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...