of each donator and the amount was also announced to the general public. At the end, the total amount collected was announced but I am unsure whether the money went to a specific cause or was given to the chosen girls. This continued for approximately 30 girls – 2 of which I followed my group to the drum area to aid with the collection. Most people gave coins, or between 100 to 200 ouguiya and the end results were around 3 or 4 thousand um (12-16 dollars). Although I do not understand much of the event, it was surrounded by the feeling of celebration and I was happy to participate even if I was overwhelmed and confused at many points throughout the evening.

Around midnight I followed my family to a local house where we found some mat and blankets and created a place to sleep on the floor of their foyer. At daybreak, I awoke to the smell of wood burning as the cooking fires had been lit directly outside the foyer. After a brief breakfast of coffee and camel biscuits – small oyster like crackers – we rejoined the group from OloOlogo on the river bank to return home. We had to wait 40 minutes for someone on the other riverbank to arrive and row the canoe across and then I waited for three other trips to cross the river. While waiting for the canoe to return to my bank the second time, a horse cart arrived and prepared to cross. I was confused but extremely intrigued as the horse was removed from the cart and then the cart was pushed onto the front of the canoe, balancing quite precariously. Once a few people also got in the canoe, I chose to take the next one as I was worried the boat was soon to tip, it set off across the fast flowing river with the horse swimming beside the boat. Luckily, it made it to the other bank without incident and returned in a timely manner so I could wade through the currently chilly water and squat in the bottom of the hollow tree canoe for 10 minutes while attempting to keep my body centered so as not to rock the boat. Several times water splashed over the edge due to high winds but we successfully returned to the shore and once again boarded horse carts for the desert journey home.

Construction on my room has finally begun. I returned to site a few weeks ago to find the walls 11 bricks high which is a welcome progression from the piles of bricks and dirt that I left at Thanksgiving. I talked to my host father briefly and he said that the walls had taken 2 days and should be fully completed within another 2 or 3 days. Also, while I was in OloOlogo a man from Senegal arrived to take measurements to order the roofing supplies so I am optimistic that upon my return in January I can finally move into a personal room with a locking door! The room itself is approximately 2.5 x 4.5 meters with a small storage space to keep all my baggage and two windows with bars. Before I return I plan to invest in a bigger plastic mat and some fabric to create drapes for my windows and door.

Leave early tomorrow morning to travel to Nouakchott for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and then plan on traveling to St. Louis, Senegal with many of the other volunteers to celebrate New Years in style. Although I continue to have new experiences in West Africa, I miss home terribly and wish that I could be spending the holidays with my family and friends, participating in traditional activities and reconnecting with people I talked with infrequently over the last year. So to everyone that I am missing and will not see this holiday season, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year – Best Wishes for 2009!

Puppies and Basketball

The first Saturday after Thanksgiving, I helped Teresa with a girl’s basketball camp. In conjunction with her Girl’s Mentoring Center (GMC) she started a weekly basketball camp during which she will continue her girl’s empowerment lessons to the court by building confidence, increasing individuality and health awareness while allowing local girls to have a new experience. It was fantastic with many girls arriving dressed by local standards in extremely conservative clothing and many changing within minutes to shorts and tank-tops. In particular, we were extremely pleased to see one girl who arrived last week in a mulafa – traditional white moor dress that involves 6 meters of fabric which covers the women from head to toe – quickly change into a matching pant and shirt set. But the most rewarding part was watching the girls faces brighten as they chucked the ball towards the net, obviously having the time of their lives. One example of the affect sports can have on improving a societal group’s personal outlook on themselves and the world.
December 1 is World AIDS Day so on Sunday I helped Tiffany, another PC health volunteer, with a short presentation at the GMC about this important topic. I was pleased to see how well informed many of the girls (who likely ranged between the ages of 15-18) were regarding this often misunderstood disease that is often not talked about because of its close relation to the culturally taboo conversation topic of sex. I was also impressed by the girls willingness to speak openly about the disease and answers questions relating to its transmission and prevention. Overall, the entire presentation was fascinating to me since it was one of my first encounters with the topic of AIDS while serving in Africa. Tomorrow I have been invited with several other volunteers to attend a sensibilization in the marketplace presented by a local NGO in conjunction with the official day of recognition and discussion.
Within half an hour after returning to the regional house from the GMC I was talking to my parents on the phone when I suddenly heard “Tiffany, come here quick, some kids are trying to sell us a puppy,” so I quickly postponed the conversation and headed to the voice only to find two other volunteers, one of which was holding a puppy, surrounded by a handful of Mauritanian children ranging in age from 6 to 10. It turns out they had approached another volunteer as she were entering the house and offered to sell the puppy to her for 1000um (approximately 4-5 dollars). The regional house is already home to one bog, Bailey, who is approximately 2 years old and was currently barking like crazy behind the closed door in hopes of scaring the children (anytime they are near she barks incessantly)and likely because of the presence of another dog. In Mauritania, like many other countries and cultures, dogs and cats are considered dirty and dangerous and are thus treated horribly. In fact, many puppies and kittens are tortured and killed by local children as entertainment so we were amazed that the puppy was brought to us in the first place. After much discussion outside the door we had agreed that we should not keep the puppy due to its age (likely two months already) and the likely hood that it has already undergone abuse as well as the fact that it likely has a disease of some sort already, so sadly we gave the puppy back to a child and reentered the compound. Moments later when I was once again talking to my family on the phone, I was startled by something being tossed over the wall and followed by a yelp as the package hit the ground in our garden. I hurried to the spot to find the puppy shaken, but seemingly uninjured after being projected over an 8 foot wall. More discussion ensued and after much anguish at the thought of having to return the puppy to the wild streets of Boghe, a brusse volunteer eventually agreed to take the puppy to site this weekend. The puppy was bathed and fed bread soaked in milk and currently I am setting up my makeshift bed on the floor next to a faded red plastic laundry bucket which houses the newest member of the Peace Corps Mauritania family.