Just when you thought...

It was all going so well. Our interrupted-service folks cleared out of Mauritania, and while it was quite sad, we were all moving forward. Those of us who had chosen to stay were renewed with energy to face the tough year ahead, albeit with reduced numbers. The worst was behind us... or so we thought.

It is true that Mauritania has been making international headlines as of late for less than desirable events. The biggest controversy surrounds the shooting and killing last month of an American citizen in Nouakchott. I didn't mention it on this blog because quite frankly I feel that, while lamentable, it was not any direct challenge to my personal safety. The individual in question was known for Christian "proselytizing," an illegal act in an Islamic republic. (Foreigners in Mauritania have every right to their own religion, but they are prohibited from trying to convert others.)

Unfortunately, there has been a lot of media hoopla in the wake of the murder, and whenever the name "al-Qaeda" starts to be thrown around, people (perhaps rightly, perhaps not) tend to get anxious. Peace Corps Washington are among this lot. Two weeks ago, unbeknownst to us, our country director got a call saying that Washington wanted to shut down our program here. He protested on our behalf, and the agreement reached was that PC Washington would send a team over to do a countrywide safety and security check. The catch? They wanted all PCVs to be out of our sites while this investigation takes place.

Cut to me, in Boghé, last Thursday afternoon. I'm preparing to head to Bababé, a town 30 km to the southeast, to help with a three-day Eco-Health Camp. About 50 girls and their chaperones from all over Mauritania would be in attendance. I cannot take any credit for the planning of this camp, but many PCVs -- in particular, Zach Swank -- spent hours and hours coordinating the logistics. He had collected matelas (sleeping pads) and mosquito nets, had spent several full days digging holes for tree-planting, and had ordered 5,000 beignets (small donuts) and 200 balbastiques (frozen juice in a bag) to be prepared. Everything was ready to go.

Then we all get word: the camp is cancelled. All of Peace Corps Mauritania is going to Senegal, for an undetermined amount of time but "a minimum of 10 days." Be in Nouakchott by Monday. Oh yeah, and also, we are going to "test" our Emergency Action Plan, so pack up all your belongings "as if" you are never coming back.

What?!

Needless to say, we were all pretty surprised and confused. A friend in Boghé graciously gave me and another PCV a ride out to our sites on Saturday so that we could gather our things. I had explained the situation to my host family as best I could in Pulaar, but they still didn't quite understand. "Can't you at least stay for lunch?" they asked. Sorry, not today. "You will be back, inshallah," everyone agreed. Inshallah, I repeated to myself. I snapped a few photos with the kids, and we were on our way back to Boghé.




Thus, yesterday the 50-strong legion of Mauritania PCVs descended on the Peace Corps training center in Thiès, Senegal. With a population of 300,000, this place dwarfs any Mauritanian towns but the capital. And the training center here is essentially a tropical oasis. We were near drooling as we breathed it all in after our 13 hours on the bus ("shouldn't" have been quite that long, but unsurprisingly we broke down once or twice). For this indefinite stay here we are blessed with a plethora of amenities not offered at our own center in Mauritania: high-speed wireless internet, actual mattresses (not foam pads) on wooden beds, private rooms, air-conditioning AND ceiling fans, Western flush toilets with toilet paper, showers -- and oh, these green, green trees! (I am reminded of a García Lorca line from a Spanish lit class in college: Verde que te quiero verde -- Green, how I love you, green!)


As for the presidential election in Mauritania, victory went to General Aziz, who led the coup last August. Being an employee of the U.S. government, I am advised not to voice a position on local political issues. Instead I will let you form your own judgment of this man, with the following Wall Street Journal excerpt published just prior to the voting here:

A small, mustachioed man portrayed on posters wearing mirrored sunglasses and banker suits, Gen. Aziz has turned the breakup with Israel -- a popular move here -- into a centerpiece of his campaign. At one recent rally, the general said he is "honored" to be considered a "foe of the Jewry." In speech after speech, he has accused challengers of plotting with American Jews against the Mauritanian state.

"If I win the election, I will give them plane tickets so they'd go to that Zionist state that they love so much," the general thundered last weekend. At the entrance to the shuttered Israeli Embassy, Gen. Aziz's campaign has planted a tent festooned with his portraits next to a crossed-out Star of David.

(Wall Street Journal, 17 July 2009)

His personal beliefs aside, the important thing about Aziz's election is that the U.S. now accepts this government as legitimate, which means sanctions will be lifted, which means Americans should begin to be issued visas again. U.S. Ambassador Mark Boulware had a Q&A session with us in Nouakchott before we left, and he is optimistic about the future of U.S.-Mauritania relations. Aziz is supposed to swear in August 5th, so after a bit of lag time, our diplomatic relations ought to be back to status quo before the coup d'état.

In conclusion, I'm just hangin' and livin' the good life in Senegal until Peace Corps Washington decides whether Mauritania is a safe place to be. Our director feels certain that our country is not dangerous with regard to, for example, Islamic extremists (and certainly not more dangerous than some of our neighbors like Mali and Niger). And I can honestly say I have never felt unsafe -- I was more at risk walking the streets of Boston or Austin than Boghé or Dar El Barka. But we shall see what the final word is from on high.


Got my per diem and I'm good to go. Welcome to Senegal...

Picking up the pieces

Unexpectedly, it has been a very busy couple of weeks. A total of 20 PCVs from the 71 in my class decided to "interrupt" their service and head home, and in their wake I've been all over the place helping to pick up the pieces. We each came to this country with an 80-pound luggage limit -- but you wouldn't believe how much stuff one can accumulate in a year!

I went overnight with Yates to her village Olo Ologo (only 17 km from mine) to give a hand with her things there. The one passenger vehicle that services that area didn't get us in until 7:30pm, so most of our laboring was done by the light of one flashlight hanging overhead. We made piles: stuff to leave with her host family, stuff that needed to go back to Peace Corps in Nouakchott, stuff to donate to the other PCVs in Boghé, stuff that I claimed for myself (ah, the few bittersweet perks), and just one duffel bag of things that Yates wanted to take home to America. While we sorted, her work partner sat with us and made conversation. "Maybe once the elections are over, and things are more peaceful, then you can come back here, right? You'll come back here to live?" We shook our heads; it's not that easy, we repeated. Then her host father came over to talk with me and expounded on all the virtues of Koumba Demba (Yates's Pulaar name). "All this time she has lived with us, and I never once saw her get upset, I never once saw her get frustrated. She is so good to us." I know, I said. I wanted to cry. "Please come back and visit us," they all insisted to me. "Because if we see you, it's almost like seeing Koumba Demba."


Me, Yates, and Teresa with the Peace Corps security guards at Christmas
We awoke before sunrise, and the car taking us to Boghé pulled right into Yates's compound so we could load up her baggage. A small crowd gathered around us. No one likes goodbyes, of course, but in Mauritania it's a whole new level of awkward for me. To start, it doesn't help that the word "goodbye" literally does not exist in Pulaar. Everyone just keeps saying, "Thank you, thank you," and if they're feeling especially emotional, they will ask you to greet people on their behalf -- greet your parents, please, greet your family, greet every person in America (yes, that one gets used). On top of this, Mauritanian culture shuns physical affection, so there are no hugs. Most people don't touch you at all, but if you're close with them they will shake your hand and hold it a few seconds. So I shook my share of hands and promised, yes, to greet every person in America. Then we climbed onto the big white van, and we left Olo behind.


Unfortunately, that morning I came down with giardia, a fun little parasite that seems to afflict almost all PCVs at one point or another. Truthfully, the biggest surprise is that this is the first time it's gotten me. So during my last precious moments with Yates, I was curled up in a fetal position, moving only to run yet again to the bathroom -- which, I remind you, is just a hole in the ground. Without being too graphic, I'll just tell you that I graced that hole with my presence 19 times in 24 hours. But Peace Corps is really great about getting us the prescriptions we need, so once I took my round of meds and a healthy portion of Gatorade, I was back on my feet. And probably a few pounds lighter.

Since then life has been a hurricane of cleaning and sorting, packing and unloading, organizing and trashing. Everyone who went home (Interrupted Service folks as well as the 60-ish PCVs who are now finishing their two years) left behind loads of goodies. As I consolidated their bequeathals, I also did a grand, two-day clean-up/clean-out of the Boghé house. There are only a few options for trash disposal here: burning, burying, or throwing it over the wall to be cherished by street children. I used all three methods, though I will say that burning is the most satisfying. I personally inherited a wealth of treasures: all kinds of clothing (American and Mauritanian both, including a fancy outfit for the next big holiday), all kinds of precious care-package food, really nice toiletries, two battery-powered handheld fans (such luxury!), 10,000 francs CFA (about $20 USD), and... drum roll... many, many buckets.

(Aside: now, I realize that as a Westerner in a developed country, you probably do not get all jacked up about buckets. I don't blame you. But oh, the humble bucket! You may ask what cause one has for a bucket, but the question is more what can't you do?! They come with and without lids, in many colors and sizes, each serving a different purpose. Take today as an example. I did the dishes, with four buckets as usual: one with the dirty things, one with soapy water for washing, one with clean water for rinsing, and one to set the finished things in to dry. Next I did my laundry, using two buckets -- wash and rinse. For both of these activities, I got my laundry detergent out of a sealed bucket. I hung the clothes on the line, and when they were dry, I collected them in a clean bucket. Then I got some food and spices for lunch out of a few ant-proof/mouse-proof buckets, which I sorted through while sitting on another bucket.)


My region has gone from 12 PCVs last year to 6 for the coming year. As we start this new chapter, Mauritania too looks toward the future. The presidential election will, inshallah, take place this Saturday, July 18th. This excerpt from a good article paints an accurate portrait of the palpable fever over here:

[The] electoral battle, a novelty in a ramshackle capital which is more used to coups, has enthused its residents, as much as anyone can be enthused in temperatures of 43 degrees centigrade. Its streets, where sand drifts across the tarmac, are plastered with posters, and nomadic-style tents have been erected in every suburb. Blaring loudspeakers praise the rival candidates at such volume that passing camels and donkeys pulling carts are sent into a panic. With six days to go, diplomats consider the race too close to call.

(from The Telegraph, 12 July 2009)

Should be very interesting. Thank you, everyone, for your support during this tough time of rebuilding! Peace Corps Mauritania: the few, the ostensibly insane.

It's going down

Back when we were just hearing whispers of Americans being denied visas to come here, PCVs speculated all kinds of possible outcomes. Of course, we hoped (and frankly, assumed) that in the end our new class would be granted their visas, and training would go on as planned. We also toyed with crazier ideas -- what if we all get sent home? What if we get offered a new assignment? But we agreed that the most difficult thing would be if our training class got canceled, AND the rest of us were expected to stay here.

Turns out there was one scenario still tougher than that.

These past 10 or so days have been a whirlwind, roller coaster time of confusion. We started hearing of some nebulous threats to Americans, but truthfully I felt (and still feel) perfectly safe. In the midst of that, due to continued difficulties with visas and the somewhat uncertain political situation here, our training class was officially canceled. Up to this point, Peace Corps had been hoping just to postpone the class until after elections July 18th, but now all those applicants are receiving new placements in other countries.

The blow was devastating, heartbreaking. I was in my village, and I learned the news from various phone calls and text messages. For the next day or two, I lived in what I termed a "waking coma." I had absolutely no motivation to do anything. No new volunteers. No new blood. No one with whom to share our hard-earned wisdom. I went through my calendar and crossed out essentially all my plans for July and August. We will not be hosting newbies in Boghé for Site Visit (when they get to see their future homes for the first time -- a really emotional and exciting time). I won't be helping at Model School or other Q&A training sessions. And there will be no swear-in, around which I specifically had planned my vacation.

I wanted to just dust myself off and say, yes, this is unfortunate, but things change and you need to make a new plan. But how could I when I felt like I didn't have any idea what was going to happen? There were so many rumors still floating around that maybe all PCVs would be leaving, or being re-assigned, or who knows. No one had any answers. In the days following that news, I jumped every time I heard my phone sound, because I thought at any moment I was going to get word that I should pack up and leave.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. I went through life in a daze, slowly-so-slowly coming to terms with this new reality.

Then Tuesday, crash.

Our country director officially announced the offer of "interrupted service." What this means is essentially two choices: stay and finish as planned, or leave early with the full benefits of having completed your two years of service. If you go home, you can opt to be done with Peace Corps, or you can re-apply for a new assignment.

I had had a lot of time to think, and I knew what I wanted. I'm not ready to leave yet. I'm excited about my classes next year, I adore the kids in my English Club, I feel like I finally know Pulaar, I have an amazing host family, and it took me this long just to understand how things work in this country. I know where to buy things, I know how to go places. I want to stay.

But everyone's situation is different, and there are many PCVs who are choosing to leave. They each have their reasons, and I respect them. But that doesn't make it any easier as I'm hearing, one by one, the names of other volunteers who have given their official notice. It looks like they will all be out of the country within two weeks, some sooner. My dear friend Yates leaves Boghé in five days. She was planning to visit my village next week, and she has care packages on their way here for her birthday. I got a phone call from Summer, who announced, "I'm just calling to say goodbye." Because her site is so far away, I will not even get to see her before she goes. So much is changing so fast.

At the beginning of June, Peace Corps Mauritania numbered about 130 volunteers. Between the second-years finishing, the cancellation of our new class, and the group choosing interrupted service, my best estimation is we may be left with less than 50 by the end of this month. At least 13 Girls' Mentoring Centers across the country now have no PCVs assigned to them. There will unquestionably be a nationwide shortage of English teachers. Financially, too, there will be strain on all of us -- those who are left to pick up the pieces.

Could use your support and prayers. Don't know what else to say.

Dogon: doggone good

// June 21, 2009 (my one-year anniversary of arriving in Africa!) -- EDIT: I originally posted this a few days ago, and then yesterday Blogger sent me an email saying they'd had a bug in their system that affected 0.05% of their users -- including me. It reset the addresses of ALL the photos I'd posted, which is why they've been appearing as broken links. It took me a while, but I was able to fix everything just now so the pictures should be properly showing again. //

Most likely, you at some point in your life have suffered the hassle of a delayed flight. The crowd groans as that dreaded announcement is made. A few irate passengers start yelling at the attendant behind the desk (as if that poor soul has anything to do with the postponement). "This is an outrage!" "I have a very important meeting!" "I've been here two hours already!" "I want my money back!"

But eventually, you give up fighting, and you go grab your double tall iced nonfat caramel macchiato, and you hunker down with your laptop and the free wireless internet. In the air conditioning.

In Africa, however, delays do not go quite as such. The bus ride from Bamako, capital of Mali, back to the border of Mauritania ought to take something like six hours. It's a straight shot, all on a newly paved road. We left our hotel at 7 AM. We crossed the border around noon -- the next day.

The long-distance buses in Mali were not exactly kind to us. Sure, I expected them to be hot, I expected them to be uncomfortable, I expected the tattered upholstery, and I certainly expected utterly nonsensical delays -- but a few of our experiences went above and beyond. My patience found new heights never before realized. You want to cry, then you want to scream, then you do scream, and you do cry, and then you’re finally so beaten down that you just go numb. And I force myself to remember that sometime soon, this will all be a memory.

Example: we had hoped our ride from Bamako out to the Dogon Country would put us into our destination before nightfall. But the bus stops constantly, and the passengers pour off, going to relieve themselves or grabbing bread and cold drinks from roadside vendors. There is absolutely no sense of urgency.

At 11 PM, the bus pulled over and the engine was cut, with no explanation. We were no more than halfway along our route. After some inquiry, we learned that the driver was tired and intended to sleep here for the rest of the night, and we could continue at 7 AM. Despite our best efforts, Teresa and I could not get any money refunded to us, but we did successfully procure our bags from the storage chambers. We flagged down another bus, where we had to pay again, and we reached our stop at 3 AM.

We had to wake up our tour guide to come fetch us from the bus station, and as if we didn't feel bad enough about that already, we later found out that he was very ill with malaria at the time. Then after arriving at his house -- sweating, filthy, hungry, exhausted -- we discovered that my bag was open and had been looted on the bus. Among the random things stolen were all my contact lenses (a three-week's supply of dailies) AND my glasses. I was so worn down I couldn't even think about it, so I just collapsed on my mattress pad outside to fall asleep.

But then it started raining.

Also, this was Teresa's birthday.

What are you gonna do.

All that misery aside, however, I absolutely loved our trip to Mali. Bamako is a really neat city. As much as I appreciated Dakar in Senegal, it is just SO big and SO much more developed than anything else in West Africa, so it feels more like Europe. Bamako is big and has a lot to offer, but it is unquestionably Africa. People dress similarly to the Pulaars of Mauritania, and almost everyone is Muslim, but it's not quite as conservative. Certainly attitudes toward females are more open -- it's not strange to see shoulders (shock!), and many women scoot around on ever-present motorbikes. We found some excellent restaurants and a surprisingly well-presented national museum, and we oohed and aahed over all the beautiful green trees (curse that creeping Sahara in Mauritania!). Oh yeah, and alcohol is not illegal. Overall, big thumbs up for Bamako.


And then there was the mystical Dogon Country -- hailed by Lonely Planet as one of the "top 10 places to see before you die." How to describe it? Visually reminiscent of the American West, but with ancient African villages thrown in the mix. Sheer soaring sandstone rock faces, with straw-and-mud huts nestled protectively into the cliffs. We hiked through the area for three days. It was physically exhausting as we climbed up and down under the relentless sun, but worth it for the breathtakingly beautiful sights. My photos do it no justice, of course, but they can give you an idea. (These uploads are brought to you courtesy of the internet in glorious Nouakchott, far faster than that of poor little Boghé.)


Teresa and I after we finally made it to Dogon... with our Malian beers










This is how we crossed the plunging gorges: by scooting over a few little sticks. Looks pretty safe, right?


Houses built into the cliffs


A Dogon girl looks out over her village, split into three sections for animists, Muslims, and Christians


Collection of "fetishes," that is, skulls and furs and other animal parts used for traditional medicine and rituals


...thus, this monkey is perhaps not long for this world.


Traditional mud-built mosque


The Dogon are known for their indigo dyeing


These girls were very excited when they discovered their reflection in Teresa's sunglasses


Baby crocodiles! Eek!


Some villagers enjoy watching an amazing video on Joe's camera of a grown-up crocodile eating a chicken


Ta-da!
Unfortunately, while in the Dogon, we received news that was something of a one-two punch: first, the Mali-Mauritania Peace Corps soccer game had been cancelled, due to some potentially dangerous political goings-on in Mali. A big bummer, especially since we fully intended to return home victorious.

But worse news than that: our new training class, who were due to arrive in-country today, June 18th, has been pushed back indefinitely. We had heard rumors for some time that the Mauritanian government was refusing to issue visas to Americans, a result of the unstable political situation since the coup last August. We were all hoping this could be cleared up in time for the new trainees, but needless to say, it was not. All the current PCVs are very disappointed. The presidential elections that were supposed to take place June 6th were postponed until July 18th, but it is not clear what will be the result of that. We’re all watching and waiting...

Very good to talk fine and beautiful

A lot is happening! I have a new room, so that's a huge blessing. I've gotten pretty much settled, although I have a few things to buy here in Boghé this weekend to put on the final touches. Figured I might as well use this unfortunate situation as cause for some re-decorating! Photos of Room 2.0 will be up sometime in the near future, inshallah.

This school year is all but OVER! So hard to believe. Classes finished the week before last, and final exams began this past week. I will give my tests on Sunday and Monday, and then once I submit my final grades I am pretty much a free agent until school resumes in early October. I will be undertaking some minor projects in my village, and I'll be helping to train and welcome the new class of PCVs, who are slated to arrive June 18th. (We are so excited to receive them!)

But I will also have some time to relax and to travel a bit. First order of business: MALI! It's the largest country in West Africa, and it borders us to the east and south. Peace Corps Mauritania will be playing Peace Corps Mali in the "Olsen Cup," a soccer match for the ages. It would seem a shame to travel such a great distance and not sightsee a little, so a few friends and I plan to visit the capital Bamako and the legendary Dogon Country. Wish me well -- over the course of a week I will be braving more hours of public transportation than you could possibly imagine! ;) Game on...

I will greatly miss my English Club kiddies, some of whom are graduating on to high school. To close out the year I held an essay contest, with two questions to address: What are your plans for the future, and why do you want to learn English? The results were precious. Some said they wanted to be doctors or soccer stars, and many said they wanted to study in America. There was no shortage of heart, if grammar perhaps was lacking. I quote: "I do like to learn English. I learn English, because, English is tongue nationality world English is very good to talk fine and beautiful to write and to talk, thank you." This one in particular touched me: "Next month school will finish unfortunately I will miss my teacher english woman's because you love student and explanation clearly and speak as student are understood well, I LOVE ENGLISH AS I LOVE MEAT AND RICE."


For our final meeting of the club, every student was in attendance. I was so happy -- they didn't know it, but I had a huge surprise in store. I had printed up "certificates of excellence" for them when I was in Boghé. Each was emblazoned with the student's name in fancy script. I knew this was going to be a really big deal to them, since most of them have barely ever even seen a computer, let alone had something printed personally for them. (Keep in mind, this is a place where official school report cards -- and schedules, and everything else -- are all written by hand.)

But it doesn't end there. Due to the generosity of some very kind donors, I had 18 fresh, new French-English dictionaries to present to these students as gifts. To unveil the big news, I wrote a short paragraph on the blackboard. The kids started copying the text obediently -- and an excited buzz mounted as understanding dawned. I handed one book to each student, and they were beside themselves. When I asked if I could have a photo, they were so enthusiastic that you may have trouble even finding me in the shot...


A few days later, I went to my family's house for lunch as usual. There was a man sitting next to my father, but I didn't think much of it because it's not odd for us to have guests. The man greeted me. I responded dutifully -- and he exclaimed to my father in disbelief, "She really speaks Pulaar! It's so amazing!" A minute later, someone called out to me by name. The man again got worked up. "Your name is Raky?! They gave you that name here? How incredible!" I started to wonder what this guy's deal was. I thought most everyone knew me by now.

We all ate in silence, as is polite. After the bowls had been cleared, the man greeted me once again. Then he said, "Do you know why I'm here? I'm here for you." My immediate reaction was a churning in my stomach: not another hopeful suitor! But this guy seemed much too old for that. Maybe I had misunderstood?

No, I had heard him correctly. He went on to explain that he is the father of one of my students. I recognized the boy's name immediately -- he is one of my brightest, and a faithful member of English Club. The father told me he'd heard so much about me that he just wanted to come and greet my family. "You're a good person," he said. "Thank you so much, SO much."

Suddenly I realized why the man didn't know me. That kid doesn't even live in Dar El Barka. The father had traveled from another village, in the heat of the day, just to make this visit.

I did the appropriate thing by averting my eyes and mumbling, "Mashallah, mashallah" -- all things are from God -- but I couldn't help my cheeks flushing as across my face crept an unshakeable grin.