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!)
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
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...
Sunday, September 28, 2008
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.)
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.)
Sunday, September 14, 2008
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!)
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!)
Sunday, September 7, 2008
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 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!
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