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.