May all your Christmases...

The other day, my brother Alassane held up an eggplant and asked me what it was called in English. (Everyone in the family enjoys learning as much vocab as possible.) I told him, and he repeated the new word. Then the 15-year-old sister Kadia informed me that in Pulaar, it's called aubergine. "Actually," I told her, "aubergine is French. In Pulaar it's batayse." Everyone roared appreciatively. "You're right! Kadia doesn't know Pulaar, but you do! Raky is a true African!"


I've mentioned that I still don't know how the 17 people in my family are all related. There are many reasons for this. First of all, it's considered rude to ask people directly how many children they have. It is not strange for children to call their parents by their first names, or, alternatively, to call relatives who are not their biological parents "Mother" and "Father." Husbands and wives don't typically wear rings, nor do they publicly show any affection. Women always keep their family surname. And oftentimes in villages like mine, the husband lives and works off in a bigger city and only comes to visit on major holidays -- so a woman may be married and you wouldn't even know it, although she will live with the husband's family. And similarly, children from very small villages without a school often go to live with relatives where there is one. Thus, you can see where my difficulty arises... I have learned some helpful hints, though, such as the fact that many children are given their father's first name as their middle name. This is how I discovered that Fatimata Samba is the daughter of Samba. But then there is the practice of a mother and father giving their child two totally different names. That same child is called Fatimata by her father (and everyone else), but her mother calls her Mariam. Confused yet??

In any case, I got to meet a few new family members to add to the mess during the Tabaski celebration the week of December 8th. It was nice to be off from school for a few days and to eat some good food. Banafe is my favorite dish -- a mutton stew with big chunks of potato. I also had a very traditional outfit made, which really impressed my family. They gushed, "When you wear that in America, everyone will say you are so beautiful!" I don't know, you be the judge:


I gave my Trimester 1 final exams this week, and now my vacation has officially begun! I am headed tomorrow to our national capital, Nouakchott, to spend Christmas at the country director's house with all of Peace Corps Mauritania. Then my friends and I will travel back down to PK7 to visit our host families from training this summer. After that we will ring in the new year with a few days in Saint-Louis, Senegal -- the land where alcohol is not illegal! ;) And finally, all the first-year PCVs will be back in Nouakchott for our five-day Early Term Reconnect conference. I won't be back in my village until January 10th. I am much looking forward to these amazing couple of weeks spent with friends (and electricity and running water and showers and real beds)!

Are you familiar with this song "Do They Know It's Christmas Time At All?" It was a collaboration of musicians for Band Aid, raising funds to eradicate poverty worldwide. U2's Bono was the driving force behind it, and while I respect him and appreciate his efforts, I find this song so absurd. "And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas..." No, there won't, but there won't be any in Austin, TX, either. Is it less of a Christmas? "Do they know it's Christmas time at all?" No, Bono, I'm here to tell you they don't -- but did you know it was Tabaski?

True, there won't be snow, but there just might be rain -- which is nearly as unexpected! The wet season here runs from July to October, and it is very rare for any rain to fall outside that time. But a few nights ago, I was awoken in the night by a distinct pitter-patter on my roof (and by the grumpy goats outside my wall, unhappily stirred from their slumber). And my first thought was -- it's not possible! It's a Christmas miracle!

And so, may your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases... be wet.

Where the love-light gleams

OK, first of all, I take back what I said about the cold season. Even with a hoodie, I was shivering waiting for a car to Boghé yesterday! And I laughed because I'm sure it couldn't have been much below 68 degrees. What would I do in Boston these days, I wonder? But we PCVs all keep complaining, "I was freezing last night!" Guess we're fully "integrated" and are already wusses about our tolerance of cold.

Thanksgiving was a great time spent with friends here. There aren't exactly any turkeys in Mauritania, but we did find a duck! (Bought live, of course, but I did not take part in the subsequent slaughtering.) We had quite the spread, including some helpful goodies sent from America. Our menu comprised: duck, chicken, mashed potatoes & gravy, stuffing (Stove Top & homemade), cranberry sauce, cornbread, squash, beef & veggie kebabs, ranch dip, okra casserole, macaroni salad, "pumpkin" pie (actually a squash), carrot cake, and banana cream pie. Not bad for Africa!


Teresa and I were really excited to have our own little "Black Friday" shopping, as we browsed the market for fabric to make new outfits. With all the ceaseless bargaining and crowds of people, it felt almost as stressful as in the U.S.!


My mom sent me a little cardboard "Christmas tree-in-a-box," so I happily set that up in my room this week. I even indulged a bit and used some of my precious laptop battery power to listen to holiday tunes. It seemed appropriate to start with "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas." I find it so hard to really comprehend that it's the Christmas season in America. Time kind of stands still here. The next song on my playlist was "There Is No Christmas Like a Home Christmas" -- and I couldn't help it, I got a little misty-eyed. But then Bing Crosby reassured me that "Christmas Eve will find me / where the love-light gleams / I'll be home for Christmas / if only in my dreams..."


And I have good times to look forward to here. This Monday is Tabaski, the biggest Muslim holiday of the year! Everyone gets a fancy new outfit made, and relatives travel long distances to be together. My family has been eating rather cheap dinners the last few nights, and I know it's because they're saving up for the big FEAST next week. I am told there will be endless portions of goat (the traditional celebration meal). And of course, we're off from school for a few days!

So, I'm having hybrid holidays. The best of both worlds, perhaps?

Three cups of tea

"Cold" season has arrived to Mauritania, although don't be misled by this misnomer; the unforgiving sun still beats down at 100 degrees just about every day. At night it does cool off a bit more than in the summer, and the breeze blows as my family wrap themselves in sheets and say, "It's so cold! Tonight, Africa is like America!" It is probably 80 degrees. So far the biggest change is that I actually have the option now of sleeping indoors -- before, it was too stifling even to consider.

I love my adopted family in Dar el Barka. Smiles and laughter abound at their busy little compound, with 17 people who live there. Three months in the village and I still haven't figured out how they're all related! There are a clear Baaba "Father" and Yaay "Mother" (everyone calls them that, regardless of whether you're actually a niece or grandson or in-law). Beyond that, I just think of everyone as my sister or brother. Their names and approximate ages:

- Hamet Abdoul, 63/M
- Kadia Moussa, 54/F
- Fati Sidi, 30/F
- Samba, 25/M
- Molel, 20/F
- Aïcha, 19/F
- Mariam, 17/F
- Kadia, 15/F
- Jeynaba, 14/F
- Alassane, 13/M
- Goggo, 11/F
- Aïssata, 8/F
- Abdoul, 8/M
- Fatimata, 3/F
- Amadou, 2/M
- Samba, 7 mos./M
- Raky, 6 mos./F

Teaching is keeping me busy, as I struggle to create a curriculum relevant to students' lives here. The other day I was planning a vocab lesson on pastimes and hobbies, and I had a lot of trouble choosing which terms to include. Obviously, there was no "go to the movies," "surf the internet," "go to the mall," or "play video games." But even many of the things I myself do for fun here, without electricity, are far outside the realities of these kids: read books (for fun?), write in my journal, write letters, listen to the news, cook (for fun?!).

One activity I had no doubt about including was "to drink tea." It is a HUGE part of Mauritanian life. Always in three rounds, the whole process takes anywhere from 30 minutes to a few hours. The amazing thing to me about people here is that they can just... sit... endlessly! They lie on the matela foam pads and contentedly let the minutes pass, periodically murmuring thanks to God. Me, I grow too restless and consequently always bring something to busy myself with -- a book or a crossword. You can take the girl out of America...

It was fitting, then, that a book I just finished during such endless tea sessions was Three Cups of Tea (Mortenson/Relin). It tells the heroic true story of a mountaineer-turned-humanitarian who has, against great odds, devoted his life to building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan. (I teared up often while reading it, but I always tried to wipe my eyes quickly because I couldn't imagine trying to explain to my family, in Pulaar, why looking at a book would ever cause one to cry!) Greg Mortenson's endeavors are awesomely inspiring.

It is the sad truth that Muslims today are so terribly misunderstood by much of the West. The extremely-misguided extremists poison the name of the faithful masses. At its heart, Islam is a beautiful way of life that promotes peace toward ALL people, love toward family, kindness toward strangers. Mauritanians -- even the poorest among them -- have shown me this so evidently in their ceaseless hospitality. It breaks my heart to know that some Americans would hate these people, my family here, just for bearing the title "Muslim." My praises to Mortenson for transcending petty cultural misunderstandings to accomplish the great task of providing education to those who have been denied it. For surely it is by EDUCATING ourselves -- with knowledge about the world and about each other -- that all doors are opened!

And that is why every night, my sister Goggo kneels in the dirt, with a flashlight in one hand and a pen in the other, as she diligently completes her homework.

And that is why I am here. To teach, but more to learn.

American in Africa listens to Brits discuss African-American

Well, I ended up getting a ride into Boghé today on the bed of a UNHCR truck (the United Nations refugee agency). It was straight out of Hotel Rwanda. Unbelievable.


I came in midweek because my associate director is visiting my site on Saturday. It's nice to have some flexibility with my travels since I don't teach on Tuesday or Wednesday, but truthfully I am pretty busy these days. I try to hang with my family as much as I can, to keep improving my Pulaar. But I spend a fair amount of time planning my lessons, sitting on the floor in my room with a pen and paper. I basically have to create all my own material from scratch, for four different levels. I'm really enjoying it, though. Last Monday we did Describing People, and I made my students discuss the U.S. presidential candidates: "John McCain is very old. Barack Obama is beautiful." Their words, not mine! ;)

Everyone on this continent is fired up like CRAZY after this election. They can't believe that a "noir-américain" will really be President of the United States! They proudly claim Obama as a true son of Africa. My family here, mostly illiterate in this dusty little village without electricity, just constantly repeat his name (which they can actually pronounce, unlike his predecessors' "Zorz Boose" and "Bickington") and ask me all about him. Then they quiz each other and recite what they know: "He's black, AND American. His father is African. His father is Muslim, but Barack is Christian. He has two children, girls. If January dies [Pulaar phrasing for "at the end of January"], he will be President."

My buddy Rick Diamond in Austin, TX, posted an excellent "44 Things about the 44th President" on his blog. I respect Rick so much and love all that he had to say. "Obama's political and philosophical values are, for me, the best of what Christianity says it is about but mostly isn't about." I can only echo his sentiments.

On the night of the 4th, I set up my mosquito net on my roof for the best possible shortwave and cell phone reception. I listened to BBC coverage that started at 10pm (5pm EST), but it goes off the air here at 11. Then NOTHING broadcasts to West Africa in English, French, or Spanish between the hours of 11pm-3am. How cruel! I tried to get some sleep, but it was impossible. It felt like Christmas Eve.

As the results came in, I started to just cry. And cry, and cry. I couldn't believe it -- what an amazing moment in history! It was 5am as Obama began his speech. I found it beautiful. "To those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world... a new dawn of American leadership is at hand." I smiled.

He was still speaking as over the bullhorns here came the morning prayer call. A new dawn.

Halloween, election, video!

This is just a mini-update. I came into Boghé again this weekend for a little Halloween celebration with the other Americans. We had a blast! I decided to take advantage of my short hair and pulled off a pretty sweet McCain, with Teresa as Ms. Palin:


Not bad, right? Especially considering the few means at our disposal! Teresa struck gold finding that red cardigan at a "dead toubab store" (Salvation Army rejects) here in Boghé. Ryan's family sent him a DVD of the presidential debates, so we watched some of that yesterday. Very exciting stuff. We broke into cheers when Obama mentioned doubling the Peace Corps -- woot woot! We all voted absentee a few weeks ago, and our ballots were specially delivered to Washington via the diplomatic pouch. Many Mauritanians are really excited about the election, too, and the prospect of a "noir-américain" taking office. They listen to updates on shortwave radio. I will be tuning in with bated breath come Tuesday night!

Note: Mauritania does not observe Daylight Saving Time, so as of today, I am 5 hours ahead of the East Coast.

I hope I wasn't misleading in my last post. I am NOT unhappy with my assignment in Mauritania. Yes, it is without a doubt one of the toughest countries that Peace Corps serves, with a wide range of challenges -- but that just makes us RIM PCVs that much more hardcore! ;) Really, I am loving getting to know the people in my village and to see what their lives are truly like. I laugh often. I see shooting stars every. single. night. I love teaching, and my students are so enthusiastic they literally fall out of their chairs to volunteer. I am happy.

Something fun to leave you with... my friend Dave is awesome and edited together a few videos I had sent him. (Believe it or not, the internet is so incredibly slow and spotty here that it was actually more efficient for me to burn the videos to CD and mail them to America, to be uploaded there.) Some footage is from my training site at PK7, and the rest is more recent from Dar El Barka. Hope you enjoy!

It's a lot of things, but not posh

Unsurprisingly, there is no universal "Peace Corps experience." I think often about how different my service might be if I were in a country where people speak English (Nigeria, The Gambia) or where the color of my skin did not automatically set me apart from the locals (Eastern Europe). In some places, Peace Corps gets the nickname "Posh Corps," but there is little about my experience that might be mistaken for posh. Among past and current PCVs all over, I repeatedly hear Mauritania referred to as "one of the toughest" places to serve. I guess it's a combination of things: the climate is oppressive, the dress is very conservative, alcohol is illegal, and we lack a range of amenities and infrastructure that you can find in other developing countries.

What is my life like? I have been drawing some comparisons...

It's kind of like college. All my life's possessions are in one room (including food). I don't study or do laundry as much as I probably should. I'm far from the old friends I know so well. Alcohol is forbidden. I get care packages (thank you!!!). Easy Mac is gourmet living.

It's kind of like being elderly. I go to bed early and get up early. I spend a fair amount of time reading and doing crosswords. I sometimes don't have control of my bowels (yikes). And I talk to everyone around me about past experiences in this far-away world that they don't know and likely never will.

It's kind of like camping. I sleep outside in a tent. I squat to pee. I cook over a fire.

It's kind of like being OCD. Near EVERYTHING in my room is inside plastic bags. I sweep my floor and wash my hands incessantly.

It's kind of like being a child. I take afternoon naps. I pick up toads [to get them out of my room!]. I play dress-up, or it feels like it anyway. I kill bugs for fun. I eat with my hands.

It's kind of like being a nurse. I daily self-dispense my meds and vitamins. I am vigilant in observing the bug bites and/or rashes I constantly get. I always inspect my poop for any signs of problems -- how many consecutive days of diarrhea has that been? Do I see blood, or mucus? And when I often have dull cramps, I have to diagnose the cause -- did I eat or drink something contaminated? Am I reacting to the anti-malaria meds? Do I need to run to the toilet immediately, or can it wait?

Posh, right? ;)

I often recall Will Ferrell in Zoolander: "I feel like I'm taking CRAZY PILLS!" I mentioned something to a local colleague about missing electricity, and he asked in all seriousness what I would need it for. And then on the subject of food alone: a legit dinner I was served one night consisted of hot macaroni in a soup of sugar milk. Can you imagine? Meanwhile, most people think it's absurdly hilarious when I say that Americans often eat sandwiches for lunch. Everyone knows that rice and fish is what you eat for lunch, obviously. They also can't believe that many Americans eat dinner at 5 or 6 p.m. "But what do you eat at NIGHT?!" (Here they serve dinner anywhere between 8 and 10:30, depending who you eat with.)

But it is good. I am so grateful to be able to see how these people really live -- and even so, though I am living without electricity or indoor plumbing, I know that I am not at all living the life of a villager. I try to be on their level, but I have my fancy water filter and American skin creams and medicines and beautiful books, not to mention my iPod and computer. I often look at my sturdy Chaco sandals sitting in the dirt next to the Africans' cheap plastic flip-flops, and I ponder that one could buy a baguette roll of bread here every day for a year and a half -- or this pair of pretty shoes.

School began on October 19, ALHAMDULILLAH (thank God)! And contrary to what I had heard, students really did show up for the first week of class. I had expected to have around 12 hours of teaching per week, but unfortunately I currently only have 6. It may change, but in the meantime this gives me plenty of time to create and implement my secondary projects in the community. I am teaching 1st-, 2nd-, and 3rd-year students of collège, somewhat equivalent to 7th, 8th, and 9th grades in the U.S. Two of my classes have about 55 students, and the other has 75. There are more boys than girls, but I am encouraged by how many girls I did see. We are very fortunate in Dar El Barka to have a new middle school compound this year. The desks are ample, and the blackboards are wide and clean. I am very grateful! The first days of class went quite well, and I am really excited about the year.

(P.S. Thank you so much for your personal emails and comments. Unfortunately, I am not able to reply today because the internet connection is even more painfully slow than its usual snail's pace. But I will answer you all eventually!)

Pulaar ine weli kay

I live in a village where everyone's* mother tongue is Pulaar. Varieties of this language (under an umbrella called Fula) are spoken throughout West, Central, and East Africa by 25 million speakers. My strand is essentially understood in Mauritania, Senegal, and The Gambia.

[* = Everyone with the exception of the hakem, who is the first-in-command sovereign bigwig of Dar el Barka. Like the vast majority of political higher-ups in Mauritania, he is a Moor and thus speaks Hassaniya, a dialect of Arabic. From what I can tell he barely knows any Pulaar at all -- nevermind that, meanwhile, few of the villagers communicate in Hassaniya. But why on earth would one ever need to SPEAK with the people he governs? I digress.]

Everyone who has been to school also speaks the colonial language of French, to some degree. This is therefore my fallback when I can't get my point across in Pulaar; we both stumble along in a language neither of us particularly excels in, but it often gets the job done. By necessity, Pulaar frequently borrows words from French where the concept has not existed in traditional society -- terms relating to technology, medicine, commerce. Examples include: cell phone, battery, bank, school, bandage, store, bathroom, paved road, car, gun, alcohol, sweater, electricity, law, rent, clock, faucet, table, plate, vote.

As a perpetual student of linguistics, I am intrigued by the way our minds choose our words and conversely how language can shape our thoughts (psycholinguistics). Interesting finds in Pulaar:

- The word leydi means country, land, nation, ground, sand, and floor. So to ask people where they're from, you ask, "What is your sand?"
- The generic word for "medicine" is the same for "trees."
- Rather than having separate words for "sister" and "brother," there are only "older sibling" and "younger sibling" (each of which you can specify as male or female). Birth order is more important than gender.
- The same word is used for "to like" and "to want," thus rendering it hard to compliment your friend's possession without insinuating that you want to take it from him.
- "Airplane" is literally "flying boat."
- The word fesaade means "to be intelligent"; it is also used for "to be vaccinated."

Pulaar lacks the nuances and complexity of English -- no subordinate clauses, no past perfect progressive -- but Pulaar speakers are so much more concise. They have single words that mean, for example: "to remember and say something during a meal," "to feel sand grains while chewing" (more common than I'd like), "a person with a lower lip smaller than the upper lip," "to leave one's husband's compound after a dispute," "to dig holes for sowing a second time," and the ever-useful "a death message broadcast on the radio" (I'm not really sure yet on the usage of that one).

Also, it is near impossible to make a statement in the future tense without adding the Arabic inshallah (or Pulaar's borrowed version so Allah jaɓi), meaning "if God wills it." When I say to my family that I'm going home to rest but I'll be back for dinner, they all murmur, "Inshallah, inshallah." In fact, in Pulaar "if" and "when" are the same word: "Every morning, if I wake up, I get dressed." I guess you never do know.

School was originally supposed to begin October 5th, but God didn't will it. Between the coup and Ramadan and lingering unresolved teachers' strikes, the start date is now "October 12th, inshallah." I've heard rumors we may not begin until November...

What ships are built for

Think about the last time you moved to a new place. How did you figure out where everything was? Where to buy food and household sundries, where to find public transportation? You probably looked it up online, or in the phone book, and you plotted your way on a map. Maybe you asked a friendly neighbor for help. But what if there ARE no phones, no internet, no maps (no roads in the first place, anyway) -- and oh yeah, you only kindasorta speak your neighbor's language?

Well, sir, then life is an adventure! ;)

Example: say you feel like a burger today. What do you do? Go to McDonald's. Or, if you're more industrious, go to the grocery store and pick up some ground beef. But what if you had to buy the whole live cow? This is my life. I have the choice of buying an unhappy braying goat, a chicken with its feet tied together, or a still-flopping fish. I just laugh -- I wouldn't even know where to begin! So when I cook for myself, I stick to veggies, beans, macaroni. And fortunately, when I eat with the locals, the women know how to prepare the fresh river fish excellently.

My hair is growing. Compare two weeks to four:



There is no such thing as "Africa." There really isn't. When people here ask me about how certain things are in Amérique, I find it funny, because of course America is so big and diverse. Kennett Square is not Compton is not the Great Lakes is not Vegas is not Hawaii. BUT how much bigger is Africa? In our Western minds, it's all elephants and lions and bright fabrics and oversized jewelry. But, like anywhere, there are rich and there are poor and everything in between. I guess the difference is whether poverty is the exception or the rule.


It has struck me that many of my friends are in positions surprisingly similar to mine right now. No matter where in particular you are or what you're doing, if you're brave and determined (which the people I love unquestionably are), then you are always facing the unknown. You are constantly putting yourself in a position of temporary discomfort, in aim of a grander goal. It would always be easier to just stay, just settle, but if you're really alive then you can't.

"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for." - William Shedd

(Maybe this is not all so deep. But it spoke to me, and it made me fiercely proud of all of you for braving your own uncharted waters.)

Getting better all the time

Ramadan is halfway over... alhamdulillah! I am settling into a sort of routine in Dar el Barka, and it's really good. I am staying at the mayor's sister's. She has the largest and most beautiful house in the village, with a mosaic-tiled courtyard and flowering gardens, but I've yet to meet her because she evidently spends very little time here. I haven't even been inside her actual home -- I'm staying in a little guest house, one room with a large storage closet.


One of the nicest things is that the courtyard is all enclosed within a six-foot wall, so I have some privacy. This is more or less my life these days:

7:30-10:00am. Roll out of bed, because the sun has peeked above my courtyard wall and is shining in my face -- I always sleep outside. This is the most glorious time of day, when it's light but the air is still cool. I take a bucket bath, maybe do some laundry, tidy/sweep up my room. Eat a granola bar. Treat myself to a fruity drink mix in my water bottle.
10:00am-1:00pm. Stay inside my room because it's getting hot by now. Write in my journal, study some Pulaar. Inevitably someone will come to "greet" me. This involves them strolling into my room uninvited, doing the typical extended Pulaar greeting ritual (Peace upon you! Did you spend the night in peace? How are you doing? Are you healthy? How are you with tiredness? How are you with the heat? How are you with work? Thanks be to God, may you live long -- etc.!), and then after all this commotion, the guest just plops down on the floor and we both sit awkwardly for a few minutes of complete silence. Finally he or she will abruptly stand up, say, "Ey-oh! Thank you," smile, and leave.
1:00-2:00pm. I gather my things and wander next-door to the mayor's house, where I can use the kitchen. As far as Mauritania goes, it's incredibly nice, with a Western stove and (almost always) running water. My meals are slooowly getting more adventurous. I don't have a lot to work with! Also, I have to be careful to make exactly enough for one meal, because there's no way to save food for later. I was really proud of myself yesterday for making some semblance of French fries -- peeling & chopping the potatoes with my pocket knife, drenching them in oil, throwing in a ton of heavenly garlic & black pepper, and voilà! Not too shabby. (That being said, I have added to my wish list at right some kitchen-y things that would make my life much easier!)
2:00-4:30pm. This is when the sun is so oppressively hot that it's hard to do anything, so I usually just rest. At 3:00 I listen to the BBC Focus on Africa on my treasured shortwave radio.
4:30-6:00pm. More reading, Pulaar, crosswords, singing to myself. Set up my net tent for the night. (It takes three trips -- one to drag out the tent, then my foam pad mattress, and finally my pillow and sheet.)
6:00-7:00pm. Evening RUN! I figured I needed to start exercising since I just sit around all the time. My courtyard is big enough for me to do laps around the inside, without being gawked at by the villagers. The temperature has dropped enough by this time of day that I don't die of heat exhaustion, although I immediately douse myself in a bucket bath. Simple joys.
7:00-9:30pm. Head over to visit my fam on the other side of the village. The old man is the guard/gardener for the mayor's sister, so his family just kind of adopted me. I couldn't be happier because they are so friendly and generous! I still haven't figured out everyone's name or how they're related, but we hang out, and they always want to learn English. "Sank you, Raky!" They make me an excellent dinner, for which they even give me my own individual bowl and spoon.
9:30pm Wander back home -- down the narrow dirt path, over the tree root, through the herd of 70-something resting goats, past the abandoned tire, past the World Vision compound, past the house that has a TV (I think they have solar panels, or maybe it runs on batteries), and finally my obnoxiously large two-story house comes into view. See if you can guess which is my yard:


I collapse happily into my net tent. Doing nothing is certainly exhausting! ;)

(P.S. On phone calls: several of you have said you've tried to call my new Senegal number without success. I know it is frustrating! I don't always have great reception, plus the networks get clogged at night when many people use them. I can only say try, try again -- thank you!)

The hardest part?

Everyone always says that Pre-Service Training is the hardest part of your Peace Corps service -- that once you get posted to site, you have more independence and life is thus easier.

I arrived in Dar el Barka on Tuesday, and these last days have by far been my most difficult since coming to Africa.

Up to this point, I have constantly been in the company of other Americans, but now it's just me in a village of a few thousand Mauritanians who all know my name (Raky!), as I struggle to learn theirs. The people are SO kind. I feel like my Pulaar is terrible, but day by day it's getting better. Often someone will rattle off a long sentence to me and I'll catch only the last word or two, but I fill in the gaps with whatever I assume they meant and I answer accordingly. This might get me into trouble soon, but so far so good.

My days are long, in no small part because school hasn't started yet. I've been trying to walk around the village and meet people, but it is pretty tiring. Also, it's Ramadan, so everyone is fasting and essentially just sleeping the daylight hours away. So, I've had a bunch of down-time in my room just reading and intermittently engaging in self-pity. I try not to be jealous of other RIM PCVs -- I wish I had a sitemate, I wish I had the internet, I wish I had electricity, I wish I had running water -- because let's face it. I obviously didn't come here because I thought it would be "easy."

That being said, your communication with me TRULY invigorates me. Please keep up the blog comments, emails, letters -- and I have great news about phone calls! I just bought a Senegalese cell number because it's supposed to have better service at my site. And it's much cheaper for YOU to call than Mauritania! All around, awesome. I still will keep the other number for when I travel outside of my site. Please use the one listed first (011.221.77.518.70.13), and keep in mind to check for rates to Senegal, not Mauritania. Onesuite.com is 26 cents a minute.

MISS YOU ALL, love to you via the glorious internet in Boghé!

I accept!

I write to you now as an official PCV -- Peace Corps Volunteer! ;) Click to enlarge:



On Thursday we had our swear-in ceremony. It was beautiful and incredibly moving! I got all choked up. The U.S. Ambassador to Mauritania was our guest of honor, and he led the 76 of us in repeating the oath of office:

I, Julie Ann Clark, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, domestic and foreign, that I take this obligation freely and without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps by working with the people of Mauritania as partners in friendship and in peace, so help me God.

We had a delicious lunch to celebrate (chicken! a rarity here), and then we got to have a special Q&A session with the ambassador. His name is Mark Boulware, and I was super excited to meet him.





I was really impressed. He was quite personable and friendly one-on-one, but composed and intelligent as he answered our questions on the fly. We asked mainly about the recent coup and the U.S./international reaction. He stressed how, although Mauritania has had many coups in its short history, this is the first time the military overthrew a genuinely democratically elected president. Ambassador Boulware has spoken personally with General Abdelaziz, urging him to use discretion in the days ahead.

After the Q&A, a bunch of the new PCVs started preparing our spectacular feast for dinner (cooking for 100+ people takes some time!), but I had other plans. As a metaphor for this new beginning, I shaved my head. No, I haven't lost my mind! It's something I have wanted to do for a long time, and there is no better time. My head is covered here whenever I go out anyway, so it's kind of a fun little secret I'm hiding. ;) My friend Megan jumped ship with me (although she opted to keep a little mohawk), and Brandon did the shearing honors.





Now I am in Boghé, my departmental capital, with all my new region-mates. We're taking care of some protocol (meeting with local officials) and picking up household wares. On Tuesday I will move to Dar el Barka, my NEW HOME! All the PCVs assure us that "the hardest part is over"... fortunately, I have a good month to get settled because school doesn't start until October. However, I will be arriving just as Ramadan begins, when everyone fasts (from food AND water!) until sundown each evening. I am not required to fast with them, but it means I will have to fend for myself as far as meals are concerned. There are not exactly any restaurants in the village. Should be interesting. Send treats! =)

Coup-ka-doodle-coup

I think this article gives a nice overview and assessment of the coup situation in Mauritania.

Until we meet again, PK7

My time living in PK7 is through. Unbelievable! This means I have been gone from America for nearly 10 weeks, and I am about to swear in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer this Thursday -- inshallah. All the trainees returned to the center today, and we will be here until Saturday when we each depart to our permanent sites. Prrretty sweet.

The other toubabs and I decided to sponsor a little fête last night to thank our families for their generosity. On Friday, Ryan and I were sent to the Rosso market with a shopping list of goodies for the celebration. I had to buy a duffel bag just to be able to carry all the stuff we got, while Ryan carried a sack of 15 kilos (that's 33 pounds) of potatoes on his head -- in the heat of the day! That's true commitment.

Yesterday we all said our sad goodbyes to our families and had a relaxed final day at PK7. Around 6pm, they dragged a sheep away to be slaughtered. I had wanted to watch, just for the experience, but it proved far too gruesome for me. Slitting the throat, peeling off the skin... that's intense stuff. The turnaround time from baying beast to delicious dinner was impressively short. The food was the best I've had in Mauritania so far. Lots of pepper and garlic, per the Americans' request! And where usually we have no beverages at all, this night we drank sweet, sweet bissap -- with ICE, a true luxury. (They insisted on waiting until nightfall, when it's a breezy 75 degrees, to sip this icy treat. What do we drink as the sun beats down? Steaming hot tea, of course.) After dinner we had an impromptu dance party, and the women painted henna on Teresa and me as a special going-away gift.

As our car pulled away this morning and our families all waved, I was blinking back tears. The community in PK7 has been AMAZING to us... here's to hoping for just as good a time in Dar el Barka.

Photos below. I have some videos, but they are near impossible to upload. I will keep trying this week.

"The moon has been taken"

Many of you are confused about where exactly I am these days, so I want to clarify. The training center for Peace Corps Mauritania is in Rosso, a decent-sized city you can find on many maps. For the past two months, I have been living with a family in PK7, which is a tiny village 7 km outside Rosso. I go into the city often (every weekday the past couple weeks for Model School), and it is there that I am able to get online. This Saturday is my last day at PK7! All the trainees will be back at the center for a few days before our official swear-in as Peace Corps Volunteers on August 28 (inshallah -- God-willing!). THEN I will move to Dar el Barka, my permanent site where I will spend the next two years. My mailing address is Boghé because that is the closest city to Dar el Barka.

It is hard to believe that training is almost over. It flew by! I am really excited to settle in to my permanent site -- living out of a duffel bag is running its course. Model School has been really great overall. My kids have been a bit rambunctious at times, but I relish their enthusiasm. We will have a special ceremony for all the students when they "graduate" next Sunday.

So, I am very aware of the moon cycle here. We eat outside every night, and it's a plus when we don't have to use flashlights. I had been getting excited for the full moon, but I was very surprised to see it partially eclipsed! Eclipses are pretty fun to watch, so we toubabs were enjoying it. Our families kept telling us something about the moon, but we didn't recognize one of the Pulaar words. I assumed they meant something like "the moon is covered" or "the moon is incomplete." Later, they repeatedly told me that this moon was "very bad." I asked why, and they laughed. I said, "It's not bad. No problems!" and they laughed some more. I noticed that the men had stayed at the mosque a lot longer than usual, and the women and children were murmuring extra prayers as well.

The next day, I learned that the expression they had been repeating to me was "The moon has been taken," and they were all praying that Allah would forgive them their misdeeds and please bring back the moon. I attempted to sketch a little astronomy diagram and explain it in Pulaar. It went something like, "Sun is here. Earth is here -- Mauritania. Moon is here, behind Earth. No problems, no problems!" They either semi-understand, or just think I'm absolutely insane.

P.S. Thankyouthankyouthankyou for your emails, letters, and phone calls! They mean more to me than you know. Shout-out to my mother for her amazing care package, which included Bicycle playing cards (I never knew luxury until I touched them!) and a fly swatter (it could not be worth more to me if it were solid gold). I hope to post more photos and perhaps video next week (inshallah) when I have more internet time at the center. And I will answer your emails ASAP!

Cuckoo for coups!

I have to be honest. When I first heard on Wednesday that there had been a military coup in Mauritania, my first reaction was to want to laugh. No, this is not an appropriate response, but for those of you who don't know, I experienced a coup while living in Ecuador in 2005. What were the chances of it happening again? (I guess pretty high, when you look at Mauritania's track record.) It seems far less exciting the second time around. Now I can understand why the Mauritanians hardly bat an eye. Rest assured that all is safe and well on my end. If you are interested in my personal thoughts on the matter, please email me.

I am a few hours from the capital city, so life just goes on as normal here. Goats still graze with or without a president.

On Teaching in the RIM

Peace Corps Volunteers serve in a variety of sectors, including Health, Agroforestry, and Small Enterprise Development. My sector is Education -- Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL). I have mixed emotions about this assignment. I've had some experience teaching in the States, and I've enjoyed it a great deal. However, I'm not sure how I really feel about specifically teaching English here. Am I sending the message that these kids need to learn English so that they can be educated/employed in a "better" country and leave this place behind? I don't want that to be the connotation, but what else is the practical use of learning this language? In any case, as of 1999 here, English education is mandatory from middle school onwards, so my presence is helping meet the demand for trained teachers.

Teaching holds an interesting position in Mauritania. It demands more preparation than many other professions, with four years of university and one year of pedagogy. Teachers are respected and well-regarded within their communities, but they are paid quite poorly. My language teacher says he was earning $100/month after 16 years of experience.

The conditions of the school buildings are, far and wide, nothing like we are accustomed to in the States. Water-damaged, paint-peeling walls and dirt floors are par for the course. There is frequently a shortage of seats, with students crammed shoulder-to-shoulder into what benches there are (understandable when they pack as many as 90 kids in a classroom at times! I am fortunate because my classes will probably only be around 50 each). Books are rare. The teacher writes notes and exercises on the blackboard, and students diligently copy it all down into their notebooks, which are their de facto texts. Allah help you if you have sloppy handwriting. I laugh now when I think about how grumpy my coworkers and I all used to get when the photocopiers would break... I won't be having that problem here! ;)

Yesterday began Week 2 of a three-week "Model School" for us 15 TEFL trainees to do some student-teaching and observing of veteran teachers. We have a slew of real, live Mauritanian kids (middle school and high school) who have signed on to show up to English class every day and keep us on our toes. So far I have taught four classes and really had a blast. (Keep in mind, these are kids who have volunteered to come to school on their summer vacation, so they are generally quite eager to learn and participate!)

The best-laid plans...

Well, I prepared a blog update that I was going to post for you all last week, after we got our permanent site assignments. Buuuut then the internet wasn't working at our training center the night before we were leaving. And then I got sick and had to be left behind at the center while everyone else went out to visit their new homes! BUT everything worked out in the end -- big thanks to all my fellow PC-ers who took care of me (and shout-out also to antibiotics). And due to the magic of the internet, I am still posting that entry right now as if it had been July 21st. Don't be confused. ;)

So Dar el Barka is AMAZING! I could not be happier with a site placement, honestly. It is right on the river, absolutely beautiful. For me it is the perfect happy medium between a village and a city. We have some of the amenities of a city (running water, electricity, cell phone service, some corner stores, a big market once a week) without all the litter and traffic and crowds. And they just built a brand new building for the middle school, so it's really nice. I am pretty excited.

I was also given a new name -- again! When I arrived to Dar el Barka, they asked me my name in America, and I told them. Then they asked me my name in Mauritania, and I declared proudly, "Houley Sow!" And they said, "Nope! Your name is Raky Mamadou Wane." (The first name is pronounced "Rocky," which I find rather awesome.) They chose to name me after the mayor's wife, which is a big deal because I guess she is from a pretty important family. All I know is when I introduce myself, people seem to be really impressed! This could also be because of my amazing Pulaar skills. I kid.

One more thing: I have a new and improved mailing address. The old one still works because it's just the Peace Corps HQ, but this one will reach me faster. Please USE it!! You guys don't want me looking like a big loser over here, do you? Mail equals life and wealth and power! Just kidding, but seriously. 94 cents can buy you my undying affection. It's that easy! Check it, over in the right panel.

DAR EL BARKA-bound!

Today was a very important day for all of us back at the training center. They announced our permanent site assignments -- aka home for the next two years!! My placement is Dar el Barka. Let me tell you what I've learned about it:

Population: 7,000 people (although population counts here are extremely flexible)
Location: On the Senegal River, 60 km west of Boghé (the departmental capital in the south Brakna region). It's right off a brand new paved road, which is a big deal because it makes the town much more accessible than previously.
Language: Pulaar and French
Ethnic Groups: Pulaar and Black Moors
Assignment: I will be teaching English at a middle school, which they are trying to turn into a boarding school to accommodate students that live up to 40 km away in less accessible villages. The school currently has 202 students (78 female) in four grade levels.

Annnnd that's about all I know right now. The UN and World Vision have active projects there, so that's encouraging. I leave tomorrow to go visit this new place for a week, so I'll let you know all about Dar el Barka when I return, of course!

I was surprisingly wistful to leave my village PK7 on Saturday. I will be gone for 12 days, and my family was very sad to see me go. It really is home right now.

Bonus reading material: here's a good article talking about the refugee repatriation issue in the south of Mauritania. We have several of these UN tents on the fringes of PK7.

La vie en PK7

Staging/arrival pix

Finally!

Life in the slow lane

Close your eyes. You're at the beach. Aaah... The sun is hot, but the breeze is blowing sweetly.

Now. Take away the ocean. In its place, add 60 goats, 15 longhorn cattle, a handful of donkeys & chickens, 1 skittish dog, 1 skittish cat, 5 cement-and-tin-roof buildings (3 two-rooms and 2 singles), and 12 straw huts. Welcome to PK7. This is my life:

7:30am. Wake up inside my mosquito net tent. Realize AGAIN that I am actually living in Africa. Congratulate self on braving another night of wild malaria-pill-induced dreams.
7:45am. Put on a long skirt so I can head to the open air latrine without offending anyone. Once inside, happily remove clothing and enjoy my solar shower. Attempt to clean body, though never entirely successfully.
8:15am. Get greeted at my door by my mother Houley (my namesake), who brings me oatmeal-esque millet porridge. Shortly after, a child brings me Mauritanian tea (with fresh mint and LOTS of sugar, specially poured to give tons of foam, served in tiny shot glasses).
8:55am. Walk the 100 yards to the thatched-roof hangar in my language facilitator's courtyard, where I have Pulaar class with Teresa, Ryan, and Matt. Baila teaches us on a blackboard in the sand, and we copy everything into our notebooks. Tea magically shows up about every half hour.
2:00pm. Eat lunch with my mom, grandmother, 2 aunts, 15-year-old married cousin, and 11 children under the age of 13. The women toss me the best pieces of meat. Even as food is in my hand, I will inevitably be encouraged to "Eat, eat."


3:00pm. Lounge around under the big tent with all my family. Take tea, again. Sweat. Fall asleep.
5:30pm. Evening language class.
7:30pm. Play cards with the toubabs (universal term for non-Africans). We gamble with drink mix and Vache Qui Rit (heavenly processed cheese).
9:00pm. Head back to my room. Avoid the camels who meander across our village at dusk. Fall asleep waiting to be called to eat.
9:30pm (or 10:00, or 10:30). Dinner. It is now dark. The cruel fate is that a bright, unnecessarily illuminated power plant overlooks PK7, but we do not have electricity ourselves. The faint glow is enough to fumble around with as we eat in the dark. The ladies keenly prepare night-friendly food (think macaroni instead of boney fish). Sit and chat with the fam for at least half an hour. By "chat" I mean listen to endless Pulaar and try to pick out vocab from time to time. Intermittently they will all say, "Houley, Houley!" and try to get me to understand something. I occasionally succeed, and we all laugh a lot. It's a good game.
11:00pm. In the haven of my closed room, change into SHORTS and a tank top. Rejoice at finally being able to lay prostrate on my back (not acceptable for women in public because it's "suggestive"). Drift to sleep listening to critters scurry across my floor. Smile because I am safe in my precious net tent.

Movin' to the country

Taking advantage of this amazing wireless internet to update you one more time this week, because this is our last night at the training center! Tomorrow morning I will head to a homestay family, where I will live until the end of August when I complete training. My village doesn't even have a name; it's simply "PK7," for point kilomètre 7, i.e. the village at mile marker 7. Awesome. But I found out today that my language assignment is Pulaar, which means that my permanent site will definitely be in the south of the country. This is VERY exciting to me because the south has a milder climate and more liberal attitudes towards women!

Up until now, I have been with the 80 other Americans in my training class, but tomorrow is where it "gets real." If I'm fortunate, someone in my family may speak French, but otherwise, I will be completely immersed in Pulaar. Let's just say, gestures will be helpful! I've already had a hilarious time with that at the market. On Sunday (the Muslim work week runs Sunday through Thursday) I will begin my intensive language training 7 hours a day for the next 9 weeks. Peace Corps language trainers are raved about, so I am really excited to learn. It's gonna be wild!

I want to put any of your fears to rest by saying it is very clear to me that the Peace Corps has two priorities: my safety & my health. We have had a lot of training this week on how to be safe here, but really there is not much crime anyway. Also, I have received a slew of vaccinations (yellow fever, meningococcal, rabies, typhoid, Hepatitis A & B) and anti-malaria meds, and the medical office is on-call 24 hours a day. I also learned how to take my own blood smear by pricking my finger, which made me quite nervous, but that is really the hardest thing I've had to do in training!

I've enjoyed hanging out with my fellow trainees (called stagières) and getting to know everyone. We've gotten pretty successful at eating with our hands (try it with spaghetti -- that's a good laugh), and I even ate camel. I had no idea! I totally thought it was cow beef.

I drink A LOT of water every day, 4-5 liters. Consequently I am well familiar with the latrines here. They are not so bad. It's not honestly that hot outside, just sticky because we are in the south where it's humid (and I'm wearing a long skirt every day!). But the weather is beautiful & cool in the morning until about 10am, then the day is hot & sunny, and by about 5pm it is breezy & cooling off again. At night it is just perfect.

That being said, I cut my hair the first full day we were here. That was enough! I just see no point in having long flowing locks when they're tied back all the time anyway, so I took off about 10 inches. My friend Summer did a great job, and I am very pleased.

Bismillah! Nous sommes arrivés!

AFRICA! I really cannot believe it!!!!

Here we are at the BRAND NEW Peace Corps training center in Rosso, Mauritania. We are so spoiled that we actually have WIRELESS INTERNET! Can you believe it?! I will only be here until Friday, but still... pretty amazing.

So much to tell! Our few days in Atlanta were jam-packed but very useful. There are 77 of us in my training group, and everyone is genuinely really cool and friendly. My roommate Jackie & I scored free drinks from our waiter when we told him we were moving to Africa the next day:



The flight to Dakar, Senegal, was 9 hours. It went very smoothly, and I was beyond delighted to play the in-flight trivia game live against my fellow passengers! Also, one of the clues in the Delta crossword was a five-letter word for "Peace ____."

We arrived at 4:40am local time. Clearing customs, gathering baggage, and loading (REALLY loading!) our poor buses took two full hours, and then we were on the road. Five hours to get to the border, and then another two hours to be able to cross. Fortunately, our bus was sitting by a busy marketplace, which was quite entertaining to watch:



Finally, we rolled our bus onto the ferry, and over the river to Mauritania we WENT!



The PC training center is just over the border. The entire staff was lined up to meet us, and my eyes welled up with tears as I looked out the window & saw how happy they all were to meet us. We then, one by one, shook hands with every single staff member (probably 50 of them!). Greetings were thrown out at us in many languages, and I tossed back some Asalaam aleykums to the delight of some of the locals. =) I was one of the first through the welcome line and promptly strode into our meeting room -- only to be called after by a staff member in halted English: "Shoes! Please!" Yes, of course. On the ground in Africa for about one minute flat and already had committed a faux pas. You never wear shoes inside on the mats.

Since yesterday, we've gotten crash courses in cultural training. Highlights include how to eat with your hands -- a fun game! You roll up a little ball of the rice/couscous with a piece of vegetable or meat, and pop the whole thing in your mouth. Right hand only, please! Left hands are dirty -- they're your toilet paper. ;) This morning we practiced basic greetings in French, Hassaniya (Arabic), Pulaar, Soninké, and Wolof. LOVING it!

Slept outside last night in my mosquito net tent. It's awesome. Our neighbors' radio serenaded us 'til the wee morning hours with American pop music (I can rest in peace knowing that Rihanna & her umbrella have made it even here). And then the morning prayer calls began at 5:30am. Strangely beautiful. They are more "call"-like than I had realized, with men on bullhorns chanting and intoning, "Bismillaaaaaah," welcoming the new day in the name of God.

We will be at the center until Friday, when we go to our host families around Rosso. I will live with them until the end of August, when training ends. We are officially sworn in as volunteers, and then we all disperse to our permanent sites for the next two months.

Rest assured that I am safe, healthy, and very, very happy!

Africa Ain't No Thang

Bags are packed:

(Shout-out to Dave Cowell for my amazing Mauritania tote)

My checked bags are only a cumulative 59 pounds! I am a rock star.

Besides my fabulous friends & family, here is a short list of things I know I'll miss:

cold Vitamin Water
pashmina scarves
hot showers with good water pressure
a fluffy big bed
bubble tea
pub trivia nights
lying by the pool
The Economist
Kieran cat
piano
Journey, my wacky awesome church in Austin
Crocs
wireless internet on my laptop (and reading the news in bed)
fake caring about the Red Sox (Boston pride -- even in the face of last nite's meager performance in Philly, eek!)
reading old entries in my journal (I'm bringing a fresh one, can't afford to lose the current one)

I'm off to Atlanta in about an hour, where I will meet up with the approximately 75 volunteers going with me to Mauritania. We'll have a whirlwind couple of days getting immunizations & picking up our visas, and then we ship out Friday afternoon. Bring it on.

Now you're in Africa...

I'm so ready to go! I fly to Atlanta a week from today. Can't wait to update you all on my adventures...

For now, enjoy this wonderful song written by my dear friends Brandon, Dave, and Melody, on our last evening together in Austin.

Introducing... my life!