Only 7 Months Left Until...

Tislime and I on a lazy day. I only have seven months left in Mauritania and I am quickly realizing that my relationships here of 2 years will slowly disintegrate as I readjust back in the States. That makes me really sad, but I am still grateful that I've had this experience and I've been able to share it with so many people, within and outside my Peace Corps network. I hope that these next seven months will help me to reflect and soak up every moment I have left! It's time to really live it up...

Donkeys, Rivers, and Writings

Donkeys in Wonderland! This is the frontier in my village. I'm facing West in this picture and if you look across the river, that's Mali and upstream a little ways is Senegal. I took this picture hanging out in my favorite tree on the bank until the donkeys ran me out...it's mating season.

Sticks and Paddles

In a row boat that I mentioned (see post below). The rowers use no paddles rather sticks from trees to steer. The river is not shallow so I don't understand how sticks provide leverage to navigate. But it works, and I'm with it. This kid was especially good at rowing. We were traveling in swift water across a broad river and he got us there safely without much freaking out (on my part).

Don't Rock My Boat, 'Cause I don't need my boat to be rocked

My road during the rainy season. Water washes out bridges regularly during the "saison des pluies". The trucks in which I usually ride become boats to cross the washed out roads. It's always fun and exciting until you get into a boat made from a trunk of a tree and it starts to wobble from the myriad of people inside. Once, I inquired about the safety of the pirogues to my dad and he said, quite reasonably, that, "Girl, they've been doing that since the dawn of man. Of course it's safe." I couldn't agree more. But every time I do it, I'm scared as hell.

Becoming a Writer

Black Arabia

Here I am hanging out with my friends in my regional capital. Ethnically, they are black Moors whose culture closely identifies with Arab culture. Most black Moors do not identify themselves as black, which directly juxtaposes their social position in Mauritania. In 1989, there was a brutal war here between blacks and Moors. To relate the fear and bloodshed of the time, imagine a routine market run and being killed on the road because of one's skin color. Incredulously committed to Arab culture, black Moors still refuse to identify with black Africans albeit similar, oppressive treatment from the government. The unifying facet of cooperation is their religion. Everyone, black, black Moor or Moor, is Muslim.

Black Tongue

Here is just an example of odd sicknesses that I've had here. It started with strep throat. I had it for about 4 days, then one morning I wake up to a black tongue and a mountain range of bumps on the back of my throat. This picture was taken after 3 days of having a black tongue. Before, my entire tongue was covered with warts and lesions. DISGUSTING! I'm still alive, though, so I can't complain.
The doctors never figured out what caused it. I didn't expect them to.

Freedom Town

Trekking along in Nouahdibou in the North of Mauritania. This city serves as a transit point for Europeans who travel over land to West Africa, as well as, illegal immigrants trying to go to Europe. Although Mauritania is an Islamic Republic, Nouahdibou has regular bars, and an abundance of prostitutes. The climate is ideal for "audacious" tourists (meaning those who think going to Africa is daring and bold) and the beach is close. Many volunteers placed there find it luxurious because of all the amenities (electricity, alcohol, sinks, toilets, cold sodas). I must admit in the beginning I was envious, but in my village I have learned how to do and deal when one doesn't have. Besides, what's the use of living in an under-developed country with all the amenities of the States? THe Nouahdibou volunteers have different experiences. I find they are not as integrated into the community and barely speak a local or national language. Contrarily, village volunteers are much more integrated and can speak either one or both of the national/local languages. For me, I rather learn and work through the sometimes unbearable frustrations of living in a village than have the easy, complaisant and unchallenged city living in Mauritania. I must say, when I do get have access to the cold beers and air conditioned rooms, I appreciate them much more. I assume it depends on perspective.

Wrapped Tight

Me wrapped in my typical Mauritanian travel gear. As I say below (view sandstorm post), sand gets into and onto everything. When traveling in the back of a pickup, the wind in combination with dust creates a serious problem for la rhume (allergies). I have bad allergies so I have to wrap up tight in order to ensure when I arrive at my destination, I'll be well. I traveled without a wrap only one time and when I got to my regional capital, I was a shade lighter from all the dust that had accumulated. I had sand in my ear for weeks. Needless to say, I won't make that mistake again.

Sand Blasted

A wall of Sand. Usually these occur before a big storm during the rainy season. If you get caught outdoors in this, most likely you'll find sand in crevaces of your body that you didn't know you had. It's pretty tight.
Picture compliments of Ben Bergen, a Peace Corps volunteer.

On the Road again...

Here I am on Taxi brousse. Pick up trucks are the principal mode of transportation in Mauritania. The cab seats 4 people and the back seats up to 25 people. Usually there are goods (sacks of potatoes, onions, gasoline, etc...) that serve as one's cushion. It's pretty uncomfortable though not unbearable. I've found ways to deal with the mayhem of taxibrousse travel...zoning out into space. Then you're there (wherever you're going) before you know it. Recently, I was riding taxibrousse to Kaedi, which is about 150 km from my regional capital. It was midnight and we still hadn't made it to Kaedi although we left at 4 in the afternoon. On the road, something went wrong with the rim of our front right tire and the rim fell off taking the tire with it. The chaffeur lost control of the car and sparks started to fly creating a small fire on my side of the car. Because the doors don't usually open from the inside (broken door handles), I had to jump from the car via window. It was the scariest most exhilirating experience I've ever had in Mauritanian. Afterwards, some locals found my panic hilarious. I still don't understand why.

Fight the Power!

A rally in Kaedi. I am unsure what these people
were protesting specifically but I can safely assume that it was a
political rally (it took place right before provincial elections).
Sometimes political rallies can turn violent as they did last year. In
November of 2006, a friend and the nephew of my village mayor, was
stabbed to death during a political dispute. InKaedi , a man was shot
and killed. Relative to American crime, this does not seem like a big
deal. But in Mauritania, violent crimes are always a shock and a
tragedy, especially in a village as small as mine.

Temple of My Familiar

The oldest mosque in Kaedi, a regional capital in southern Mauritania. Mosques are a focal point of Mauritnanian culture and livelihood. Five times a day an Iman,
a Muslim holy man, leads the community in prayer call which summons
worshippers by loud speaker. In my village, my host father is an Iman and every morning I awake to the first prayer call of the day at 5:30 in the morning. Often times the Iman will disclose local happenings which serves as some villagers' only source of news within and outside their communities. After all, Mauritanian is an Islamic Republic. No separation between church and state. Everybody born here must be Muslim. It's the law.

The Sanctuary

Here is the hospital at which I work. I have mixed emotions about working as a Health volunteer. Sometimes I find it difficult to fulfill my Peace Corps duty. I understand that I have a vague commitment of contributing something to the bigger picture of humanity but I still can't figure out what that is. What exactly is the nature of my role? I work in a hospital and I have zero medical experience. So what exactly am I supposed to do? If my joining Peace Corps. was simply a matter of patriotism, I should have stayed in the States. That realization further convoluted my understanding of a Peace Corps. volunteer. I was and am confused about the nature of my duty. On the other hand, I am grateful to work in such a unique environment, learning a new language and gaining incomparable experience. Just the other day, I found someone in Harlem who is from region where I live. We spoke in his local language for over an hour. My volunteership was finally validated and my training and hard work had materialized. That brief interaction helped me to realize that Peace Corps. is paying off...I guess.

The Road to Prosperity

This is the road to the fields where most people in my village tend to their farms bringing food back for the family. Mauritanians eat what they produce in the fields. A lack of productivity or a skimpy rainy season causes families to starve. Ironically, this is the same road to the district hospital.

River God

The Senegalese River plays an integral role in Mauritania. Villages along the river benefit from the flow of water. If cultivated, farms are more likely to flourish despite the barren terrain. Fishing industries bring capital to the village. Some of the most prosperous villages are along the river. Unfortunately, the river brings a host of serious diseases including cholera, guinea worm, schistosomiasis, and river blindness.

Young Congolese

Here is Fisenou. He is a Congolese refugee who left Congo when he was very young. He came to Mauritania with his 2 older sisters, his twin, his older brother and an older cousin. His parents and smaller siblings are still in Congo. His oldest sister told me they fled the war but I doubt Fisenou realizes the situation he's in. He can be deported at any time.

Happy Face

Souleymane is a French instructor for 5th grade girls. He is also Soninke, the ethnic group that I study and work with in Mauritania. He taught me his language for 3 intensive months of training. Good man!

Gory

My first village in Mauritania. Gory is uniquely Soninke but share a market with their neighbor Djeol, a Pulaar/Fulani village. Basic interactions in the market were difficult for me at first. People speak a minimum of 4 different languages, all of which are required to buy in the market. You might have a Moor lady who only speaks a dialect of Arabic. Or a Soninke lady who only speaks her language. The same for Pulaar/Fulani speakers, French speakers and Arabic speakers. Needless to say, I was literally crazy my first few months in country!

Sentiments

Welcome...Feel free to be free...