vendredi 28 septembre 2007

Improvements

It rained nearly every night during my last two weeks in Boghe. Each morning, the pools of standing water grew, vibrating with newborn mosquitoes, until most homes had malarial lakes where their yards had been. In some homes, rocks, concrete, bricks, and tires were littered through the water as stepping stones, in others, they simply walked through it. Leaving the only raised, paved road, one entered a maze of water and refuse that had to be patiently navigated, but even the most careful efforts usually ended with at least one foot ankle deep in the brown sludge. The rainy season had arrived and rather than bringing relief from the hot season, it simply made it worse—more humid, more mosquitoes, more flies, more trash, and more smells.

The night after Swearing In, we had a party at a small hotel in Kaedi. Earlier that afternoon, a strong storm passed over and dropped water in a biblical way before continuing east, up the Senegal River towards Mali. By the time we reached the hotel, standing pools of water had to be carefully avoided to reach the outside ballroom/dance floor. There was no moon, no lights, no one had thought to bring a flashlight and the ground, wet or dry, looked the same. All night, volunteers were slipping and falling into the foul smelling water. Although the rain had stopped hours ago, the water continued to rise throughout the night, flowing in from the swollen banks of the river. When I left around midnight, I rolled my pants up and sloshed through the water to the SUV waiting on the road, the driver unwilling to risk bringing the vehicle any closer. Passing by the hotel two days later, I noticed the water was even higher, even though it hadn't rained anymore.

This flooding occurs every year during the brief rainy season. Everyone knows it's coming and everyone has ten months to prepare for it—to install pumps, improve drainage, raise land, build retaining walls—but nothing is done. I made this observation to another volunteer, who pointed out that there are so many things standing in the way of such work—no equipment or technical knowledge, no private industry or government support, and, of course, no money. I made the argument that the desire to improve living conditions was what created these missing elements—technical knowledge is gained through trial and error, the investments made build an industry, jobs, and market. It seems most inventions and infrastructure are the result of a desire to make life safer, easier, and more comfortable.

Obviously, I'm simplifying a complicated process. Consider what flood control efforts have done to the Mississippi river—radically changing the river's natural course, leaving the Gulf Coast and huge watersheds vulnerable to storms, and sinking New Orleans ten feet below sea level. None of these consequences were considered, or even imagined, when all the various flood control projects, small and large, local, state, and federal, were put into place all along the length of the river. Each project identified one issue, or a small set of issues, such as seasonal flooding of Missouri farms or navigability for barges along a bend in the river, and successfully resolved those issues. Over time, the unintended consequences of each individual project have combined to create major environmental issues for which there's no simple solution. Perhaps, living with two months of flooding each year isn't such a bad option, at least until we're able to understand problems, solutions, and consequences on a large enough scale, but I'm glad I don't have to live beside the Senegal River until then.

To Hell with Good Intentions

This is a link to the text of a speech we read and briefly discussed during our last Pre-Service Training session. It's very critical of American volunteer organizations, and, although some of the references are dated, it still presents many arguments that PCVs should consider during their service.

I'll post my response to it in a few days. I'd be interested to know how others react to it.

To Hell with Good Intentions

vendredi 14 septembre 2007

Nouakchott

Training is over, I passed my language tests, completed my projects, and have been sworn in to the Peace Corps. I'm in Nouakchott now, where I'll be living for the next two years.

I wrote everything here over the last three months in Boghe. Due to the poor internet connection there, I wasn't able to post them until now. They are in roughly chronological order with the earliest entries at the bottom. I'm not sure these posts will make much sense to anyone that hasn't been here, but I hope you find them interesting. If you have any questions, please ask!

Top 5 Mauritanian Kids Toys

Tandem Model Horse Stick – Capable of carrying two kids at a nice gallop. Good tandem model horse sticks should be at least two and half times the length of a standard model stick horse. Riders must cooperate and rear rider should follow the lead of the front rider at all times. When toubabs with cameras approach, tandem stick horses are prone to fall to the ground, leaving their riders unscathed, but fleeing from the scene.[1]

Horse Tail – I admit, I don't really get this one. I'm not sure if I'm more disgusted than amused by it, but it seems to say something about how children can find ways to amuse themselves. First, a child must save 20 UM and choose to spend it on a horse tail rather than a stick of bubble gum or a cigarette.[2] Horse tail can be purchased at many fine boutiques at your local market. Horse tail can be played with immediately; it's good for both hitting things, like little sisters, or it can be slowly pulled apart, hair by hair. Loose horse hair can then get into anything, it's especially fun to pull out things like dinner, or one's mouth.

Metal Hoop and Rod – The metal hoop is placed in a small hook at the end of the rod and the child begins to run while pushing the hoop. If all goes well, speed of hoop and child increases until terminal velocity is reached and hoop makes delightful rattling sound against the road's surface. Theoretically, the child could push the hoop to Nouakchott, but it usually brought up short by a rock in the road or a speeding Mercedes coming within inches of taking his life. The metal hoops come from an unknown source and vary widely in quality. It is not uncommon to see a hoop with a break in its length. These are much harder, if not impossible to roll more than a single rotation as the push rod invariably falls into the break in the hoop. This doesn't stop kids from attempting to use it and they may en joy the added challenge.

Old Car Tire – Why just walk somewhere when you can push a tire there too? Thanks to the resourcefulness of Mauritanian children, the lifespan of old car tires can be extended almost indefinitely. Sometimes two kids will meet in the street and talk about there tires—where they came from, there they're going, what other tires that saw on their way.[3]

Detergent Bottle[4] and Condensed Milk Can Car – Does it get any more adorable than this? What do you do when you live in a dump? You find a detergent bottle, four condensed milk cans, bits of scrap metal and you build yourself a car to push around town or, if you prefer, back and forth in one spot. Best of all, detergent bottles come in three bright, primary colors, so you car can be red, yellow, or blue!

[1] Soon after writing this, I saw a triple decker horse stick. Later that day I saw another triple decker with a fourth child hanging on to the horse's tail. The head rider had the horse running in a wide circle, trying to catch it's tail and knock his annoying little brother off.
[2] UM – Ouguiya, the Mauritanian currency. Cigarettes are sold individually here and anyone, of any age, can purchase them.
[3] I saw a three tire pile up after an especially bad storm had flooded out an intersection. No one was hurt but tires and children were very wet.
[4] Further research revealed these are not actually detergent bottles, but diesel motor oil containers. They look the same, but the fact that kids are playing with and, no doubt, spilling motor oil all over themselves adds to the pure Mauritanian quality of this toy.

America

Everyone wants to go to America. It's the first thing they tell me when they learn where I'm from. One man told me it was his destiny to see New York before he dies. Another asked me if it was true you could make money by sleeping in America. Many people tell me about their brothers and sisters living in the States. They want to visit them, but it's very hard; even if you can afford it, the visas are impossible to get. People tell me, without a second thought, that life in the United States is better. Life in Mauritania is difficult, there's no money, no opportunities, nothing to do.

I tell them that life in the United States isn't better or worse, but very different. I try to point out all the good things here that mare missing in America: the strong communities, the closeness of families and friends, the strong spiritual quality of life. I explain that most people in America work very hard and still don't make much money. It's difficult to be poor anywhere in the world.

But who am I kidding? They see the huge, new houses built from money sent back from family in the States. They see the cars, computers, and cell phones, shipped from the US and bought with American Dollars. Brothers and sisters in America, even if they're poor, seem to have money to spare. Their children go to school, receive quality (albeit unaffordable) health care, eat well, grow strong, maybe go to college, and probably never come back to Mauritania. And even while I denied that you could make money in your sleep, I thought of my employee matched 401K, transferred over the Internet before leaving, to an IRA mutual fund, earning 15 to 20% interest on emerging markets and tech stocks. So, yeah, I am making money in my sleep and I'll be making money for the next two years without doing anything except noting it on a few tax forms.

There's an idea in the United States that anything is possible, it just takes hard work and a little luck. Even leaving the US isn't very hard. I just researched my options, filled out some forms, did a few interviews and then I was on a plane for Africa. That some optimism doesn't exist here. People think it's difficult, if not impossible, to achieve what they want, assuming they want anything at all, so why even try? What's really unfortunate is that the most educated people I've met—my host father, the language facilitators, doctors at the hospital—they want to leave Mauritania the most. I think to myself, “Can't you stay here and make things better while achieving the things you want?” But what can I say when my host father comes home exhausted and tells me, “This country will never change. The people are lazy, they don't want to work, there's so much corruption.”

Proverbs

There are two villages about 5km from Boghe called Thide and Thienel and there's a Pulaar proverb that goes, "Thide et Thienel fof ko merorde Boghe."
This translates as, “Don't talk about Thide and Thienel when you mean to talk about Boghe.” Basically, say what you mean, don't beat around the bush. I like this proverb because it could be easily Americanized, maybe using the Quad Cities in Iowa.

I asked my host father for some more Pulaar proverbs and here's what he gave me.

KoTongou Dassi fof ko Tepere jo moure areta Ta.
This one translates as, “Whatever path you choose will take you where you're going.” That is, you are responsible for yourself.

So goumdo fof Woumi Woumeti andi ko guete nafata
This he translated as, “If you are blind and you regain your sight, you will know what you were missing.” He explained it as,"If you lose something, you'll appreciate it more once it's gone."

So lafa Wati Bouchada Gandi Wedade Bourydoum
This is my favorite because the literal translation I was given is so strange. My host father translated it as, “If you're wearing a hat and the hat is eating your brain, take the hat off.” I think that means that if something is bothering you, you need to fix it yourself.

Prayers

I'm writing this as a member of my host family performs his afternoon prayers directly in front of me. My host mother is in the front yard, washing herself in preparation for her prayers. In the next thirty minutes, ever since the last prayer calls sounded across Boghe, I'm sure I'll see everyone in my house bow towards Mecca three times.[1] While they do this, the TV will remain on, guests will visit the house, and everyone will continue their discussions around those in prayer.
When I first arrived at my host family, I tried to disappear whenever I saw prayers beginning. Some sessions of Peace Corps cultural training gave me the impression that prayers, and all religious functions, were off-limits to non-Muslims. I remember being told that stepping in front of someone praying, between them and Mecca, was extremely rude, much less interrupting them in some way. But I've seen card games and soccer matches continue directly in front of those praying. I've seen prayers interrupted to answer a phone call or help someone find something. I still try to follow the general precepts of respectful behavior, but I no longer go out of my way to disappear to my room or leave the house when someone begins their prayers. It only draws attention to our differences and, in my house at least, it's not necessary.[2]
I know the prayers are a spiritual act, but I imagine anything you do five times a day, everyday, begins to feel simply like a part of life, a routine activity like bathing and eating. Whether this diminishes its spiritual power or imbues daily life with a spiritual quality, I don't know.

[1] Muslims pray five times a day, at dawn, mid-day, late afternoon, dusk, and at night. Prayers can be made at a Mosque, at home, in the street, anywhere. Generally, they lay out a prayer mat facing towards Mecca and recite the Profession of Faith: Lah ilaha illallah Mohammaurrasulallh – There is no God but God and Mohamed is his prophet. Between each recitation, they bow to Mecca by prostrating themselves and touching their forehead to the ground.
[2] This was also difficult to do because my room was on the east end of the house and everyone laid their prayer mats out in front of my bedroom door. If I tried to hide in my room when my family prayed, I had to walk directly in front of them and open my door in their faces. Since the prayers can vary in length and everyone can start at different times, I would then spend the next thirty minutes to an hour poking my head out the door, between their prayer mats and Mecca, to see if anyone was still praying.

Koranic Schools pt. 2

In language class today we talked about the Koranic School system in Mauritania. Our facilitator has researched it and published papers about it. For most students, the day breaks down to 3 hours of schooling, 10 hours of begging, and 11 hours of rest or sleeping. He told us that it's not uncommon for students to be beaten if they don't bring enough money back to the school. In general, the goal of the school is to have students memorize the Koran, but only a few students accomplish that or even learn to read Arabic during their time there, which usually about 10 years.
     His research also shows that the begging is more characteristic of Pulaar Koranic schools and rare in Moor culture. He feels the system is very bad for the children and creating a generation of beggars. He explained that most students come from large rural families that are unable to feed or care for them. The drought of the last few decades has exacerbated this situation and increased the ranks of Koranic school students. The teachers and the schools are not capable of providing for or educating the additional students and there is a limited social need for the Imams they create.

Western Technology

Living here has revealed to me the incredible power of air conditioning as a force for social change, good and bad. Summer in Mauritania isn't so different than summer in Texas. By high noon, it's brutally hot and if there's any breeze at all, it does little to cool you down and mostly just blows dust and sand in your eyes. It also sets in motion all the plastic bags littering the landscape, which always reminds me of tumbleweed.[1] The difference is that in Texas, they spend the afternoon hiding out inside, enjoying the 65° of central air while in Mauritania they sweat it out, sitting under whatever shade can be found.

I think my Dad once told me that his father would come home for lunch every afternoon and spend a few hours there until the worst heat had passed. I remember hearing stories about summer days spent in the shade of a porch, enjoying iced tea with visiting neighbors. This was lost with air conditioning, which gives everyone a good reason to stay locked away inside their homes. A/C opened up places like Texas and Arizona to comfortable living and huge population growth. It also increased the length of our working day and our productivity.

If A/C ever reaches Mauritania, I imagine it will have the same effect. Families will move inside and focus their time and resources on that space, and the open, active communities that exist now, communities where every door is always open and anyone can visit anytime, will be lost; but, my God, will it be a more comfortable place to live.

My host family already spends the entire day with the television dragged outside and turned on. Even now, when people visit, greetings are exchanged and then everyone watches TV together, only occasionally talking. All the controls on the front of my host family's TV are broken except for the volume up button. The remote recently died from a severe sand stroke. When I first arrived, the volume was up to 50, about halfway to the top. Everyday since, someone has stepped up to the TV and pressed all the buttons in an attempt to turn it off, turn it up, turn it down, or adjust some other setting, but the only control, the single button that works turns the volume up one more click. It's been a month and half now and it's up to 100, the very top of the dial. It's so loud most shows are lost in a blur of flubbing distortion. Nothing can be done short of pushing the small screen a little farther away, so it stays like that and conversation is that much more difficult. I guess the lesson is that technology will change things and poorly made Chinese technology will change things for the worst.


[1]When it's really windy, it's hard to keep these blue and white tumbleweeds from blowing into the communal food bowl. This is really disgusting when you consider the filth these things have been through. Before the really big storms, there's always a sandstorm. But even before the sandstorms, there's always a plastic bag storm.

Seriously, plastic bags are actually a huge problem here (along with all the other trash). They're everywhere and they take years to disintegrate. The animals eat them and get sick. Plastics bags are the perfect example of a terrible invention with unintended consequences. In the States we're better at hiding them in landfills but here in Mauritania they are taking over. Next time you’re in the grocery store, ask for paper! Or even better, buy some cloth bags and use them every time you go shopping.

Communication Mauritanian Style

- Personal space, especially between people of the same sex, is much less important here. It's not uncommon for people to sit so close that they will be physically touching each other.
- Physical contact is an important part of any interaction. During most conversations, I find I need to shake hands, touch a shoulder, high five, or perform some other similar act repeatedly to let the speaker know I've heard, understood, and appreciated what he said.
- I find Pulaar speakers will not make an effort to include you in a Pulaar conversation unless you force yourself in by asking questions.[1]
- I love the Pulaar click, especially at a high click/min rate.[2]
- The women in my host family almost never initiate a conversation with me.
- Much conversation is spent not talking, just laying around or watching TV. Conversations go in bursts and people will stay long after a conversation is over.
- It doesn't matter if someone is sleeping, they can be woken up at anytime, for any reason. This is even the case if you're sick, especially if you're a women and there's work to be done.[3]
- Punctuality is non existent and appointments are often forgotten.
- Bismillah! Everyone is welcome at anytime.
- Even if you saw someone yesterday, they want to know where you've been and why it's been so long since you came over.
- Men hold hands when walking together.[4]
- Speaking French is okay, but everyone really wants you to learn their mother tongue.[5]
- If you have credit on your phone, someone's going to ask to use it.
- Everyone wants you to come over for lunch. If you go, plan to be there for at least 3 hours.[6]
- I never see anyone reading anything. When I visited the Boghe library, there was a fine layer of dust over all the books.
- Even two months in, I'm still not sure I'm performing the salutations correctly, but people seem to accept my efforts as sufficient.[7]
- Writing in my journal, I get lots of stares but no one ever asks what I'm doing.


[1]I live with a Pulaar family. There are four major ethnic groups in Mauritania: White Moor, Black Moor, Pulaar, and Soninke. There's a lot of pride within each ethnic group about their roots. Pulaar pride, Moor pride, Soninke pride—for the most part they all get along but there has been racial tension and violence in the past.
[2]Most people here "click" to say “yes” or show agreement. It's a sound that comes from far back in the throat and I can't do it for the life of me.
[3]I think most Peace Corps Volunteers would agree that this is one of the most difficult things to adjust to.
[4]There's something so sweet about seeing two grown men walking around holding hands. For all intents and purposes, homosexuality does not exist in Mauritania and I think many people would be shocked by the concept. Obviously, there are homosexuals here, but they have to keep their sexual preference very, very hidden. So, the hand holding and general touchiness betweens men is totally nonsexual. Still, the one time my host father wrapped his arm around mine, I couldn't help but feel awkward.
[5]The official language is Hassiniya, a dialect of Arabic. I've heard it compared to Old English versus Modern Standard English. The business language is French. Pulaars speak Pulaar, Soninkes speak Soninke, and some people speak Wolof, a Senegalese language.
[6]Part of this is that people eat really late. You may be invited to lunch at noon, but food won't be served until two or three. The other thing is the tea ceremony—three shot glasses of mint tea, each with more sugar than the last, served searingly hot, with half the glass filled with foam. It can take over an hour to make and drink all three glasses and once it starts, you cannot leave until it's done. Here's a picture of my driver to Nouakchott stopping for an hour to make tea.
[7]The Mauritanian greetings is a series of questions concerning ones health, family, friends, life, heat, business, appetite, thirst, etc. The questions are repeated over and over. I once visited a host grandmother of my host father and listened to them repeat the same Pulaar salutation "Bada?" - "Modom." for fifteen minutes and, no, this is not an exaggeration.

Top 10 Reasons I Love My Host Family

10 . My host father speaks perfect English.
9. My baby sister plays with matches all the time and no one seems to care. She's only 1 ½ years old.[1]
8. Most of the time, the latrine stinks, but sometimes, it doesn't.
7. My host uncle is the coolest. He sells condoms at his boutique, “Not for a profit, but as a service to the community.”[2]
6. Everyone watches TV while they do their prayers.
5. My host father takes me to community meetings I can't understand, but I can tell he really cares about improving life in Boghe.
4. One time, I ate dinner with my left hand and nobody said anything, although I'm sure they noticed.[3]
3. All the men spend the day in shorts and no shirt, so I do the same at night in my mosquito net.[4]
2. Every time I come home, they're so happy to see me.
1. It may be a case of Stockholm Syndrome, but I think they're the nicest family in Boghe.[5]


[1]There's a completely different concept of safety here. People do things that are so dangerous, so often, it's amazing anyone lives past 12. Every time I see my baby sister playing with matches, I think, “Wow, that's not safe. She's a real Mauritanian.”
[2]This is an extremely conservative place and many people would deny that anyone is having sex without marriage. My host uncle puts his reputation and business on the line by selling condoms, especially to teenagers.
[3]This is a major faux pas. In case you didn't know, there's no toilet paper here. That job goes to your left hand and a teapot of water.
[4]Again, very conservative culture, in some families this would be totally unacceptable. What a relief when I realized my family was more concerned with comfort than being proper.
[5]I'd like to add to this that, when I left Boghe and arrived in Nouakchott, my host family called me to say hello and ask when I was coming back. It was the nicest thing they could have done and as soon as my 3 month lock down in Nouakchott is over, I will go visit them.

Koranic Schools

Every morning little African Oliver Twists wake me up with the rattling of their tin cans beside my mosquito net and their, weak, pathetic cries of Meda hadi, meda hadi – I’m hungry, I’m hungry. These are the students of Koranic schools, begging for food between their rote memorization of the Koran. This show is repeated twice more each day, usually while I’m hunched over the family feed bowl trying to enjoy my slice of the rice pie.[1] If I’m not fast enough, I might lose the last piece of okra to one of these hungry children. And so, lethargic as I am from the heat and the massive intake of carbs, my right hand swoops down and takes the gumbo before my host father unwittingly gives it away to the malnourished child behind me. Despite my love of okra, it can be difficult to enjoy that last bite. The sound of loose teeth hanging from scurvy stricken gums rattling against the bones of a fish already picked over by a family of five is enough to make me almost lose my appetite, sometimes.


[1]In Mauritania all meals are eaten family style, on the ground, from a large bowl, using your right hand to scoop food from the bowl to your mouth. Most meals come on a bed of rice our couscous. There’s an invisible “pie slice” that defines everyone’s share of those staples. You would never eat someone else’s rice or couscous, however you can take meat and vegetables from anybody’s “slice.”
This works better than you might expect and definitely makes you feel closer to those around you. I’ve heard some PCVs claim they’ll continue to eat like this in the States. I don’t mind doing it here, but I know I’ll never do it again once I leave. There’s something about licking oil, rice, and sauce from my hand that remains forever unappealing. For me, silverware is fine.

Western Music

I’ve been surprised but the popularity of Western music here in Mauritania. There are something like 8 CD/DVD boutiques in Boghé and they all stock a majority of Western music, especially rap and hip-hop. When the sun sets, the main street in Boghé is like a bizarre version of Chicago’s South Side, with all the music stores blasting 50 Cent and Akon until 2am.[1] The street fills up with Mauritanian teenagers pulling their pants up again and again beneath their huge shirts.
     My first week in Boghé, I broke the news of Tupac’s death to one teenager after another. I’m sure they’ve heard this before from past volunteers, but I guess they block it from their minds once we leave. They adore Tupac and must not want to believe it. They were also surprised that although R. Kelly comes from Chicago, we do not actually know each other.[2] It stretched my language abilities to explain that I’d never seen the tacky terra cotta mansion pictured on his CD cover because there are no palm trees in Chicago.
     I was pretty disappointed by all this. I’m not wild about most pop music and I’m critical of the star worship that goes along with it, as well as the materialism and misogyny of most popular Western music. It’s disappointing to come 5,000 miles and hear the same music I didn’t care for the in the States.
     Still, the Mauritanian teenager’s interest in Western music is like the flip side of my desire to escape Western culture, which in part drove to join the Peace Corps. The fact they can’t understand most of lyrics also reflects on their open mindedness towards foreign things, a quality lacking in the States where most teenagers would never listen to music in anything other than English.
     It’s too bad that what Senegalese music I hear and see on the television seems to be copying Western obsessions with sex, cars, mansions, and other bling. But I guess this stuff is popular with guys everywhere, I know I wouldn’t mind some right now. Maybe it’s inevitable that eventually everyone is going to look, act, and consume just like me.


[1]Akon is especially popular because he was born in Senegal. I’d never heard of him before coming here, but some volunteers that know about these things tell me he is popular State side as well.
[2]There are only 3 million people in Mauritania and everyone seems to know everyone else. My host family lives in Boghé, on the Southern border with Senegal. When I was sick in Nouakchott, the capital in the middle of the country, I mentioned to my doctor where I lived. He immediately knew who my host father was and asked if his house was next to a small boutique, which it is. I knew then that my host family would know I was sick long before I got back to Boghé. The same thing has happened in taxis, restaurants, etc. I always throw around the name of my host family because half the time someone knows them and, by association, they know me.