WASHINGTON, D.C., August 12, 2009

Peace Corps Statement on the Suspension of the Volunteer Program in Mauritania:

The Peace Corps has suspended its Volunteer program in Mauritania due to safety and security concerns. All Peace Corps/Mauritania Volunteers are currently in Senegal; they will not be returning to Mauritania. Although it is the agency’s position that the Volunteers are relatively safe in their communities and villages, it is potentially dangerous for them to travel safely in the country.

Both the Peace Corps and the U.S. Embassy in Nouakchott will continue to monitor the safety and security situation in Mauritania. The Peace Corps will continue to assess the situation and determine when the security conditions on the ground permit the safe return of Volunteers. The Peace Corps office in Nouakchott will remain open and all staff will continue to report to work.

All Peace Corps/Mauritania Volunteers, if eligible, will be given an option to continue their service with Peace Corps in another country. They can also elect to return to the U.S.

The Peace Corps has enjoyed a long history of successful partnerships with the communities of Mauritania since 1967.

Al-Qaeda's North Africa branch has claimed responsibility for the killing of an American aid worker shot dead in Mauritania, al-Jazeera TV reports. The Arab satellite channel said it had received an audio message in which the group said it had killed 39-year-old Christopher Leggett on Tuesday. Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb said it had targeted Mr Leggett for allegedly spreading Christianity in the country. Al-Jazeera said it could not verify the authenticity of the message. "Two knights of the Islamic Maghreb succeeded Tuesday morning at 8 a.m. to kill the infidel American Christopher Leggett for his Christianising activities," the group was reported to have said. Unidentified gunmen ran up to Mr Leggett in the Mauritanian capital, Nouakchott, on Tuesday and shot him several times, witnesses said. Mr Leggett, who grew up in Cleveland, Tennessee, taught at a centre specialising in computer science and languages in a working-class neighbourhood of the city, the Associated Press reported. Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb is most active in Algeria, where it grew out of the remnants of the country's Islamist insurgency. The group has also been blamed for attacks in neighbouring countries such as Mali and Niger, including the killing of a British hostage in northern Mali earlier this month. In Mauritania, the former government said the group killed four French tourists in December 2007 - an attack that prompted the cancellation of the Paris-Dakar car rally. The authorities also blamed the group for attacking the Israeli embassy in the capital, Nouakchott, in February last year. Story from BBC NEWS:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/8118328.stm

Published: 2009/06/25 09:33:50 GMT

I am finally back in Atar after taking a little farewell tour across the RIM. I scored the best ride ever. I got to tag along in a Peace Corps vehicle all the way out to Aioun and back. They always have A/C, personal space, seat belts and terrific drivers. Given the scorching heat and humidity we encountered, I consider myself quite blessed to have traveled in the big white Land Rover.

However, I concluded my tour with one of the worst travel days ever. Carl, a region mate, really, really wanted to try to the new ,daily, a/c bus that has started between Nouakchott and Atar. It is the same price as a taxi and you are guaranteed your own seat, AC and free, unlimited luggage. I was skeptical. This is Africa and a guarantee works quite different here. A guarantee usually comes with an Inshallah. We might advertise one thing, but you can't really expect to get it.

Shockingly, there was no working a/c, just a warm fan slightly blowing. That coupled with a mild sand storm and record heat, made the trip just a little slice of heaven. For some reason, tons of sand was coming through the crevasses of the bus creating a mini sandstorm within, for the entire 7 hour trip. I was coated with a layer of crust by the time I finally made it home. About mid way, I had no clean area of skin or fabric with which to wipe my eyes. I am still trying to clear my sinuses and lungs today but my exposed skin is soft as silk. To be fair, I did have my own seat and all of the luggage I could carry at no extra charge. However, at one of the police stops we had to pull out all of this unlimited luggage for the 55 people on board so that they could search most of it (during a mild sand storm).

Have I ever mentioned the power of a Peace Corps ID card? Towards the end of this search, the policeman finally sauntered over to me and asked me which bag was mine. Surprise, surprise it was the one and only REI backpack aboard. Everything else was packed in either rice bags or those big plastic bags that are ubiquitous in travel through developing countries. He asked me to open it. Actually he had to ask me twice because I couldn't understand his French with his howly (arabic head wrap) wrapped around his mouth. Naturally, I complied. I unhooked the top slowly and reluctantly as I really didn't want to unload all of my dirty laundry out onto the sand. I was searching my brain for the french translation of "dirty underwear" because I was sure he was going to ask me what was in the plastic sacks. Then he asked me for my identification, twice, because again I couldn't understand his french under his 6 meters of fabric wrapped around his mouth. All he did was glance at my id and he immediately stopped his request to search my bag and moved on to less well connected folks. (I'm sure gonna miss my quasi-diplomatic status) 1.5 hours later, we were back on the road.

The bus cleared out a little at Akjoujt (5 hours later) so that our next 2.5 hours to Atar was far more comfortable. Of course, this trip was exactly what I expected (less the sandstorm within the bus)...It was hot, miserable, and long. But I will admit the other 53 passengers on the bus behaved rather uncharacteristically. They were calm and quiet. Possibly they too were miserable as they melted and were being sandblasted for the long voyage. There was little praying and nearly everyone kept to their assigned seat (truly astonishing). Usually there is at least one person praying, which I find disconcerting, and blaring arabic prayer calls from a scratchy cassette during the entire ride. I feel ill at ease whenever I am in a situation that calls for constant prayer. I assume they are appealing to Allah so that she won't strike them dead in an accident. Or maybe they pray so that if they are indeed struck dead by some idiot driver in one of the thousand deathtraps on the roads, they will be called directly to paradise. I am not sure which and not sure I really want to ask.

Anyway, I am alive, no worse for wear and have exactly 14 days left in Atar.

Alhumdulilah.

Cheers from here

94 days.

I should start making a list of all of the things that I am going to miss once I leave. I could go on a big appreciation rampage. That ought to make the time go a little faster. Of course, an appreciation rampage will be hard to muster up while I am swimming in a pool of sweat. But I'll try.

Cheers from here

My service is nearly complete. I've just a few more months left. My official Close of Service (COS) date is August 6th. There are a couple little projects I want to complete before I leave, but otherwise, I am done. I will be traveling through Eastern Mauritania into Mali which will take most of June and July will be spend packing up and closing down, then I leave. So really I have only whats left of April and May to accomplish anything. I want to get some more footage of the making of CereAmine so that I can piece together a little movie. Hopefully my ladies will be accomodating and I will be able to do that towards the end of this month. Actually, I guess that is the only little project I want to complete.

Now I suppose it's time to focus on my trip home, which will be long, and my job hunt, which I pray will not be long. For anyone trying to pencil in my arrival in San Diego, don't. Where I will end up, what I will be doing is unknown. I am trying to embrace the undertainty. The only thing I know for certain is that I am going to have to mouch off my dear, dear friends as I make my way home. If you've got a spare bed, a comfy couch or a pulled pork sandwich with a side of broccoli (don't let me get started on menu's) let me know.

Cheers from here,

Yes, I know it has been a long, long time since I have posted anything. I'd wish I could say that I have been so overloaded with work that I haven't had time. but that would be a lie. Just take a look at my Books Read list....I should add a "movies and series downloaded" list as well. God bless utorrent.

So, in the spirit of St. Patty, my favorite Saint next to Nick, I will not only chase the snakes out of Mauritania, I will make a new post soon.

Cheers from here.

Well, you would have thought I'd seen it all by now but,

Yesterday, I was at the Hotel Mermoz, the place I am consider switching to (away from my darling Hotel la Residence) during Jazz Fest because they have a lovely pool in a tropical setting where I spent much of my time last year. It will be very hot here in May.

So, I'm in the bathroom at this upscale resort with it's tight security against the riffraff. I walk out to the common sink area to find a man washing his penis in the sink. To answer the standard questions I have received so far. Was he Senegelese? I don't know, I didn't ask for his ID, but he was black and spoke french so I would assume yes. Next, did he seem embarrassed? Answer: he didn't seem to be but he did go back into his stall to shake it off.

My reaction? After washing my hands while shaking my head and snickering to myself, was glee that yet again I have another juicy tid bit to share with you. Mind you, this is certainly not the first penis I have seen out in public during my time here in Africa. It's actually quite common. But they are usually attached to the very young or the very old, who have lost all of their modesty and are squatting out in the street doing their business. This is, however, the oddest episode.

I think I have been here a little too long.

To a Happy, Healthy and Prosperous New Year

Yesterday (Monday) was Tobaski, the fete of the Sheep. Actually I don't think the sheep enjoy it all that much. What, you don't know what Tobaski is? Well here's you Islam lesson meeting my cultural exchange requirement for the PC. Actually it’s probably a Ye Olde Testament tale. Once upon a time, God told Abraham that he must sacrifice his son to prove his devotion. Apparently Abraham agreed to this. Since he was willing to forsake his most precious possession for God, Allah was merciful and allowed him to sacrifice a sheep instead. So on Tobaski, Muslim households slaughter a sheep and eat meat ALL day. Afterward, once the blood has been washed from the streets, they then parade around town in new clothes.

I spent this holiday out in Tawaz, a little village just outside of Atar. Kelsea and I arose rather late considering we had a 9 am appointment for Tagine. Why we had to arrive at 9 is a bit confusing as the men were still off at prayer and none of the sheep had been put to the knife yet. After 3 casses of tea and conversation we finally sit down for Tagine about 11am. But before you can have Tagine, which is a meat and onion dish, you must have Mishwee, which is only grilled meat. Our contained some of you and I would call meat as it was still on the bone as well as the liver.    I am normally not much of an organ fan, but I could can use the added iron, so into my mouth went the bloody pieces of liver. Please don't send me the hazards of eatting liver rare. Next came the Tagine. A bowlful of delectible morsels (not)  However, this is the perfect opportunity to take some candid photos of life here in the RIM....so after I lick my hand clean, I grab my camera.  Not long after, we were summoned to the next house.

It’s now 1 pm and we are sitting down to yet another plate of Tagine at another household. For some crazy reason, I thought these meals would be spaced out a bit more…I believe a reasonable assumtion considering they were suppose to start at 9. This plate of Tagine contains not only meat but lung, liver, kidney, stomach and intestine. Yummy! One of the habits that I admire and respect here, is that nothing goes to waste.  The world could take some lessons on recycling and reusing from Mauritania. That goes for their meat consumption as well. The bits and pieces of the animal that we consume over here could be viewed as rather or extremely distasteful.  But darn it, nothing goes to waste. When an animal is slaughtered the only parts not devoured are the ears, tail and hooves. I'll spare you the details of how they crack the lower jaw to get to the tongue (a delicacy).....Or maybe I wont.  Honestly, the bones are sucked of their marrow. 

At this point, Kelsea has taken to fake eating.  However, she happens to mention that I (pointing at me)  enjoy the stomach.  And in pure Mauritanian hospitality, everyone around the plate pitches their portion of the stomach to yours truly. I could have killed her. Crap!  Okay, I don’t mind the stomach, but if given the choice I’d prefer a porterhouse, t-bone, filet mignon (oh wait that is beef). 

Shortly afterwards, we are served Maro which is a rice dish with a few carrots yet more meat. I was told that the rice is served after all the meat to keep us from getting diarrhea. Oh goodie. The last time I had tagine in Tawaz I was left rather ill. I had been invited out to dine with the college director for the PC’s APCD visit.  After the mandatory Mishwee, we were served Tagine. I took a bite of intestine and the taste was B I T T E R. Clearly it had not been cleaned thoroughly.  EeeeGads.  I didn’t feel I could spit it out as the meal was attended by the village dignitaries. I didn’t want to embarrass the host and hostess.  So I washed the image from my mind and just swallowed (certainly not the first time in my life), knowing that I would have to deal with the ramifications later. Little did I know just how dearly I’d be paying for it. It took 2 weeks for my bowels to straighten the whole mess out and the first 2 days spent with a high fever and frequent dashes to the toilet. Yes a 3rd bout of delirium in as many months. One would think my immune system would be working at peak performance by now. So this time as I eased the bloody liver into my mouth, I said a little prayer. A grace, all ended well. Happy Tabaski.

Pic’s to come as soon as I retrieve them from Kelsea

Cheers from Here

As you can imagine from my last post, a strategy meeting was necessary to determine the best way to mend the fences. Thanks to my previous incarnation as a sales representative for a big American company, I am fully versed at bring back customers from the edge, fluent in remaining calm while being berated for events beyond my control. Possibly this was the prerequisite for the Zen like calm required here. Kerri and I had decided a class in Customer Service was in order. Our intention was to first define customer service, assess our behavior at the meeting within that definition, and determine next steps. Good lord this feels like my previous profession.

We arrive at Mohamed’s office early so we can go over our strategy. It is important to let him in on our strategy as he is translating. Well, let me tell you, it certainly didn’t go as expect.

Me: Blah blah blah, listen to your customer.

Blah, blah, blah, the customer is always right.

Blah, blah blah the goal of a meeting is to resolve (resoudre) issues not battle with your clients about who

is right and wrong.

Blah, blah, blah, never call your customer a thief.

Him: If a customer starts hitting you, you aren’t required to sit and take it.

He, who is so calm, so supportive, usually so modern, if he is having such a reaction to the mere mention that possibly we could have behaved better I can only imagine what the women will do. As further proof, his boss walks in and starts lobbing the same accusations about the Responsables. Mind you, he wasn’t even at the meeting. I don’t even think he was in town. Long story short, apparently, one of the Responsbles said something so egregious to the elder of the group that the women had not choice but to react. In this culture, your elders are respected.

Kerri and I quickly revise our lesson/meeting notes. Out goes the entire section on “who’s to blame that LEDD is no longer buying CereAmine for the Atar centers. Answer: Us, for not doing a better job of ensuring product adoption” (now that really sounds like my old life) Forget my idea that we offer an apology.

I begin by asking the question, how do you treat customers so that they keep buying your product? To that I received a list of terrific answers. I ended that section with “it’s easier to keep a customer then find a new one”.

Next, I say “it’s important to evaluate what happened with LEDD and how we can move forward". I have no idea how to say “move forward” in French, I am sure it’s not a direct translation. I did learn that “word of mouth” in French is “bouche oreille”. (mouth ear) I also explained “to give an earful” to someone the other day. Those crazy idioms. I say, “I heard two problems expressed (amidst all of the name calling). The mother’s said that their children didn’t like the flavor and that some became sick. After the translation, the group eye’d me suspiciously.

I can tell that it’s going to be hard to get them to stay calm, to listen and to seriously address to the points the LEDD brought up as problems. Christ, I am not sure I have the language skills to nuance that although this may not be the fault of their product or production it has, none the less, become their problem to overcome. (yes, I am back at MHC) Somehow, we need to try to diminuez la resistance.

I need to mention that the day before this meeting Kerri and I had spent some time with Genevieve and she now believes that possibly the problem with the flavor may be that it was overcooked at the centers. Traditional N’sha is brought to a rolling, molten boil for about 30 – 45 minutes. CereAmine, because the grains have been precooked (as you well know by earlier posts) takes about 10 -15….hence the disconnect. At this point, Genevieve has agreed that an in-service for her staff on how to prepare CereAmine is in order.

Of course, I don’t tell the ladies any of this yet. First I want us to really examine/explore how we can address the above issues. The point of my work here is to leave behind some tidbit of knowledge/technique that they can translate to other business ventures. I am teaching them to fish before I eventually give them the fish that I once again caught. (is recaught a word?) Man, I want to go fishing in the Sierra’s.

Next on the agenda, what we can do differently next time to lessen the problems and diminish the resistance to CereAmine? I must confess they liked my ideas. They became down right enthusiastic that yes, indeed, it is our responsibility to ensure that our new customers truly understand the benefits of CereAmine and the correct method of preparation so that they too become converts. They agree that it is important that each woman can explain those benefits as well as the cause of diarrhea. (Flies, lack of soap and sanitation, etc)

They have requested a class on the valeur de protein. Well they didn’t exactly ask for a class on the benefits of protein, because I'm pretty sure that they don’t know what protein is. They want to understand why CereAmine is healthful. Their sales pitch for CereAmine is that it is good for you because it has lots of vitamins (pronounced vee tah meen). I don’t think they know what vitamins are either. I am pretty sure they couldn’t name vitamin c, e, or the b complexes. It’s just a handy catchphrase for something healthy. But a lesson in protein is what they are going to get.

Finally, they assure me that inspite (despite) of what happened at the meeting; they are capable of going to the centers and giving a lesson, providing we go along too. Unless I am deluded, I believe that all in all, it went really well.

Things might be looking up.

Cheers from here,

Happy Thanksgiving

Here are some current headlines.

Mauritania police: Ousted ex-president freed

By AHMED MOHAMED Ahmed Mohamed – Thu Nov 13, 8:57 am ET

NOUAKCHOTT, Mauritania – The military junta that ousted Mauritania's president released him Thursday in response to international pressure, police and his family said.

Mohamed Ould Cheikh, a top police official, said former President Sidi Ould Cheikh Abdallahi had been placed under surveillance at his home in the town of Lemden, south of the capital, Nouakchott. Abdallahi's family confirmed his release.

Cheikh said Abdallahi's release came in response to an ultimatum from the European Union. The United States also had called for his release.

Abdallahi told Arab television network Al-Jazeera that he considered himself the rightful ruler of Mauritania.

"All that I know is that I was elected and the election was transparent and I still consider myself as a legitimate president of Mauritania," he told the broadcaster.

The Aug. 6 coup in Africa's newest oil producer came after the president and prime minister fired the country's four top military officials.

Coup leader Gen. Mohamed Ould Abdel Aziz had accused Abdallahi of being soft on terrorism and freeing from jail radical Muslims implicated in plotting attacks on Western embassies. Abdallahi's allies say those allegations are meant to drum up Western support.

The U.S. was allied with Abdallahi and condemned the coup and suspended aid to the country, including a military training program in the far north.

Abdallahi's election marked the country's first free and fair elections in two decades. Mauritania gained independence from France in 1960.

It's difficult to know where to start. You would think that after having been in this country 18 months that the roller coaster ride would have subsided. Not so. Last week, after a very fruitful meeting with our soon to be leaving USAID representative, I was stoked. She was very enthusiastic about the success of my CéréAmine project. She was very willing, dare I say enthusiastic, about giving me the names and contacts of other NGO who are working on nutrition here in the RIM. She even spent her afternoon setting up appointments for Douda, the health APCD (the staff person who runs our health education sector), a person from our embassy and me. She scheduled 3 appointments for us on Tuesday starting with WFP, then Counterparts Intl and ending with the French Red Cross. Douda was unbelievably flexible. Whatever he had planned for Tuesday went right out the window to attend these meetings with me. This stroke of luck also bought me a few more days in the paradise that is Nouakchott. 9 am: World Food Program. Nothing like starting with the big boys. I can tell you this; the woman was very nice, the meeting was completely in French and since after my 5 week sabbatical to America land, (both in America and visiting other volunteers in the Southern part of the RIM when I returned) I understood very little. My French fled as if it were WW2 (sorry frenchies, bad joke). Add to that the fact that I got zero sleep the previous night because I was all atwitter about having 3 such meetings in one day. My French was worthless. I could barely hang onto the conversation. God Bless Douda and his flawless linguistic skills. We left with the promise that we would e-mail her the specifics on CéréAmine. People have asked me what the biggest difference between me pre-Mauritania and me post-Mauritania? And/or, what stands out in the US after having been away? What stands out the most is the pace of life. Here, I feel accomplished if I complete one errand a day. « okay, today I must go to the post; today I had better make it to the bank; okay, come hell or high water, today I must absolutely buy soap>. There (where you are) it felt like I was running my tail off. I went on a hike, to the bank, the post, target then met someone for lunch. In truth, I was running my tail off, many people to see, so much food to consume. I felt like one of those geese being prepared for fois gras. I just ate, and ate, and ate, and ate. Ooops, I digressed. But on the other hand, I don’t believe I was going at that much faster a pace then before. I seem to have lost my skills of multi-tasking. America rocked the Zen like calm that has come to me over here. Frankly, if you don’t slow down and chill out while here, you will lose your mind. But I digress yet again. The WFP went. They have their own cross to bear with their 530 feeding centers run by 36 ONG’s. If I understood correctly, they are bringing an expert in to try to diagnose why there has been such little impact on nutrition despite these centers. Blah, blah, blah. Same old, sad story. Where do all of the well intentioned resources go? I will admit that after that, I was a bit discouraged. If you will remember my email regarding the problems at the center in Toungad, you can imagine the WFP’s problems. (If you didn’t receive it, let me know and I’ll resend.) The gist was how frustrating it is to try to get the development money out of the pockets of the powerful and actuallyreach the lives of the poor. My heart goes out to all of the folks who are devoting their lives to making an impact and the seemingly unachievable, uphill battle they are waging. But lets be realistic, 530 centers is probably a bigger nut then I am can bite off with only a few months left and the RIM participation in WAIST to organize. Next up, Counterparts Intl. Folks, it went brilliantly. Without relaying too many details, mostly because I can’t recall them at the moment, here is the crux of it: they work across the South and East and are trying to create community-specific solutions. The director used another catch phrase, but I can’t recall it without looking at my notes (and I ain’t gonna get up right now while I am on a roll). They want to create incoming generation, nutrition, resource specific (dams to keep the river out/wells to bring the water in) solutions. Speaking of large nuts. The director feels that the CéréAmine/ feeding center/ women’s coop combination may work into their plans. The USAID grain that is sent from the States has a few problems. Apparently, there can be too much time from creation to consumption and after awhile it goes bad. Thusly, a locally produced product (like CéréAmine) fits directly into their goals and is required by their budget. Humdulilah! Douda and I were high 5’ing as we left; my heart was doing a little jig. I knew I was on to something. I am back on track. Third appointment, the French Red Cross….Again we hit a home run. Currently they are focused on the severely malnourished throughout parts of the South. However, in their goals for 2009 is an integrated program like CéréAmine, Feeding Centers/ Women’s cooperatives. Nutrition and income generation all rolled up into one program says integrated to moi. Inshallah, their 2009 budget isn’t decimated due to the global market crash and the coup d’etat. Isn’t it always something. All in all, a good day. Life is good. I have another couple of contacts to make thanks to my friend at USAID. One of which actually has feeding centers up here in the North and could turn out to be actual work for me. The southern centers will be for another volunteer to tackle. Time will tell how those connections will pan out. At the end of the day, while in Nouakchott I receive a text that I have a meeting set for just after I return with the CéréAmine Atelier and Les Enfants Du Desert. There seems to be a problem with the flavor. What? Once I return to Atar the reported problem with CéréAmine varies from flavor, to the children becoming ill, to the cost. What the hell? Okay, this is starting to feel too much like work. The meeting is set for Monday at 4 pm. That morning Muhammad, Kerry and I have a strategy meeting. We feel it can’t be the flavor because all of us eat it and none of us have detected a whit of change from one batch to the next. If it’s cost, that is understandable. Between the crash in the global markets AND the coup d’etat, donations to Mauritania are really, really, really down. But, again, I have a strategy for this as well. And finally, children aren’t getting diarrhea from the CéréAmine. They can be getting diarrhea from flies, lack of sanitation and the low usage of soap. Heck, that’s how I get it every other minute. Okay, lets just say the meeting spirals out of control when one of my women accuses one or all (I am not really sure as most of the interaction was in Hassaniya and the translator couldn’t keep pace with the barbs being thrown) of the responsables (managers) at the center being a thief. Everyone tries to maintain calm at the beginning. Everone tries to keep their composure. In their defense, the women from the Atelier sat there for a long while during which time the responsables cast aspersions at the quality of their product. They were also at a disadvantage and I am sure frustrated, as none of them speak French (always my frustration) so thusly couldn’t address Genevieve directly. My counterpart must have known the meeting would turn contentious because he brought an outsider in to translate so that he would not be accused of misrepresenting what was said (as he works directly with the Atelier) Genevieve came into the meeting determined to keep her commitment to the cooperative. She has agreed to by 100K a month for the Oudane centers and 150 K per month for poor families in Atar, but is dropping CéréAmine,from the Atar centers. After 1.5 hours, the gang from Les Enfants du Desert did their best not to storm out. Holy Crap. How am I going to piece this relationship back together? Douda will be coming up to Atar in a few and I am hoping that we can get an audience with Genevieve. Actually, I am not worried that she won’t see us. She loves me. I hope between our calm and Douda’s perfect French, we can actually get to the crux of the matter. It couldn’t have been the CéréAmine making the kids ill otherwise most if not all would have been ill. We actually had a nurse at the meeting who stated this and the responsables accused her of taking sides. (did I mention that that meeting was something to behold?) If it was just the flavor, I can’t imagine that she’d cut us out so quickly. I am hoping it’s the money issue and that can be resolved by finding some alternate sources for her; a influx of Euros or a years supply of powered milk. I know an awful lot of NGO’s at the moment. If she really thought the product was bad, would she keep buying it? I think not. But she can’t very well turn her back on her responsables. She has invested a lot in them and they have the daily responsibly of running all of her centers. Plus, they have been with her since the beginning. My problem is with the responsables. How can I win them back after the Atelier I represent called them thieves? (or some of them thieves—still not sure) The contention is that the reason some of the responsables are resisting CéréAmine is that before, when they were delivered rice, corn, oil, sugar, powered milk, there was room for skimming off of the top. With CéréAmine, the opportunity is diminished. One, who will remain nameless, said that this rumor has been floating around for awhile, but as it wasn’t his/her affair so she/he never said anything to LEDD. However, now that it has a direct impact, they are quick to accuse. Unfortunately, now that they have skin in the game, their accusations are less effective because they have something to gain (or lose). Didn’t this logic give me something to ponder? It’s somehow okay to rip off an NGO. Skim a little here; skim a little there is alright. But let it hit home, then the roof comes off the building. I will admit, there have been my fair share of paperclips and post-it notes that were not used for strictly MHC business, I guess people in glass houses. Needless to say, the last couple of days have been tough for me. The truth, as usual, probably lies somewhere in between the issues. But the Skim here, skim there; take from WFP, LEDD; the endless donne moi cadeaux are weighing heavily on my soul. A woman who I had thought was my friend gave me no warning to this brewing storm so that I could try to avert it. And then, wouldn’t look me in the eyes when she walked into the meeting. (I am not referring to Genevieve; she gave me a wonderful warm hug) It just drove home the fact that I am still a stranger, a nassranyia, a toubab in this place. On the brighter note, the heat has broken. I still sleep outside, but in flannel pj’s and under a big fleecy blanket. Little Miss Kitty who I would have thought would have long since met her demise is still here as is her kitten who I have seen since before I went to France in July. We often share a meal. Also, Chateau Deatrick as resume production. Cheers from here,

Wow, it has been a long time since I have posted anything. And it's going to be a bit longer. I am still not back in Atar from my trip to the US. I have taken the long road, so to speak. By long road, I mean, extended time in Nouakchott before I brave the rugged Peace Corps life outside of the luxuries of the capital. Due to some brilliant opportunties to present CereAmine to a number of NGO's headquartered in Nouakchott, I have managed to extend my stay for a few extra nights. I actually got the opportuntity to watch the election results live which was a treat as I missed the Olympics, the World Series and the SuperBowl, just to name a few. Fear not, I should get home tomorrow.

Until next time.

Adieu.

Damn, July did slip by. It's August. Evidently, time does fly by when you are having fun. Being that it's August, let the countdown begin. Just 17 more days will my birthday. Gets those cards and letters in the mail. Cheers from here

I don’t want to let July slip by without making a post. To be honest, I have not been too terribly inspired. The heat in the Sahara melts away anything cleaver from my brain before it can blossom into a story. In the last week a number of pcv’s have come up for a visit (why they would come here in July vexes me, but they do) Anyway, to a person, each gets out of the car and remarks on how hot it is up here. Far hotter then their sites. What the hell! Wow is that depressing. I knew it was hot, but I just assumed everywhere here was hot. Christ, everyone is always talking about how hot Nema is. Apparently not. Lucky me living in the furnaces for hell.

So as I have nothing witty to tell, let’s just go with some news. Atar utilities are on the border between very challenging and untenable at the moment. The electricity has been out since I arrived back from France coupled with inconsistent Water. To be factual, I now have power from about midnight to 8 – 9 in the AM. However, that isn’t really very useful. So, I have unplugged my refrigerator (that which keeps me sane) until such time that I can actually use it. What is the point of having things cold when you can’t open the door to get them out…or put things in? Grrrrooooowwwwl.

France was Paradise. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to sit around a table, eating delicious food, drinking lovely wine and talking with friends and family. It has been so long since I have been able to hang out with those of my ilk and it felt great. I went to the Cote D’Azur, Paris and the Cote D’Emeraud. (pull out your maps) All were lovely and picturesque. The French were warm and charming…even the bloody waiters.

It was a trip of firsts. I got to sit in the cockpit when we landed in Orly. Holy crap that was exciting. Someday, over cocktails, I’ll tell you the story of how that came to pass. It’s quite good and not fit for prying eyes who read blogs not for enjoyment but checking for appropriate content. A woman needs her secrets and mystery, don't you think?

I also ate Stingray wing for the first time in my life. It was quite tasty with a lemon butter caper sauce.

At the end, I spent a few days in the Netherlands with my good friends Lydia and William. We didn’t venture far but I had a great time. They live in a bucolic area with enormous Belgian’s as their neighbors. The cows in the Netherlands are incredibly lazy creatures. We passed field and field of ladies in repose which is something I am not sure I have seen before. W & L assures me that that is why Dutch dairy products are so delicious…relaxed, happy bovines. I have to tell you, at first glace I thought the livestock in Europe was quite portly. Each field we past in both France and Holland were full of rolly polly beasts with big butts and bellys. How could they possibly hold up their great hulk with those stubby legs. I suddently realized how accustomed I have become to seeing only severly emaciated animals. My heart broke a little.

But back to the food, I have to give a shout out to the best meal that I had while in France. For my last dinner in Paradise, Emmanuel, Janet and I went to a little restaurant that is adjacent to the train station in their village of Gif. Les Sauvages Saveurs. It’s been written up quite a number of times and has some Michelin stars yet my family had not been there yet. We started with Carpaccio soaked in Asian spices (read gingery), followed by a Filet of Lieu (another funny story) on a mound of sweet potato puree, surrounded by gnocchi and drizzled with a creamy ginger sauce………..Oh MaMa! For desert we had a Crème something or other. It was a mound of sweet, creamy goodness with a light ginger glaze surrounded by rounds of candied ginger. Yes I can remember each bite lo these many days later. I pray that they are still around when I next return to Gif.

The next day, I hop on a flight back to Nouakchott-got bumped to 1st class again. Okay, coming back wasn’t too bad. I went out for coffee, pizza, beer, wine….all the treats the capital has to offer. I also paid a visit to the dentist to have my permanent crown installed (is that the word). Things were going so far so good.

The following day I took a long taxi brousse back to Atar and its useless utilities and storm aftermath. I tell ya, after seeing the sight of my house, which was full of sand and my hyma which was all a kilter from a storm; I nearly headed back to the airport. But I didn’t. I chose the next best thing; I threw a little tantrum. Just for a little bit though as I had to pull myself together what with my new sitemates (5 new in Atar, 10 new to the Adrar) arriving in just a few hours. I felt compelled to greet them with a modicum of enthusiasm. I think I pulled it off. However, they would be a better judge of my success.

So now, I am spending far too much time on facebook. Is it me or is it the slowest bloody site on the web?

Later today I am off to Nouakchott for a few days for our MTR (mid term reconnect) then down to Rosso to teach a session on CereAmine to the new volunteers.

Cheers from here

This past weekend I helped with another CereAmine training in a town about 1.5 hours from here called Aoujeft or Owjeft or Aujeft, take your pick. The spelling changes from sign post to sign post. Aoujeft is a town that by my impression, is being engulfed by sand dunes, at least, the old part of town where I spent all of my time. I have not been so physically uncomfortable since I got out of Stage in Boghe, and you all remember how miserable that was. It’s hard to believe that that misery was just one year ago. The year feels like a lifetime and yesterday all at once. The trainer, Zeina and I left on Thursday evening in a very comfy ride. Comfy is defined as the car only having 4 passengers rather than the requisite 6. The ride took longer than expected because it seemed as though we were driving around in circles out in the dunes just a few kilometers out of town. I could see the town but we couldn’t quite seem to make it. The driver wasn’t lost, we were merely dropping some fella off out in the middle of nowhere. We finally arrive and everyone notices that Zeina is 8 months, 4 weeks, 5 days and 36 hours pregnant. How did I miss that? (go to the flickr photos and see if you can pick out the pregnant woman) I know that in the South, in the African culture, one doesn’t mention someone’s pregnancy. You don’t want to attract God’s wrath. It is the same reasoning behind having bridesmaids in a wedding, to confuse the evil spirits. I am not sure if the same goes in the Moor culture, so to be safe, we don’t say anything.

First thing we do after we arrive is deposit Zeina at our counterpart, Amenitou’s house. Amenitou is a cross between the Energizer Bunny and Joan Rivers. It felt odd to just leave Zeina at a house of strangers, but I am assured that that is how it is done here. And considering how pregnant she is, I was fairly certain she didn’t want to trudge up and down any more sand dunes than necessary. So off we go, Jolene, Heather and I, to organize for the next day. Thankfully, a Peace Corps vehicle had come through Atar on its way out to Aoujeft a couple of weeks before and I could send the grains along with them. To your door service in and Land Rover is far, far superior to lugging 39K over wretched sand dunes on foot. So the 3 of us take some time, sit down, and go over our game plan. We trudge back up the sand dunes for dinner at Amenitou’s house and then trudge back down to Jolene’s for some shut eye, dripping puddles of sweat all along the way. Amenitou did not join us for dinner as she was orchestrating the movement of a sand dune.

Yes, the town is moving a sand dune. Apparently, this particular dune is the route into town and had become too steep which made entering Aoujeft treacherous. As I hadn’t seen the beginning of this project, I couldn’t really wrap my brain around what and how this was being accomplished, or actually if anything was being accomplished. But nonetheless, great hordes of folks would gather on the offending dune each evening around sunset, many with shovels and rice sacks, and many just for what appeared to be moral support. Those with shovels shoveled and those with rice bags dragged them loaded with sand away until late, late in the evening. Mind you, they didn’t move the sand far, just to the side, or bottom of the dune. I suspect that the next good wind storm will put all of the sand right back to where Mother Nature had so carefully placed it before, but what do I know.

So we are back at Jolene’s for some shut eye with the alarm set for bright and early. I take a quick shower, in the yard (more on the facilities later) to wash off the sand and sweat and cool myself down so that I can fall into deep slumber. I need my beauty rest as Heather and I are to slog back up the damn dune to pick up Zeina and escort her to the training location. Jolene’s task was to organize the movement from the grains that are being stored at the Jardin des Enfants to the training location.

Jolene’s place is astonishingly Spartan. She has no electricity, no source of water (well or robinet) and no toilet; although every other house I visited in Aoujeft had at a minimum of 2 of those 3 luxuries. For water, one must walk across a sand lot to the Jardin Des Enfants to fill your 20L bidon at their spigot and drag the blasted thing back. For nature’s call, during daylight hours, one goes back to the Jardin to use that toilet. During darkness, one merely pees in the yard. God knows what happens if one had to do any real business in the middle of the night. Or worse, what would one do if one was stricken, as we so often are, with some nasty intestinal crud ? I suppose one would just lay in the Kindergarden yard and hope for death or health, which ever came first. Luckily I didn’t have to face that dilemma. She also has no wall to speak of surrounding her compound, so I am rather sure a few of the neighborhood goats cuddled up with me during the night. And lastly, she has no roof. Well, she has a roof, but not one that would hold the weight of a slumbering body. So we had to lie in the yard which is oddly, not covered with sand, but with boulders. I am still asking myself, and anyone else I can find, how she has lived like this for 2 years

At any rate, I am clean and damp so I fall asleep. But not for long, as soon as I dry I am drenched in sweat. I haven’t been this hot at night since last summer in my beloved Boghe. Oh how I longed for my rooftop perch. Being up on the roof gets you up into the breeze and up off the sand and its store of ambient heat from the searing hot, Saharan sun. It is easily 10 degrees cooler up on a roof. I pass the night tossing and turning on the rocks, slick with my own sweat and snuggled with my goats. As you can imagine, I sure was bright-eyed the next morning.

Day 1: Friday the 13th

It was blistering hot. Bright and early, Heather and I trudge up the dunes to fetch the trainer as scheduled. But there is no one home. We trudge to a neighbor’s house where we ran into the rest of the participants the previous evening. No one home there either. We trudge back to Aminetou’s house to pilfer her kitchen equipment and trudge yet again, back down to the training facility. Let me clarify, this training facility is a vacant house owned by Aminetou. It’s 7:30 am and we are drenched with sweat. We arrived at the training locale and many of the women had gathered, quite early by RIM standards. We had suggested that the training start at 8 am but it seemed that Aminetou had scheduled it for 9 am so we waited for the rest of the women to arrive. By that time, the sun had taken over most of the courtyard (see flickr photos) and we were pressed into the little shade left against the walls. With great relief, unlike the first training, these ladies embraced the soap. We had to buy more for the second day. They would rinse, lather and repeat, all the way to their elbows, between each step and before and after each meal. It was such a relief. I only had to become cranky pants at one or two women on only a couple of occasions.

We spent the day cleaning, washing, roasting grains and getting to know each other. It was a physically miserable, miserable day. I was filthy and my eyes were red and swollen from the sweat that dripped off my brow all day. I think I made a faux pas though at the end. It’s kind of hard to tell as the women spoke Zero French and I speak Zero Hassaniya (yet again). Also, the cadence and tone of their language makes it incredibly difficult to decipher mood. They might just as easily be telling you off as wishing you a happy birthday; Hassaniya is just harsh on the ears. My error was that I took a bucket bath right next to the cistern. I just threw my BouBou over the doorway for a bit of privacy and rinsed off. As I always have soap in my purse, it was easy peasy. In my defense, I saw one of the RIM ladies doing it earlier in the day…so I figured what the heck. I was desperate to get the sweat, sand and grim off of me and cool down. Add to that the fact that I didn’t want to spend any more time in the toilet at that house then absolutely necessary and you can see my rational and motivation to bath where I did. My clue that I might have done a no-no was that when Heather went to follow suit, she was shooed into the nasty bathroom. Ah well.

We finally broke about 6:30. Heather, Jolene and I go back to Jolene’s place to reorganize for the next day, sort out the money and receipt so that every ouguiya is accounted for, and relax a bit. We trudge up the sand dune yet again, for dinner, which was served really late. We weren’t entirely sure we were going to get dinner. While we were sitting around on the natte out on a sand dune waiting, the cook took a 45 minute nap. Also, the women who came from out of town were suppose to be eating with us but they were no where to be seen. We had been told by Aminetou to purchase a kilo of meat to feed everyone, but no one was there. Then when the plate finally came, there was so little meat on it, we were suspicious. Where did all of that meat go? As Aminetou was on Sand Dune duty, there was no way to find out. When I am working with HCN’s I am often confused as to the who, what, where, when and most perplexing, the why of things. For example, we tried all day to explain to the women that we needed more equipment to work with. They had been given a list, in Arabic, of items needed. And further, the PC Staff went over the list again, when he delivered the grains, in fluent Hassaniya. Yet, after all of that, we didn’t have nearly enough tubs, bowls or Marmit’s (the big cooking pots). One of the difficulties setting up a training where the women travel in from surrounding villages is that you can't ask them to lug along all of their kitchen equipment. Therefore you have to rely on the women that live locally to empty out their kitchen. Which didn't seem to happen, Jolene ended up empting out her and her neighbor's kitchen. To avoid this problem for the next day, before we broke for the evening, the trainer explained that we needed more large vessels and sifters for the following day. After dinner, we trudged back home to bath in the yard and go to bed.

What happened in during the night? The wind kicked up and a sandstorm took hold. Evidently, Allah wanted her sand back where she put it. Being far too hot to go inside, we just suffered through it. Truth be told, I was too tired to be conscious enough to suffer. I’d just wake up every once in a while, reposition on the boulders and try to keep the sheet wrapped tightly around my head to keep the sand out. In my book, sand and wind are far superior to heat and sweat. Heather urgently disagrees. The direction of the wind was from my feet so it kept blowing up my neck and into my nose. If I would have had any sense I would have turned around….but I didn’t. I just tried to sleep. Besides, I already knew the comfy spots between the boulders. Although I had the sheet folded into 8ths, just to protect my head, every time I moved, a shower of sand would come sifting through the fibers onto me. What a night. What a mess. Another bleary-eyed morning.

Day 2:

We show up in the am and once again, most women were there bright and early. They had already started the tea and were awaiting a bowl of CereAmine. To that end, they proceed to light the charcoal to heat up two enormous pots. This seemed premature to me as we hadn’t finished making it yet, which we try to convey, but no one was listening. It's like herding cats. Then, in walks Aminetou. She flips out (at least I think she did) about the coals being started and possibly that we were sitting around and hadn’t started working yet. (At least I think those were the problems, as I said, it was all in Arabic). The coals made sense to me but the not starting work did not as the flour had not been delivered from the miller and we couldn’t do anything until after that happened. She was speaking very, very, very harshly to everyone, (or wishing us happy birthday) I tried to calm her down with a bit of success. She calmed down for a bit, but she flared up again. The poor woman needs more sleep, we all needed more sleep. The flour finally arrived with a receipt larger than anticipated. I quickly pull out my phone (it has a calculator) to figure out the problem. This is another tricky part of doing projects. One has to be careful that the resources are being spent and distributed appropriately and not lining the pockets of a favored relative or vendor. And 32kg at 40 um per Kilo is not 1500um. With one issue pending about last night’s meat, I wanted to make sure that all knew that I was keeping track of each Ouguiya. After that, and many a ruffled feather, we started working.

And no, there was no more equipment brought for the mornings work. Arrrggghhh. It is so difficult to get a straight answer or give a directive around here. Just trying to record the participant’s names and birth years is impossible. Heather explained that many don’t know their birth year but I am not buying it. Everyone in this country has to carry an ID card and present it at every check point and their birth years must be on that card. My belief is that the women were just messing with us. I will confess, I am not keen to shout out my birth year anymore. So they were probably having a few laughs at my expense. It certainly isn’t the first time in my life that has happened and I am confident it won’t be the last. Honestly, teasing is a way of life here. I suppose they believe that the levity eases the stress. Fo me, on this particular day, not so much. Ir was yet one more straw to the camel’s back of communication challenges. As they say, timing is everything.

As for equipment, come to find out that those handy dandy “high tech” sifter (they look like a big can with wire on the bottom) are not used in the villages, that’s only for city folk In the villages, they just tie a mulafa over the tub (see flickr photos) and push the flour through. It all worked.

About 10, in the middle of the sifting, they finally start heating up the CereAmine. At this point we have an accident. As one woman was carrying the Marmit to a more protected place, out of the sand storm, she turned and in the process she sloshed boiling water all over another’s hand. I chased the burned hand around trying to pour cool water on it. Said victim finally slowed down and lets me do it. I then had to get some ice. Glace is what it’s called. I try to get someone to point me in the direction of a boutique that has a working freezer. I pulled out a 100 um and they gave it to a kid who hurries off. Kid returns and I get the wounded one to sit and hold the ice on the burn for awhile. No more did we settle down from the burn then one of the little one’s came in the room howling. Lots of snot, crocodile tears and cries of agony. She had been stung by a scorpion between her toes. Poor little thing. I took the ice from the burn victim, she’d had it on 20 minutes, and put it on the little one’s foot. They all looked at me as if I was nuts. I tried to explain that it won’t fix the sting but it will help with the pain, at least that is what our first aid handbook recommends. Scorpion sting care was the first paragraph that I read. I hope to never put it to use on myself. I pulled out the change from the 100um and send another child off for another chunk of ice. The silver lining, all of these accidents provided us the perfect opportunity for a first aid lesson.

We finally finished sifting the CereAmine about 11. Time for a little celebration. Drums, dance, laughter. All the while, the sand storm is blowing outside.

After that we spend an hour or so going over our lessons: “What is CereAmine and how does it improve the Mauritanian diet”, Sanitation, the all new Burn Care, and Setting the cost of the product.

Next we gave out Certificates and the booklets. Interestingly, somehow there were more certificates being written then there were women in the room.

These trainings are an emotional roller coaster. Most of the time they are fun, but there is also alot of stress involved in corralling, cajoling and managing a large group of Mauritanian women particularly with no common language. There is also the problem with allocation of resources, primarily food. Within a family or a cooperative every little thing is scrupulously divided equally. It feels almost fanatical they way the portion and reportion the plates of food so that everything is equal. The women spend a good deal of time doing this before each meal. It is so important, that in my family in Boghe, once the plate was portioned, it was then inspected by my Mother who inevitably, moved a tad from here to there. But get outside the sphere of family, coop or tribe and it’s becomes brutal free-for-all. I have had the pleasure to attend 3 GMC closings this spring and each one of them turned to chaos as soon as snacks were served. We serve enough snacks so that each girl can have a piece of fruit, a little cake and a couple of cookies, you know, what you’d normally do at a party. Well at these parties, some of the girls took handfuls. Some were hording. It's not that all or even the majority acted so badly. It's that those who were acting so badly did so unblushingly and with absolutely no shame. I had to ask a couple of girls to open their mulafa and I took back 6 bananas and scores of the little prepackaged cakes. In Tawaz, some of the big girls bullied the younger girls into giving them their portion. Many times, these were their big sisters. The debacle left me so flustered and annoyed with the girls that I didn’t get any photos of the younger girls making bracelets which in hindsight, I regret. I can’t imagine that my older sisters would force me into forking over my goodies at a party. And if they had tried to take my food, I know I wouldn’t have given it up without a tussle. And it’s not just the girls; there was a similar incident at a recent gathering of grown women in NKC. When the cans of evaporated milk for the coffee, were placed on the table some of the women procured them all and put them in their purses. Mind you, the cans had already been opened. So these ladies must have had evaporated milk spilled all over the contents of their bags. Consequently, there was no cream for the coffee. Giving out snacks is awful. It feels like I am on the back of a truck like you see on the news, unloading supplies at a refugee camp and everyone is pushing, crowding and grabbing whatever they can. (Note to self, not the job for me). Needless to say, it is disturbing to witness seemingly sweet girls who were just working together beautifully turn unabashedly greedy.

This all leads back to Aoujeft, and since we are training women from various cooperatives, we are keen to be sure that everyone gets an equal amount of all that there is to divvy up. Being from the outside, I don’t really know where the power lies in this group, this community. So, when things seem suspicious, like where did all of that meat go, why did I pay more for the milling than I should have, where are all of the kilo’s of CereAmine, it sends up a few red flags that I feel I should heed. But worry not, all was well. The meat did get where it was suppose to, everyone was fed and the milling costs worked out as well.

Finally, lunch is served. I should have taken a photo. The plates contained more meat and vegetables then you would ever find in a Mauritania home even in the best of times. Food is cooked here to a temperature that would melt gold. Everything is brought to a molten, furious boil. The plate was a molten pile of Orzo pasta. I dug my hand in and promptly withdrew it as the food was way, way, way, way, way to hot to hold. Hymie Hotta! So I just sit there, I am sure it will cool down this century. Besides, it’s really too hot to eat anyway. The woman sitting next to me tore apart a nearby box to fan my portion. I dig in again. Wow, still way to hot. She then teaches me the correct method for eating molten food with your hand. You fan it, then scrap up just the first cooled layer, ball it and pop it in your mouth. She balls it up and handed it to me. I take it and pop it into my mouth. I then attempt this feat for myself, scraping the top layer of pasta into my hand to ball. And I can’t. Pasta is impossible to ball. I just shove the handful, sloppily into my mouth. Seeing my struggle, my neighbor proceeds to hand me pre-made balls for nearly every bite I get. I nearly fall over laughing. It was just like being transported back to training, but in Boghe, they just handed me a spoon. (see flickr photos, my savior is in the photo titled “Group Shot” in the solid white mulafa on the far front right).

The sandstorm persisted the rest of the afternoon. I finally pull into Atar that evening tired, hungry and filthy, but very happy to be home sweet home.

Cheers from here,

I am leaving for France next week so you won't be hearing from me for awhile.

Video footage of a segment on the food crisis and Mauritania with video footage:

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/business/jan-june08/food_04-29.html

There is also a commercial on local arabic tv by Mattel, the cell phone company that was just released that has spectacular footage of Mauritania. It's filmed so beautifully, you'll want to come visit. Heck it made me rethink the place. I'll try to find it and post it. However, if someone finds it first, please forward it on to me.

Cheers from here

ps, posting more photos and a little video clip on flickr

Okay, so today, I was feeling really cocky. Like, hey, I’m cool; I’ve got this Mauritanian thing whipped, Yeah, I am invincible. Yeah, I am in the toughest post in Peace Corps, but I’m OKAY. I was up with the sun. Did some laundry; did some dishes; set out on a long, long walk and was back while it was still reasonably cool and not too late to eat breakfast at breakfast time.

Yeah, I was feeling pretty sassy. If not a little sweaty, so into the shower I go. I’ve got some time on my hands because for once, I have no where to be all day. So I shampoo, luffa, exfoliate with ginger, pumice my heels, the whole shebang. Man do I have the PC gig wired, I can actually feel refreshed and spiffy clean with a bucket bath in a Turkish toilet. Did I mention that I am invincible? To put the cherry on the sundae, I dump the remaining water in the bucket down the toilet so it has that extra clean, extra fresh ginger fresh (the exfoliating scrub) scent. As I lift the bucket, a scorpion comes out from beneath and runs over my naked, wet foot. It takes a second for me to register that it is not just a big roach, disgusting in and of itself. Once I do, I start hopping around like a mad woman. Holy Christ! I bludgeoned the little devil with a makaresh severing the dreaded tail. He wasn’t too big, maybe a couple of inches long, but in this instance, size does not matter. I nearly have a heart attack. Thank god it didn’t sting e. 2 seconds after I think I have this whole deal under control, Africa sends me a little sompin sompin that scares the wits out of me.

Cheers from here,

Happy Mother’s Day/Memorial Day and we landed another Rover on Mars. GO NASA!

Well this is quite a weekend. Yesterday was Mother's Day here in the RIM. It didn't appear to be much of a holiday for the mothers. The children were out of school and all the businesses were closed, thus mom was stuck monitoring the children and cooking a big feast for everyone in the household. This seemed to be quite a gyp (is that a slur on gypsy’s? And I just learned that gypsy’s is a slur on Egyptians. Who knew?) and a little backwards, if you ask me. The RIM could use a good CoCos for which to take Mom to brunch.

And today, I just remembered, is Memorial Day. Oh, all of those outdoor BBQ's that must be going, adding to your carbon footprint. I am very jealous to be missing the BBQ and the Indy 500.

Also, today was the first day that working at the Feeding Center. To be perfectly candid, I was apprehensive about this commitment I had made to Genevieve. I recall quite vividly my one and only babysitting experience. I HATED it. You may not know that about me, but I don't really like little children. Let me rephrase that. I am more comfortable and would rather do the physical work associated with little kids than sitting down on the floor and play tinker toys with them. So, I show up at the center hoping to just dive into cleaning, weighing, cooking, medicine dolling, etc........But no, I introduce myself and my intention and am thusly escorted to the room full of 40ish kids. I am then given my very own group of 8 3-4 year olds and a big wooden train puzzle. These 8 little darlings (well and frankly the whole room of 40) look at me as if I am about to eat them for breakfast. Mind you that there have been a number of French volunteers that have come through this center, months at a time, from October till about a month ago; so why this (my) new toubab face is frightening, I can not say. Anyway, we attempt this puzzle together for a bit. I try to get their names but can’t. Between the noise of the other children and the hard to pronounce Arabic names, and yet again, our lack of a common language, I can’t get a one. I do manage to tell them that my name is Sharon and not Nassraniya. Back to the puzzle. How in the hell do you teach someone the strategy of puzzling. Okay, I try, in vain, to explain that the wheels on the train should always be on the bottom, making it a bit easier to figure out which way the puzzle pieces should fit. Neither should the cows shouldn’t be upside down, nor the boat, nor the sheep, again, a clue as to the correct positioning of the piece. Mind you, they speak only Hassaniya and I can't get any of that idea conveyed in French. I am lacking this very specific vocabulary: puzzle, piece, upside down, turn it over, other way, a little to the left, right center, position, shape, wheels, caboose, engine, get your fingers out of your nose, etc. Needless to say, we had a tough time with this little puzzle. I don't believe they had ever done a puzzle prior to my arrival. Then, happily, saved by the bell. Genevieve showed up and there were clearly some doings in the office that I should look in on. Yippee, up I jump to the office.

After about 15, she leaves, I return to my post as the Puzzlemeister, and my crew of 8. Well, apparently they have done this puzzle before-many times- because when I returned they had torn it apart and reassembled it sans moi, in perfect order with no bloodshed. What next you ask? We proceed to do the puzzle a couple more times. After a bit, the center manager comes over to observe the proceedings and give her input on puzzle strategy. Let’s just say that she is far more severe in her puzzling. Puzzling is apparently a much more serious endeavor then I had naively thought. She also had way more vocabulary with which to express her strategy, because they hopped to it. “We’ll have no shenanigans during this round of the puzzle”.

Somewhere along the line we, me and the 3 year olds, start discussing (using the term very loosely) body parts: Nose, Eyes, Ears, Mouth, Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes. You see where I am going with this don't you? Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes, Head Shoulders, Knees and Toes, Knees and Tooooooes. Eyes and Ears and Mouth and Nose. Head Shoulders Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes. Well, I can't exactly get a rousing chorus going but we manage to get through it a couple of times. The little ones are having as difficult time pronouncing and memorizing the body parts as I was their names. They are intently watching my mouth to see exactly how one says “mouth”. At this English lesson, I even have staff’s attention. Let me assure you, "shoulders" is really difficult for the Mauritanian tongue to handle. And Mouth? I considered Mlouf a success.

At this point it’s 10 am, time for a meal. I am not sure if this meal is considered breakfast or lunch, so let's settle on brunch. Brunch consisted of CereAmine. (Yahoo) I think I explained in my "Day in the Life” blog about how children eat here. They certainly don't take 3 bites, walk away, come back in 10 minutes, take 3 more bites, walk away, watch TV, come back take 3 more bites as my young niece and nephews did, leaving soggy bowls of cereal on the counter all morning and prolonging the meal for hours. This food is wolfed down. If they don’t wolf it down or don’t appear to be serious about ingesting this repast, their cup taken away and given to another child to relish or at least wolf down. These tikes eat every drop, scraping the bottom and shaking the bowls to get every little morsel. Okay, so brunch is over in 10 minutes flat.

The Big News. Over the course of the morning, I have managed to fall in love. In my group of 8 3-4 year olds is the most beautiful cherub I have ever laid eyes on. I think 3 is the perfect age, just a wee bit independent and just a weep bit clingy and still small enough to lift easily. I can’t tell if it is a boy or a girl. It is dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, so my impression is that he is a boy. He has shortish curly brown hair, a round belly, enormous brown eyes and the longest doe lashes you have ever laid eyes on. Finally he lifts up his sweatshirt to reveal a frilly t-shirt underneath. And, it appears, through my acute observation, that except for this one little boy in my group of 8 girls, all of the other groups are segregated by sex. So now I assume she is a girl. Not that it matters, because we have fallen in love. After lunch she sits nearly on top of me and I can barely take my eyes off of her. But enough romance.

Brunch is over. Let the drumming and dancing can begin. Drumming and dancing are forbidden before the brunch. I was told that we would get no quiet learning done if that rule wasn’t imposed as the girls would prefer to dance all day. The boys, not so much. They were, as to be expected, reticent about this whole, getting up in public, dancing business. But out come the tomtoms, which are plastic buckets turned upside down, and the rhythm takes over the room. Doe eyes stays very close to me; I clap and she dances. The others come too. I am the piedpiper.

Well about 11:15 and it’s time to say goodbye. One mother arrives and she promptly joins into the dancing. Another mother arrives and dances too. I assume this pickup process will take 30 – 40 minutes as the mother’s arrive to collect their little ones. But no, in mass, the remaining 40ish, 3-4 year olds leave ALONE. They just step through the gate into the road, heading home on the streets with only their little selves for protection, company and sound judgment. I gasp; my heart does a little flip; as does my stomach. I wasn’t at the center early in the morning to see them arrive alone, so I had forgotten that part of my stage life with the children in my family in Boghe. Children here are out in the roads playing alone, or being attended by a slightly older sibling as soon as they can walk. They are sent to the market to fetch such and such or to neighbors to deliver such and such as soon as they can walk surefooted. It is very, very, very difficult to witness coming from the land where little ones are coddled to the point of removing lead paint, mommy and me classes and car seats. I will need to brace myself, steel my heart for Wednesday’s mass exedux, my second day as Puzzlemeister, for this rough side of Life in the RIM.

The center manager, Fatematou, is very nice, patient with my french and unruffled by the chaos of 40 children. She seemed pleased with my interaction and presence and she said that she was glad to have me there…so all in all, a grand success.

Cheers from here,

Check out my new Photos on Flickr

Check it out, I uploaded some more photos onto flickr.

http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/news/issue.cfm?id=2396

This is a good link with both uplifting and distressing news. It was sent to me by our newly reinstalled USAID Program Manager who I had the pleasure of breakfasting with yesterday. Note that Mauritania is smack dab in the middle of the Sahel.

There's been quite a lull in the action as of late which is what I find the most challenging about being in the Peace Corps- aside from the poverty and the heat. I get on real highs when the CereAmine training is active, the feeding center is active and it appears as though something is about to happen. But the weeks of lull send me into a funk. Also, when I am working, I am spending lots of time with Mauritanians which makes me feel productive. If I am not working I don’t really get a chance to interact with them, as I don’t enjoy simply socializing. I love the interaction while we are doing something productive, flipping bean skins, roasting grains. But laying around, sweating, in culturally appropriate garb, trying to make small talk isn’t my idea of fun. I'd rather be home reading a book or writing a blog, or taking a nap. That is pretty much how I feel about doing it in the US as well. It just proves the adage, where ever you go, there you are!

Thankfully I have been a stay at home mom for the last 3-4 weeks with little Miss Kitty, and she has occupied me. But like the sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives. Yesterday, Miss Kitty moved to Chinguetti. The house seems very empty. I had to do my laundry without her help. The upside, I did manage to get an extra hour of sleep this morning. Hallelujah. I have been sleep deprived since I scooper her off of the road.

The big news, I ran into Genevieve aka Achia, 2 days ago on the Carrefour. She is the woman who runs Les Enfants Du Desert. Or rather she came in for a quick landing. I am not sure how much coffee she’d had, but she was really wired. She stopped her car in the middle of the road, hopped out, kissed me, then another women she knew drove up and also parked in the middle of the road then Genevieve proceeded to have a meeting in the middle of the rond point. I had a hell of a time hanging onto her French as she was speaking a mile a minute. I can speak African French and I get to feeling a little cocky until I try to have a conversation with a French person. Then my bubble is burst pretty quickly and I spiral into depression that I will never be able to speak this language. I did however; manage to get out that I wanted to put together a meeting with her, my counterpart and the women’s coops to discuss the CereAmine trial. She was ready to do it right then and there, but Morella wasn’t due back in town till that evening, so I opted for 10 am the next day, converging at the rond point. Then off she tears, nearly fishtailing out of the Carrefour, like a mad woman, or a woman on way, way too much caffeine.

Yet, from our brief conversation, I could tell that she had been doing her homework on CereAmine. She was a wealth of information; she even knew the price that the ladies and I had agreed would provide them a reasonable profit. She proceeded to explain all of the benefits to the holistic solution of CereAmine to the other lady who pulled up next to us. Man, this is a small town and/or wow, is she well connected. But okay, I have made some progress after lo these many weeks of stagnation. I have a meeting finally scheduled with her to discuss the trial, the trial that was suppose to start around Easter. At least I think that is what the meeting is for. After she drove away, I was left wondering if I was suppose to go ahead and set up the meeting with my counterpart and the women for 10 the next day.—or what? Oh well.

Fast forward to the next day. I helped Jessica get over to the Chinguetti garage with Kitty then hightailed it to the Carrefour for our rendez-vous. Where Morella and I sit. And sit. And sit. Crap I must have misunderstood our lieu de reunion. 10 am; Carrefour; demaine. How hard is that? I really need to get more sleep. We try to call, but her phone number hasn’t been working for weeks. Then, after about 30 minutes we see her blue SUV pull up at the rond point. Yeah, I didn’t miss understand, she was just running late. So we hop in her car and off we go. Where we are going, I have no idea; who we are seeing, I have no idea; but off she zooms. She drives directly to my counterpart’s office. Theyhave known each other for years and have apparently already spoken about the benefits of CereAmine both for the feeding center and the creation of income for the women’s cooperatives. She is completely onboard.

We scheduled a meeting the coops who will be producing the product for next week. She would also like to witness the actual production to ensure it is conducted in sanitary (a relative term) conditions. I also, want them to make each other aquaintance as I feel it is vital to creating a sustainable relationship between the two parties. Morella and I have explained to both my counterpart and Les Enfants du Desert that we do not want to be in the middle of the transaction. Again, Morella explained that the CereAmine, although we trained them, is the ladies product to sell. Providing all goes well, which it will, we should be in full production to make 120K of CereAmine for the 5/1 trial start. The trial has been expanded to two of the centers.

So once again, all is going well.

It has been awhile since my last post…frankly nothing much has changed. Kitten is growing and thriving. I am anxious to find her a home, although she is still really small and dependant.

We held the annual PC trash pick up/marathon a couple of weekends ago. I had thought I’d participate in the 20k walk but I found myself assigned to hand out water and bananas at kilometer 10. So there I sat, at the intersection of two small dirt roads outside of the little town of Azougi and believe you, me.....I was the local spectacle. Every person that passed slowed to examine my doings. I sat there for over an hour before the first runners/walkers showed up so the town folk couldn't imagine why i was sitting on the ground, in the road, wrapped in my blanket (it was a chilly breeze at 7am) doing a sodoku puzzle beside a tub full of plastic bags filled with water....just sitting at this intersection in the middle of nowhere, lazin away the day. And honestly, I didn't mind it a bit. I have become exceedingly patient in the last year.

A cultural exchange note, whenever you are out on the road, all drivers, to a car, unless it's filled with toubabs, will stop and ask if you need a ride. It has never,ever failed to happen. When i am out on my power walks, every car that passes, sometimes go a few yards, but inevitably stop, reverse and ask if I need a ride. That comes from living in this harsh climate. You'd never leave a soul stuck in the middle of the Sahara. Unless you are white, then you drive on by...

The marathon was a full of mixed emotions. 40+ RIM volunteers came up for the event, and sadly, it might be the last time we see some of them. The second year’s just went to their COS (close of service) conference and will be leaving over the spring/summer. Apparently, the time does fly.

As for the rest of my life and work, it’s pretty slow. The CereAmine trial still hasn’t started. I do not know if the lady who runs Les Enfants du Desert has returned from France. We stopped by a week or so ago and left her a note, but the wind could very easily have blown it away.

The weather is getting really hot. To give you an idea, it’s now 9 pm and the temperature on April 5th is 95 F. …………and now it’s 10:30 and 92 F. I think I can safely speak for all here, we are apprehensive about the summer heat and stillness. The Senegalese souvenirs hawkers are now gone, the teachers will leave as soon as the semester ends, mid June, and we will be left alone. Then comes the gethna, which is the date harvest. This is a time to party the night away amongst the date palms. It takes place sometime over the summer and brings in a whole new crowd. From what I hear of past experience, it's a trying experience. Volunteers have to reacquaint and reeducate the new inhabitants about who we are and what we do. Let's see if after nearly a year of this, I can muster the patience yet again for that task at 120 F. God help the poor fools.

I did well in my French class. I know because they announced the grades in front of everyone. Not only do they announce them but they make you guess who number 1 vs 2 vs 3 vs 4 vs 5 etc. I was flabbergasted. It’s apparently worse at real school. There, the grades are announced at an assembly which includes parents.

Anyway, that is all from me. Go see my new hyma on the flickr photos. I’ll tell you the story later.

Cheers from here

Well it was bound to happen. Kelsea and I were just minding our own business, finishing up a walk and at the very same time we hear this loud, disturbing cry. In unison we turn around and see this teeny, tiny kitten along the side of the road. We looked at each other and both thought “Crap”, feeling a little hoodwinked by fate. How she got there is a mystery, but we sure as heck knew that she didn’t get herself along the road. So we swooped her up and with reluctance brought her home. Reluctance, because neither of us wants a pet. I already have two little buddies waiting for me in San Diego. Thank you Jane. But what could we do? We are Peace Corps volunteers for Christ’s Sake. If we were capable of just walking on by we sure wouldn’t be living in Mauritania. Anyway, she is staying Chez Moi until she gets on her feet. I wasn’t sure she’d last through the first few days but she seems to be thriving. We started her out on milk, which seemed to work, at least for the first few hours. But it quickly turned ugly. She couldn’t digest it. She exploded from both ends. She spent an evening miserable and whimpering. I wasn’t sure she’d last the night. The next morning she refused to take any more milk so I thought we were sunk. There is no such thing as Science Diet or Purina here in Atar. Possibly Nouakchott, but not Atar. Never mind a vet. Thankfully, I had one of those precooked chicken packets left from a lovely package from the US. So I rinsed off the teriyaki marinade and offered it to her. I wasn’t sure she was big enough, but let me tell you, she got one whiff of it and nearly took my fingers off. At first I tried breaking it up into teeny tiny pieces, thinking that it would be easier for her. No such luck, all she could accomplish was to push the tiny pieces around with her whiskers. She isn’t big enough to get her mouth around her whiskers. Now we go for big hunks, which she can get a hold of. I put the little pieces into water, which entices her to drink water. Thank god I have the fridge because I was able to freeze most of the chicken packet and can thaw enough for her to eat each day. This one little packet should last her 4 days. I am the parent of a new born. I can hear her screaming for me from the bathroom, which makes it a little hard to relax and concentrate on the business at hand. She is so small that I don’t want to leave her alone for more than a couple of hours at a time. I have no idea how we are going to care for her especially when the summer hits and it is so interminably hot. That is a bridge we will cross in a bit. As the days wear on, she and I are becoming thick as thieves. It is nice to have a critter over here that is not absolutely terrified of us. Thankfully, everyone in the region is devoted to her as well, so inshallah, we can work out a suitable living arrangement. For now, I am just trying to keep her alive.

Cheers from here,

Ps It is hot as blazes here. Someone said 50 C today.

Undoubtedly, you will soon be receiving an invitation to my coronation as the Queen of CereAmine. I have just finished my 3rd training. To be more precise,1 training and 2 in a supervisory role, and I can toss the skins off of beans and hot peanuts with some finesse. To be candid, I didn’t expect too much or rather what I expected was much chaos for this particular session. Zeina had spent much of the original training in the tea maker role and didn’t seem very dynamic. To be fair, she was kind of the lone man out if that can be possible in this small town where everyone know, in infinite detail, everyone else. She was the only representative of a cooperative that was not a member of the Union of Women for Self Sufficiency. Her cooperative is a member in good standing of my counterpart’s lending institution. But I’ll be darned if she didn’t have the session really, really well organized. There was enough equipment so that everyone could work at full tilt and much was accomplished with half of the workers. As for the ingredients, we were a little heavy on the peanuts, this particular batch was 10,10,5,5,3 (should have been 2.5) but we always seem to lose a lot of peanuts during the grinding process. A substantial amount of the nuts don’t get ground finely enough to be siftable into the end product thus we end up with a pile of teeny but not teeny enough unusable peanuts. And, I ask you, can you have too many peanuts? Inshallah, it doesn’t throw off the proportions and destroy the complete protein aspect of the batch.

During the tea break Zeine read aloud from the booklet that Kristen so painstakingly created. This was refreshing, as the Union didn’t even bother to bring their copies along on our last batch. She also took fly control and hand washing seriously. It was helpful that her cooperative makes soap. When we arrived to do the final step all of the doors and windows were draped with old fabric. Flies hate darkness and a light breeze.

Also, I am getting a small vocabulary of Arabic, which was convenient because for this session we had no translator. Here’s some cultural exchange for your edification. Goomee means Move It, Hymee means Hot. Hymee is particularly useful when one is roasting grains for hours without hot mitts. Next time, I have got to remember to bring a dishtowel. The ladies simply use their mulafa’s for this purpose. Heck they use their mulafas for everything: hot mitts, dishtowel, handkerchiefs, bedding, baby butt wiper. But even with no translator we were able to communicate. I took on the afternoon session of roasting solo as Morella was previously engaged with a hand washing sensiblization. The washing lessons were to commemorate the opening of spanking new toilets at 3 local elementary schools built as a Peace Corps project. Even without Kristen, I was confident that I could supervise the roasting of the grains even without a common language. Thus “goomee, goomeee, goomee, hymee, hymee, hymee” translates to “stir it faster before it burns because the pan is really hot”.

It was a lovely afternoon and I finally feel that I am back on track with what I can accomplish here. The women respond to my silly nature. Whenever Zeine’s phone rang, her ring tone was reminiscent of 60’s beach rock, think “WipeOut”, I couldn’t help but dance. This, in turn, livened the mood and they, Ziene, Zeine, Mariam, Tarbe and Aicha proceeded to sing to me as we worked using plastic oil tubs as drums. At one point I was offered a lovely cadeau, gift. There was a beautiful new born girl, 2 months, with us and she is either mine for the taking or they have named her Sharon. I am still not sure which. Alas, nuance remains my problem. However, when asked if I was a Madame or Mademoiselle, this time I responded with Madame. It’s just easier. If word gets out, I’ll say that I got hitched over the weekend. It can happen that quickly around here. One of our neighbors (she’s Mauritanian) met a man when he walked into her family’s boutique to buy some cigarettes. She was married the following weekend. They take love at first sight to new heights. Anyway, the terrorists may have scared my tourists and taken my fete, but they can’t take my hungry children or women in search of income.

When doing these trainings, which are 2 very full days, my schedule gets overwhelming. I end up running a Western calendar without the Western luxuries. In the morning I threw in a load of laundry (into a washtub) then hustled over to the coops where we cleaned and dried 33 kg of grain; then I ran to lunch; then home to finish up the laundry, and grab my notebook and dictionary for my French lesson; back to the cooperative for an afternoon of roasting grains. I spent this time stretched out, if I can describe it that way, between 4 huge Marmites (those large pans you see in my photos) over charcoal, teaching them the smell and sound of roasted grains. As you would expect, the roasted corn smells incredible (I am a Hoosier and I love my corn) and you can hear it start to pop; but what you probably don’t know is that millet does the same thing only smaller. When it is ready, the little tiny grains, which are about 4X larger than a couscous grain of 4x smaller than a small caper, pop and make teeny tiny pieces of popcorn, or rather popmillet. As for lying between all of these roasting marmits, you know it is hot when your knee pits are sweating. The ladies were very kind to me; they bought me a bottle of water, which in their estimation must be a terrible waste of money. I offered it around but they shook their heads no, pointed at it and me and said Nassraniya, meaning that they could drink the well water but knew that I could not.

After a brilliant afternoon, I had to hightail it to French classes. At this point I am still covered with the shriveled bean skins, dirt and specs cleaning from the grains and I smell at best of charcoal and roasted grains at worst..…… After 2 hours of French I headed home for dinner and to hit the hay to start it all over again the next morning with the ladies.

French is looking up too. I am enjoying this session much more than the last. It may help that the French isn’t particularly challenging as I have studied the grammar before. That in and of itself is encouraging as Mona pointed out, I finally know enough French to be more advanced than a class. The review gives me the chance to explore more advanced usage rather than barely hanging on to the basics in a class too advanced and feeling lost and frustrated. I can understand much of what is said to me but I still have a hard time spitting out phrases freely. I’m okay if I can spend a few minutes reflecting on what and how to say it. But it is rather problematic when I run into someone on the street. I inevitably end up tongue-tied and they are left just confused. Luckily, they are getting rather used to this and are satisfied with simply stopping and acknowledging each other. It is important to keep expectations low. I have done it so many times to one of the nicest Senegalese Souvenir sellers that the last time he invited me for tea; I rehearsed an explanation (in French) for my abruptness. He just smiled and said he understood. I will sure miss him when he leaves, which is soon. I like the Black African culture and feel very at home within it. Though they are also Muslims, they come from Senegal, the land of music, nightlife, cocktails, western clothes and cuisine and are kindered spirits up here in Atar. He said he was presse (in a hurry) to get back South. Good lord, when I was in Dakar I saw a garbage truck. It seemed the apex of civilization. It struck me, how can Dakar have garbage trucks and not more than 300 k up the road, across the river, we have none? So the souvenir shop is our little oasis in a desert of Moors. The last plane is April 5. On April 6, the streets here roll up and everyone goes back home not to return until the day before the first plane, which isn’t until late October. It makes me a little sad.

In class on this particular day, we were working on Personal Ads. I have no idea who wrote the textbook for the French/Mauritania Alliance, but they will never, ever, ever, ever run into personal ads over here. A. This is an oral society, I don’t think anyone reads a newspaper and B. They don’t date; at least not in the sense that Personals would imply. I was cracking up at the teacher as he is trying to convince the class that a married man with 3 kids, free in body and mind would like to meet a woman to discuss culture, art and cinema was an honorable offer. I wasn’t buying it. He knew I wasn’t buying it and frankly, I don’t think he was buying it either. But I suppose, if they never run into this particular ad or a lascivious Frenchman, what’s the harm. Next the teacher explained sexual abstinence. I am not sure that is what the ad was implying. It seemed to me that he didn’t truly understand this particular personal. He relates to the class that all of these people are looking to find or be found a spouse. Or rather, that is the impression he needs to give, the line the Alliance must tow if they want to continue to exist here in the RIM. On International SIDA Day (just rearrange the letters, AIDS Day) the Alliance who was hosting the event made it clear that our speakers were limited to the topic of blood transfusion but certainly not unwedded sex or infidelity. Somehow it reminds me of the Bible Belt and that Intelligent Design malarkey. Don’t even come near a condom conversation unless it is with a married women regarding birth spacing. At that, I believe she has to secure her husband’s permission. It would follow that personals used for any other purpose than securing a spouse, would be out of the question. So while he was very seriously explaining abstinence, let me tell you, these folks were hanging onto his every utterance; their pens were a flying. Sex talk, no matter how innocuous, is a rarity here. They were scribbling notes faster than I have ever seen them. One never knows when one will need to know that l’abstenance sexuelle= ne pas faire de rapport. That turn of phrase, or set of words, might come in handy one day. Again I say, I was dying in my seat.

Often the teacher and I are in cahoots when trying to explain words. Words like sincere, solitude, sentimental, dynamic, these are easy for me as the English equivalent is rather equivalent. But try to explain “sentimental” to an Arabic speaker and it’s a whole new kettle of fish.

In class I have become the pied piper. All except 2 of my classmates are in high school and they delight in practicing their English on me. They also delight in swiping my pen and phone, and generally pestering the hell out of me. Just the other day, one shoved his phone before me and asked me if I recognized the photo. It took me a minute to but soon I recognized the person as our own volunteer, Ellen. I recall the day, many months back, when she had gotten a Mauritanian makeover. She had gone to a neighbor for lunch and come back looking like a streetwalker. Her navy blue eye shadow, liner and mascara (bare in mind she is a pale towhead) matched her new navy blue mulafa. She had said that when the ladies had finished with her “improvements”, they whipped out their phones and took photos. How this photo ended up on this teenaged boy’s phone is beyond something, frankly, and me that I don’t want to think about. I haven’t shared this bit of news with Ellen yet. But the kids are good-natured and I rather enjoy the interaction. So all is well.

Cheers from here

Recent update: The Union of Coops sold all of their CereAmine at the Fete De Femmes. They were the only group to introduce a new product at the event. All of the dignitaries who attended were pleased with the product, the ladies and the Peace Corps involvement. It seems that they are singing the praises of the Peace Corps around town. Warms my heart.

It finally came to pass, Kristen and I gave our CereAmine training with 13 women last week. It went very well and they were so enthusiastic about it that they invited us earlier this week to oversee the production of their 2nd batch, which we gleefully did. Coming up next week, we will also be observing one of our trainees give a training to her cooperative starting on Monday. We also received word that the training would be funded by some committee that doles out money specifically for training girls which is a relief as it won’t be coming out of our pocket. I have to say that finding funding is the tricky part. Although, pulling together a small training on something or other isn’t expensive, we spent roughly $100 US but to fund it one either has to find someone to give you $100 as we did or you get the trainees to pony up for all or a portion of the costs and/or the rest comes out of your pocket. The latter is problematic because the RIM volunteers live a pay check to pay check existence over here and given their youth, most don’t have any money stashed away. As for those of us with some means, for our own security, we can’t appear to possess much as it can jeopardize the rest of our existence ie: getting local rather than toubab prices on goods and services or getting constantly approached to help someone clear up some financial debt. Asking for money isn’t as large a social faux pas over here. Relatives are obligated to fork over cash to those who request it. Speaking of goods and services, I am in the market for a used hyma (tent). As we near the summer, I feel it is imperative to create some semblance of shade at my home. I have the veranda that regretfully faces south which warms it to a toasty temperature, never to cool down. Last summer I would douse it with buckets of water in the evening hoping to take advantage of that evaporative cooling technical that I use so often, but shade should do the same trick without having to lug buckets of water across the compound. Inshallah

But I digress. The training went really well once again proving that a small amount of knowledge and an ample amount of chutzpah goes a long, long way. It’s a lot of manual labor but I find sorting the rocks, sticks and whatnot out of kilos of grain rather relaxing. It reminds me of shelling peas with my grandmother, just on a much larger scale. It was pointed out to me that I was trashing too much and needed to be less picky. Who knew that a speckled bean doesn’t represent something gone bad. I do know that you have to be very careful with your peanuts as a bad one can be rather toxic.

When we first arrived, the ladies hadn’t secured a translator. We nearly packed up our 39K of grain and rescheduled to a time when they had one as the next 2 days would have been too frustrating, if not an impossible task, with no common language. But at the last minute, which is how much is done over here, one of the ladies called someone to the rescue. We were a bit concerned when this military fellow walked in wearing combat boots and fatigues but he ended up being brilliant. He was someone’s husband and apparently, luckily, didn’t have to work for the 2 days it took us to complete the training. Once he got into the swing of things, he took his job as translator very seriously, extolling, with vigor (I think), all of our instructions and warnings. Titles and responsibilities are very big over here and are taken quite seriously.

Early in the day the ladies informed us that they were quite capable to clean and roast all of these grains, which they were. They tackled this chore with little fanfare. Each just stepped in where work needed to be done with seemingly little instruction as if they had been working ensemble always. They didn’t have enough equipment to go around, and what they use is the crudest implement; no machinery whatsoever. They just persevered, sharing and making do as needed. I couldn’t have done it even with all of the accoutrements and gadgets available at www.WilliamsSonoma.com. But alas, although they had all the expertise, we needed to get the upper hand. We dismissed their chorus of we weren’t needed till the very end with the knowledge of how to blend all of this into that magical CereAmine and commenced giving them a lecture on hygiene followed by a chase to the spigot and awaiting soap. Sadly, that is a battle that I don’t think we have yet won. We didn’t instill, nor the 40+ years of volunteers ahead of us, the goodness of handwashing. It seems impossible to convince this population that washing your hands is vital to stemming the spread of germs. One lady had just had her henna done the night before and balked at the idea of washing her hands thoroughly to which we replied that she was welcome to keep her newly henna’d hands, but that she would not be participating in this process. Another lady insisted that she was sick so couldn’t wash her hands. Don’t ask me. I have no idea why being sick would prevent one from washing one’s hands. Can one really believe that one’s wellbeing is totally in Allah’s hands? And even if that is true, wouldn’t he/she want us to wash our hands? I believe that he/she would and does. Compound that the general oblivion to the health issue that flies cause and we had our hands full. We were the harping harpys who harp. You know when you watch films of Africa and the children are covered with flies, well that is truly how it is here. It is a heartache to watch baby after baby covered with the pests. The scene often unsettle one’s stomach. So with much insisting, they washed each and every hand. However, it was reminiscent of building gingerbread houses with my niblings (niece and nephews) when they were small. They’d wash their hands but then wipe (read pick) their noses, taste the food, answer their filthy cell phone, sneeze, pass around tea cups, shake unwashed hands and keep on cooking. My idea to keep up this sanitation routine after we were no longer around to lurk over them was to create a Health Officer for each production, if you will. She would be responsible for making sure their hands were washed and that the flies were kept to a minimum. And as I said, they take titles and responsibilities very seriously. Inshallah. Anyway, in the end, I figure, these kids are already eating most of their food that has been prepared by unwashed hands, so any improvement is indeed improvement. Me, on the other hand, have been sick as a dog after all of this socializing, handshaking, holding snotty babies and sharing communal cup-ness. So after 2 days and lots of fun, as we finished roasting each different grain I’d do a little victory jig, we produced 35 kilos of CereAmine that looked and tasted as it should. At the end we spent 45 minutes working through their expenses to arrive at a selling price. (my SED activity aside from finding the client) I’d like to see them eke out a bigger profit but they seemed to be confident on what the market would bear.

We gave out their certificates last Sunday. The folks in Mauritania are huge on receiving certificates. I wanted to give one to our translator, I thought he might be able to use it in his military career- a proven track record as a translator of French. Apparently the key to getting attendance for trainings is to threaten to withhold the certificate from those who don’t come regularly. We, by we I mean Kristin, spent an extraordinary amount of time creating a 12 page “how to” booklets in both French and Arabic replete with a table of how much of each grain to buy if you want to make 2, 6, 12, 35, 72 etc Kilos of CereAmine. The ration is 4,4,2,2,1 of corn, beans, rice, millet and peanuts respectively. It requires a bit too much thinking if you ask me, so a table was just the ticket. Our training used 12,12,6,6,3 and yielded about 35K. Anyway, moving on, since the how to was already written in French, the French part was a cinch and the gods were smiling on us for the Arabic translation. As we were roaming through the market gathering up our milled grains, we ran into our favorite Mauritanian, Sidi, and he offered to do and type the Arabic translation for us. My hero. Then 2 days later when my counterpart requested that we create little product tags, also in French and Arabic, (he must be under the mistaken belief that either Kristen or I are fluent in Arabic. But alas neither of us speaks it let alone reads a word of it. Have you seen much Arabic? It is read from back to front, right to left and in a lovely flourish of marks that are meaningless to me) we ran into Sidi again. This is truly amazing because he just happened to be traveling through Atar on both days as he lives in Chinguetti. Content in hand, translation in hand, the gods truly must love us. Would you like to hear the most difficult part of that damn booklet? Word. It has a “create a booklet” option. Do you think we, by we I mean Kristen, could get the damn thing to work? No. She fussed with that silly program, adjusted graphics, margins, reconfiguring the page organization so that page 5 would print opposite page 6 and so forth, for 2 days. I gave up after 45 minutes, she persevered. My advise, never, ever, ever use that damn option.

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During the making of the 2nd batch, in an effort to get to know me better I suppose, one of the ladies asked the dreaded question “Am I married”. I said “no”. She asked “not ever married?” I said “no”. “No Children?”, “No, I have no children”. Kristen is doing most of the translating at this point. After a bit more being said like the usual retort that in America it is not necessary for a woman to be married and she can also life alone- not with a male relative, in peace and harmony. And continuing with we come from 2 different cultures and that I have made a choice that is culturally appropriate in my culture, blah, blah, blah, blah. To this she smiled and basically responded that my life as a barren spinster (I put that part in) is meaningless or useless, I forget. Aye yii yii yiii!. I will admit it got under my skin a bit. Come on! I have decided to leave my cushy albeit meaningless or useless, I forget, life to come to Mauritania and help these women create a new source of income. But hey, who is keeping score that way. Here, it’s about how many babies you can produce. Happy is the bride who conceives a son straight away. If none, your husband can and should leave you. Why earth would he keep you? Let’s just say that here, there is a different expectation of marriage. I just shake my head and roll my eyes and hope that bravado carries me through. It is not as if I don’t hear the same sentiment back home every so often. No doubt many think it; few have been brave enough to put the question to me. I recall while at my cousin funeral, sitting in the family section, his brother, who I hadn’t seen since I was 3, leaned over and asked me if I were married. I wasn’t even 30 at that point. I responded “No”. To which he returned an “I’m Sorry” as if I had been the victim of some tragedy or had just lost my brother to cancer. Clearly this has stuck with me lo these many years. Clearly, we are all not so different after all. However, what I don’t want to have happen is that I somehow lose credibility because my life choices don’t conform to their cultural standards. Singleness or spinsterness in my case, isn’t the only issue that many volunteers opt not to share with the locals. One’s religious beliefs: Jewish or worse, Atheist, as well as homosexuality are not subjects many choose to tackle. So I’ll wait and see how it all shakes out. She had followed up that she had many questions for me. I asked “:What’s question number 1?” but the subject just kind of dropped. But it appears that all is well as my counterpart was in our bureau today and said that the feedback he has received from the gals has been very, very positive.

So this Saturday, we will be standing side by side with them handing out CereAmine literature at the local Fete de Femme (International Women’s Day, March 8) celebration. Anyone who is anyone in Atar society will be there. Then next week we will sit in on one of our trainee’s trainings. Many more lives touched.

I took and will take photos and shot much movie footage so as soon as we, by we I mean Kristen, can pull something creative together, I’ll get it posted.

Lastly, this morning (Wed) we stopped by the local Les Enfants Du Desert that is going to be the test case and made the acquaintance of Fatimatou the manager and her assistant Fatimatou too. We stayed for almost an hour talking, gathering specifics on their portions and playing with the kids. They were adorable. I anticipate that I will be spending much time this summer helping out at the center integrating, using my French, staving off utter slothfulness. Otherwise my summer will be full of sweating, napping and wishing I were elsewhere. Later today, (Wed) we stopped by the LEDD office and learned that Aicha won’t be back until the 23rd so it seems that the trial is pushed back a week. All the better, we need to get 40 more Kilo’s of CereAmine produced to fulfill their request.

A very interesting side note, there are fliers around the market posting fines for littering- 500 um and peeing on the walls- 1000 um. I suppose with the new sidewalks that are being installed by an apparent Atar Beautification program, they don’t want them instantly defiled. I wished they’d do the same thing for spitting. But hey, it’s a start.

I have or am in the process of posting more photos from WAIST and my Garden.

Don’t forget that I have a new phone especially for calls from the US. It is 222- 202-1804

Hi Loved Ones, The ResultsI am just about to head out for WAIST. West African Invitational Softball Tournament held in Dakar Senegal. I will leave early on the 13th for NKT to arrive early afternoon. Inshallah. We have purchased every seat in a taxi, so it should leave according to our schedule. Yeah right, Inshallah. This went just about as planned. The cab driver scolded us (Ellen) about being on time then he ended up oversleeping so we got off about 45 minutes later than planned. But we made it to NKT in 5.5 hours, which is really quite fast. In ample time for a salad at the Cafe Sahara. And Chinese for Dinner. Chinese Restaurant

On the 14th am we have a Safety and Security meeting at the bureau. These meetings have traditionally been planned solely as a way to bring us together so that we can head, ensemble, down to WAIST. But this year, with the terrorist attacks, it should be an informative meeting. You will be glad to know that we were assured by the Ambassador and our Country Director that our safety is reviewed at every opportunity and in their professional opinion, we are safe. If there could be a silver lining to these events it is that it has necessitated the government (RIM) to refocus on an issue that heretofore may have been ignored, swept under the rug if you will. The good news from the Ambassador, other then our assured safety, is that at a recent pledging conference, Mauritania received half a billion dollars more than requested for development from the International Community. They, like me, must feel that this country, unknown to many, is important in this region. An Islamic country with a fledgling democracy and an affinity for the West, and in particular the Americans, are few and far between therefore their relations and well being should be fostered. We were also addressed by the head medical officer for Peace Corps West Africa, who served in Zaire during the 80's. A friend of my sister's was also in Zaire in the 80's. I asked him if, by chance, he knew Paula, and indeed he did. He reminisced a bit. What a small world. The bulk of his presentation was on the 3 medical issues that cause him the most concern because they can cause us to lose life or limb. He also expanded on the recent the change in Peace Corps policy which rather than hand holding and coddling volunteers, they want to develop resilient volunteers: ie quit calling the PCMO with every hang nail. Although a very reasonable request, this policy is vastly different from the recruitment information which implies they will coddle your every hang nail. For your edification the top 3 medical issues here in West Africa are first and foremost, Malaria. We, North Americans, have no resistance, no natural immunity built up over generations living amongst that pesky parasite, therefore taking our medication is imperative. Even on the medication, one can still contract the disease, just not in a lethal dose. Mashallah or Inshallah, I don’t know which really applies in this case. Inshallah you don’t get it. Mashallah, that if you do get it, that it’s not fatal. Secondly in line are skin infections specifically below your knee which might lead to a loss of a limb or 2 and finally AIDS. He was very frank in his presentation, which I appreciate, so I will leave the details to private conversationsAfter the meeting, in the late afternoon, there is softball practice at the local stadium. As I have no talent in the baseball/softball realm, I will be spectating. In a burst of folly, I volunteered to be the Equipment Manager for our C team, the Buccaneers. My first and only responsibility was to get the bats, balls, mitts and med kit to Dakar and to all of the Buccaneer games. I was either one of the best or worst Equipment Managers in the history of the event. My decline started the first night in Dakar. When we arrived the instructions were as follows: hose volunteers with home stays stayed at the Club Atlantique, formerly the American Club; those of us with hotels were to get directly back on the bus. Do not pass go, do not drink beer. Naturally I didn’t want to drag a heavy bag of crap to the hotel; thusly I looked for an alternative. I was assured by some fella who seemed to be authoritatively handing out instructions, that indeed, the equipment could be left at the club. But first, I needed to sign in, just get in line behind that mass of people, and then all would be well. I didn’t have time to sign in as I had to get back on the bus so I did the next best thing. I assigned, delegated if you will, our equipment to the Most Responsible Volunteers in our Crew. Who also happened to be the Equipment Managers for our B team, the Swashbucklers? They would be hanging at the club waiting for their home stay hosts to pick them up so it was no problem, they’d just stack it all together. The equipment bags were those enormous handled plastic bag that are ubiquitous in Africa and Asia. They are often used as luggage rather than Samsonite on air flights. The Buccaneer bag was a Mickey and Minnie Mouse theme replete with English non sequiturs so you couldn't miss it. Equipment safely secured, I went back to the bus in search of a late dinner and some sleep. The next morning the Buccaneers were the first on the schedule with a 9 am first pitch. I arrived at the club plenty early, in time to search out the equipment. I grab a Bloody Mary to ease into the day and off I go to search for the Mickey and Minnie full of mitts, to no avail. There is no equipment. No, the equipment wasn’t allowed to be left at the club overnight. No sight of the fellow who was so willy nilly handing out bad advise the previous night. And lastly, no Most Responsible Volunteers in the Crew to be found as the B team didn’t play until much later in the day and now way to get a hold of them as we, the few who bothered to buy new Sim cards for Senegal, had not exchanged telephone numbers. Crap. OK, let's evaluate my performance thus far. I did get the equipment to Dakar but not to the first game. I calculate my batting average is 500. Ely, the Buccaneer Capt'n assured me that it is not the end of the world. Worst case; we could borrow mitts, bats and balls from the opposing team. So I finished my Bloody Mary, as we were playing on the “dry” field, double crap, and off I went. Low and behold, there in the stands I spyed the Most Responsible Volunteers in our Crew. They had gotten to the field even before me and went directly to the field. Did not pass go. Did not go directly to the bar. They have the moniker Most Responsible Volunteers in our Crew for a reason. You can draw your own conclusions about me. Do you know the rules of softball? I didn’t. They are slightly different from baseball. First, there are only 7 innings. During one at bat, each team can only go through their line up once then the field turns over to the other team. There are 4 out fielders, this took some getting used to as I kept thinking we had too many players on the field. And finally, there is the mercy rule. If a team is up by 15, the game is over. I believe that happened in the first inning of the first game, not to the Buccaneers advantage. For practice and to save some face, we kept playing a bit longer. Even still the game finished much earlier than I expected. As I am lounging by the pool with my Mimosa, I spy my entire team heading in from the field. Yikes, I needed to go gather up the equipment and the field is quite a ways away. Crap, this is really not going well. Yet I contend that a big part of being an effective leader is surrounding yourself, vous meme, with capable minions. And luckily mine were in top form. They had loaned the equipment to PC Gambia who was playing the next game on the field and lacked mitts and bats. I scurried up to them, explained that I was the Equipment Manager and if they would be so kind as to please when they were finished, pack up Mickie and Minnie and I'd be back in an hour. On s'en vas back to the bar was my battle cry. When I returned it was all neatly organized and ready for me to lug to the opposite field. This went on for the next 7 games. Luckily for me and for PC Gambia, all of our games were on the same fields, one after the next, so I had yet more minions to help me keep hold of that Mickey bag-o-mitts. As I said, I was either the best or the worst Equipment Manager in the history of Waist. In my defense, I was reliably found at the bar or the pool when any questions would arise. I am an excellent delegator as many can attest. Finally, that we loaned our equipment to the Gambian team, I was charged with the logistics of equipping twice as many games. Give me a gold star!In between there will be Pizza, Salad, Beer and Chinese Food, Salad, Chinese and Beer not in that particular order. I may even try to fit in a massage, I might have a connection. No Massage. Then, early to bed, early to rise as we board a bus at 5am the 15th for the trip to Dakar. We took off closer to 6 but that is on time by African standards. Feel free to search the web for the blogs from last year’s bus trip to WAIST. There was an incident with a wheel barrel that lead to the bus getting stuck in the sand and another incident of the driver getting lost and in the turning around at the dead end, once again managing to get the bus stuck in the sand Finally the driver didn’t know his way around Dakar thus extending an already grueling trip. This year Obie promises a better outcome although he won’t be with us. There were no major incidents; it's just a long damn trip. At least I don't believe that there were any incidents. We may have gotten lost in Dakar. We arrived at the city limits at 6:30 in Friday rush hour traffic (apparently they didn't switch their weekend around) and it took us 2.5 hours to get to the club. It felt as if we were going in circles. There is tons of traffic, it is a city of 10 million. Could that be right? And they are doing road construction as was done in the 70's in the US, by all appearances without the traffic management. I can not explain to you how poorly the traffic was managed. Roundabouts and overpasses are being constructed at every intersection, most of which are only partially complete. This being the case, the result was that the half of cars on the freeway were forced to make u turns, in both directions, into the oncoming traffic on at least 5 different occasions, snarling the traffic even snarlier. Added to this, we were 2 tour buses trying to keep together behind our lead car as he was the only one who knew the way. It must have been a nightmare for the drivers. Our's was in quite a state when he finally deposited us at the club, quite ready to quit. It was his first trip to Dakar and I would wager his last. As for me, I found, other then the long journey, it was quite fine. Far better then taxi brousse as I had my own seat. I was unsure of our day's itinerary so I packed a picnic of Goat Cheese and Fois Gras on Endive finished with lovely French butter cookies. All it needed was a lovely Pinot Noir. Yes, I discovered that those items can be purchased (except the Pinot Noir) in NKT for a hefty sum at Marche Salam. I could do another blog on that place. Let's just suffice it to say; when I left Marche Salam I was rather depressed. If you will recall from another blog, that such luxuries are available in country just not in Atar, and that reality is far more demoralizing then if it weren't available at all. This depression lead me to Gin and the haircutting party. Pictures soon to be on flickr. Historically home stays are arranged for us during WAIST but this year we are just too numerous for that, so I will be staying in a hotel. I do not know which one. I can’t say that I am sorry. I wasn’t really looking forward to staying with strangers. It’s less appealing than a box of chocolates and still you never know what you’re gonna get. At least in a hotel I am assured of a bed. Inshallah. I could not have been more wrong, well partially wrong. I did have a bed. It just happened to be smack dab in the middle of a whorehouse. Although the term whorehouse offended a few, evidently a bit too harsh for their sensibilities. Let’s call it a brothel, a house if ill repute; Will suggested we call it the House of the Rising Sun but in my estimation that romantic view of whorehouse is only applicable if you are a teenage virgin. Let's leave it with next year I am booking my own room.WAIST is 3 days of softball revelry…beer, hotdogs and pirate costumes. I envisioned it akin to Over-The Line in San Diego. And we behaved that way on the first day. Day 2 we got scolded as it wasn't a bawdy Over-The-Line environment but a social league family event. Oooops, to bad those names were in indelible ink on the back of our only t-shirts. In the words of my niece, Aimee, "Tomorrow, I will be a good girl" YeeHa. Maybe I’ll even meet someone my own age to hang with. It could happen. It didn't, not exactly. The event is at the American Club and includes a whole bunch of American organizations. Mali Peace Corps, Senegal Peace Corps, Guinea aka team Guinea Worm, Benin and The Gambia as well (both are enormous programs) as well as some Missionary Girls Jr High School to name a few, bring multiple teams. There is apparently a huge expat population in Dakar. We, the PC RIM Pirates will be fielding 3 teams. Our A team has won the tournament for the last 2 or 3 years so the bar is set pretty high to play on that team. We took the trophy for 2nd. (A side note, the Mali Country Director visited our, at that time, new bureau in Nouakchott and while visiting, she stole the trophy. Before the latest attacks, some of their volunteers were suppose to come through and return it. But travel to Mauritania by other Peace Corps programs has been suspended….so I suppose they will be bring our trophy directly to Dakar. The bus ride will be lonely without it). Our B team is labas (okay), one year it was beat by the little mission girls, much to their shame, thus they have been a bit more serious since. The C team is just a bunch of drunks who, by the end of the game, are playing in their underwear. Yes, there are pictures Inshallah! Mashallah. I will be a drunken spectator, Mashallah—hopefully wearing something more than my underwear. Sadly, I received no pirate gear in my wonderful care packages so I’ll have to improvise a costume. For your edification, The American Club is located near one of the lighthouses in Dakar. It’s the lighthouse that is located on the furthest Western Point in West Africa. .I tried to find info on it the club on the web but had no luck. Next year I hope to stay an extra couple of days to see some sights and do some shopping. With 6 games a day to attend there was time for little else. Dakar is an amazingly vibrant city. Of course, as always, that is relative. You, stepping off at Dakar International from the Land of Milk and Honey would probably see a rundown, impoverished African city complete with sheep and the odd cow tether to every lamp post, stop sign, car frame available. Which reminds me, for a dose of the reality of the cuisine here go to John in Nouadhibou's recent blog. I added the link to mine. But that it had lamp posts and stop signs was something to behold. I saw road signs, flashing neon lights, speed limits, pavement markings, everyone in the cab gets her own seat, bill boards, restaurants, banks with atm's and the pièce de résistance, live music at a bar. Paradise Found.I will depart from Dakar the morning of the 19th and probably cross the border that same day and spend the night in Rosso. Just stopped in Rosso and have another story to tell over drinks about finding a cab Then directly back to Atar on the 20th, with no stop in NKT. I did stop in NKT, Obie was kind enough to dole out an extra day for us weary travelers. Those will be 2 very long days. Not that you need this much detail about my itinerary, I just seem to have gotten carried away. I suppose you could follow along on a map. Doris would if she were alive.On the 20-21 we, the Atar volunteers, are having a lunar eclipse party. I slept through it Then after a long nap I will launch headlong into French Well I overslept for my first class back, a long nap was necessary, so possibly "launch headlong" was a bit ambitiousand also quickly pull together that CereAmine training. We need to not only securing the ingredients with who knows what money, but also translate a little take away How To booklet from French into Hassaniya. Do you know anyone that can type in Arabic? Neither do I. I also need to learn a handful of verbs in both French and Hassaniya for the actual training: to roast, to clean, to dry, to grind, to blend, watch your fingers, watch my fingers, get your unwashed fingers out of the peanut butter. You know, the usual. See last blog. I should be picking up my Chingatel phone while I am in NKT. So in 2 days, I should have much better cell phone service while here in the RIM. I’ll send the phone number and post it on my blog as soon as I get it. I did and I do, the new number is on the blogAs for here, the weather has turned hot. I am praying with all of my soul that it’s just a spell and not the onset of an early summer. Did the groundhog see its shadow? It was 99 degrees on Sunday; my room has jumped from a steady 71 degrees for these many weeks to 80. I will be very sad if summer is arriving the beginning of February. I hoped to stay cool till the end of March. No such luck, it is blazing in Atar todayDakar should be cool—low in the 60s high in the 70s—(yes, it’s all relative) I can’t wait to huddle in the frosty 70 degree weather with my cold beer and steaming hotdog---Good lord, I almost forget, there is coffee in Senegal, latte’s even. Hallelujah! Maybe I can join Peace Corps Senegal and get out of this sober, coffee starved, cuisine starved, ridiculous long skirted, sexually repressed, with the odd terrorist attack @$$@^%$*& hole. Just kidding, I love this place. I am committed or committable. Take your pick.Schizophrenically, I am sad to leave my garden unattended for a week. Today, the carrots and peppers sprouts are just showing their little green heads. Nothing yet from the beets, radishes or sweet peas but a week without water in the Sahara should do the trick. The sunflowers are faring the best by far. All is surprisingly well. The peppers didn't make it. But the sunflowers are amazing.Also, tonight is my first class back at the French alliance since Dec. I didn’t take last session because a. I greatly dislike their teaching methods and b. I would miss weeks of classes with the Christmas holiday. But alas, my French needs much work so I am going to subject myself to another 5 weeks of bad teaching methods in hopes that it will help. I did request a conversation class vs sitting listening to scratchy cassettes. The director made a note. We’ll see. I will be in class (when not traveling ) Sun – Thurs 6 – 8 pm. Yesterday being Sunday (remember the weekend change), technically, should have been the first class but last night was the finals of the African Cup thus the first day of class was postponed. As of this typing, I don’t know who won, Egypt or Cameroon. EgyptOkay, that’s it from here. I’ve rambled long enough---it’s almost a blog. It is now a blogYes, I will be very careful traveling, I will keep a low profile in NKT and have no fear, I have no intention of going to any nightclubs or the Israeli Embassy. Cheers from here,Happy Valentines Day,

Happy President's Day

Well here a quick little post with some good news for you. Les Enfants du Desert still wants to move forward with a trial at one of their centers starting mid to late March. Therefore, Morella and I are moving head long into traiing the ladies coops on the fabrication of the CereAmine. So, to that end, we have tentatively schedule the training for the last week of February. Mind you that neither she nor I have ever seen this process, so it ought to be interesting. Our directions are as follows: One has to buy the grains, clean the grains (by hand), dry the grains (in the yard on mulafas), roast the grains (using charcoal and great big pots), grind the grains (this we take to an official grinder to have done), mix the grains together (I assume that the grinder can accomplish this step with the previous one) then mix in the peanut butter which has gone through the same process on it's little lonesome. The peanuts can't be blended along with the rest of the grains because it will clog up the grinder. Good lord I think we will have to hand grind it...please allah don't let it be the accomplished by using the antiquated gigantic mortar and pestle I see around here. The mortar is made of wood and is 5 feet long. The pestle is a hollowed out tree trunk. You should see these ladies muscles. I am most curious (read anxious) about how one manually mixes 4K of peanut butter into 26 K of floured corn, millet, beans and wheat to form a lovely powdered cereal. Oh yeah, and the women only speak Hassaniya. This should be a breeze. Between now and then, we are off to WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) in Dakar. Yippee a vacation. Cheers from here