1. Tokomadji!

2. sleeping outside

3. those 3 cups of tea

4.river bathing

5. sharing everything

6. regional houses

7. suli Kay!!!!

8. my heart twin

9. eating luch at someone's house...unexpectedly ;)

10.eating with my hands

1. Children are not revered/spoiled/tolerated in Mauritanian culture the way they are in the US: its more of a "be seen and not heard or I'll spank you" culture.

2. Big is beautiful. Enough said.

3. Since coming to America I'm not asked a)if I'm married/where my husband is. b)Why I'm not married yet. c)If I want to marry the guy/a brother/a husband/a son. d)If I'll marry a man to take him to America.

4. Random people have stopped asking me for money loans.

5. Dogs are loved instead of chased away.

6. In Mauritania nobody sleeps alone; I don't sleep next to my mom outside any more!

7. There is more than just Akon, 2Pac, or Bob Marley available to listen to.

8. I haven't eaten rice in weeks!

9. I was walking through the store and suddenly thought to myself, "Where are all the black people!?!"

10. Toilet paper. Toilets. Wow.

With the change to Peace Corps Rwanda there's a change in Blog, too! My address to follow along the African Adventures in Rwanda will be:

http://bololam.blogspot.com

Bololam (say it: bowl-ol'-umm) is Pulaar for my road, my path, or my journey. I'm very excited to take the next step, feel free to come along and/or visit my blog on Mauritania.

Yo Allah wad laawol.

If you read my last post you'll know that we were consolidated in Senegal to allow the Washington, DC Security team time to evaluate Mauritania. Today we found out that due to very real threats to the safety of Westerners in the country, we are suspending the Peace Corps Mauritania Program. It has nothing to do with Muslims. Nothing to do with Mauritanians. Nothing to do with the villages we know and love. This is a result of outside influences working in Mauritania, slowly but surely chipping away at some of the naturally loving, united, giving social structure, thus necessitating our removal. Hopefully this is only a temporary removal of the Peace Corps Program.

Every one of us were totally still inside and out as the acting Peace corps Director told us the news, and most of us teared up as we immediately thought of villages, work, families and best friends left behind in our Mauritanian homes. In any case, the 51 of us that have stuck it out to the very last day are grateful for every minute of it. Alhamdoulilahi!

What with the Al Quaida targeting an American missionary, refusing to give Americans Visas into Mauritania and all that we the Peace Corps Volunteers of Mauritania have been pulled into Senegal while a Safety and Security Team evaluates the viability of continuing in Mauritania. On our way to our extensively planned "Eco/Health Camp" for young girls, we were called together, cancelling the camp, and busing us to Thies (say it: ch-ez) in Senegal. Well Saturday was the last day of the Security Review and also the day that Mauritania's first ever suicide bomber attacked, injuring 2 guards at the French Embassy and 1 random jogger(as reported by NY Times). So, despite being away from our villages since July 27th, we were pretty hopeful that we'd all be able to go back as soon as the team was finished with the evaluation, but now we are in a huge mess of doubt.

Fortunatey, the 51 of us volunteers left (from the usual 140) after COS and IS (Close of Service and Interrupted Service, respectively) are getting treated very well at the Senegalese PCV training site, bonding like you'd never think possible, and enjoying the similarities in Senegalese culture.

Between "training sessions" (designed to keep us up-to-date, well informed, and just busy while we wait for the evaluation to be finished) and eating delicious food we're able to explore the local life and see how Senegal can be just like Mauritania: boutiques for certain objects only, like fabrics, soaps, or food stuffs. The markets are just as bustling, colorful, noisy, pushy, smelly, hot, and entertaining and still take a long time to find what you're looking for, bargain the price, then walk away with it on your head. Buses are still super stuffed, super stuffy, and lose pieces on your journey, like our bus that lost the front bumber here.

We're not only in "training sessions", but also teaching sessions, and serving the commnity. We spent the weekend at a nearby beach and worked with a local Cooperative to clean the shoreline. I love that no matter where we are in West Africa the people are (generally) warm, opening, interested, and talkative! The local jewelry maker, a woman named Adama (say it: Adam-ah), comes to the training center every day to sell her stuff to us; she's also started calling me "Bobine" (say it: bow-bine, rhymes with pine) and invited me to her amazingly artistic house. She, her painting husband, and 9 artisitc children paint, sculpt, sew, and make jewelery all for sale to the public. They've given jewelry to everyone who has bought from them, and even gave me same paintings! Samba Ly, Adama's husband, has a website with some of his work (scroll down to see "Lac Rose" the painting he gave me; keep going, there's some English, too!) Just like in Mauritania, the people are willing to give whatever they have to a friend and treat you to some of the best hospitality I've seen in the world (not that I've been everywhere, but a fair amount ;).

After the initial shock at the beauty of the gorgeous jewelery, the training center, its greenery, and the comparitive paradise that is Thies, we also went to some local points of interest: a local Monastary, the first organized Christian anything I've seen/done in over a year of being in Africa! There were a fair number of us that attended the Mass and were treated to the "Heavenly sounds" of the monks' voices and their musical instruments: a 23 stringed guitar called a kora (say it: core- ah), a bongo drum, and a hollowed out gourd... not to mention the constant birdsong going on just outside!

Later, when about 40 of us went to Popingue (say it: pope-in-gay) for the beach clean up, etc, we learned more about the Muslim/Christian relations in Senegal (in Mauritania they're tense...) Popingue boasts one of the largest Christian population and pilgrimage sites in West Africa. Locals say its not at all a problem living totally mixed with Muslims and Christians: most families are about half and half, with a few aunts and uncles practicing Christians, and a few practicing Muslims. They claim that they're all family, they all love each other, it is what it is, and they all serve One God... so it's a non-issue!

Monday we're leaving the Training Center in Thies to go to Dakar and find out if we're actually going back to Mauritania, changing all sites to be along the river, or leaving the country...

My aim is to work WITH the people to help them realize their own goals, use their own resources, and promote their lives. Which is perfect for helping a developing community enable itself to develop when I'm no longer there.

When first assigned to my village I was told to work with the women's cooperative. No problem! Except that they have stopped working.

As of June 20th or so I've been in this country for one year. That's one year of putting up with ridiculous travel arrangements, being called racial names in city streets, asked for money because I'm a "rich white person", and trying to overlook what Americans would considering general bad manners-- but are cultural norms here. Well the other day I was fed up with it. All of it. And I was wondering what I'm even doing here.

People in the village are beginning ask why I have come to Tokomadji. To learn the culture? To learn the language? Not to give them things? (Outright giving is looked down on in the Peace Corps as it may ultimately prolong the cycle of not working, asking, receiving, not working, asking, receiving, etc.) Thus furthering my exasperation with my work, role, being here... and I miss my family in the US.

After putting up with the inactivity of the Women's cooperative, seeing countless attempts at projects fail, dealing with rude teenagers and ignorant adults, I knew I needed a pick me up. I went to one of my local best friends house for lunch. Unfortunately I saw the president of the women's cooperative and thought I'd talk business with her for a second: she immediately ripped me a new one, chewing me out for a misunderstanding the day before.... well, I lost it. Totally. I not only started crying at my friend's house, but was so distraught I went into a room, tried to call another volunteer in another village, but couldn't even talk. An hour later my friend walked in to see if I was feeling better, and I STILL couldn't talk for the sobs that were filling me head to soul.

Needless to say my friends, the women on hand, and anyone else who heard about my little upset were completely indignant! One woman asked if I've been having a hard time, why I hadn't said anything sooner, why I hadn't talked to her in the first place so she could go to any troublesome child's home, talk to his/her father, and eradicate any problems I may have. She also said she'd be willing to use her immense size to settle any qualms and call a village meeting to relay any message to the villagers and/or tell them not to bother me, be more respectful, etc.

While discussing it with Penda, Neene Ba, and Salimata, they were all quick to express that I've been nothing but upstanding, willing to work, and they are in the fault for not working as a cooperative! I was shocked! And pleased! Nonetheless I told them that with the field expansion project they want me to help them with, I don't know if its worth it: they don't even work the field they already have or tend to their dying fruit trees; as such I explained that after talking it over with my boss, I would let them know if we will continue this project, find a new one they can handle, or if I should just go home.

The next day I came to Kaedi (yes, for 4 hours in the back of a short-bedded pick-up truck with about 12 other people over rocky terrain), met up with my American friends, and prepared for vacation in Saint Louis, Senegal. On our way, Sara and I found out about an American teacher shot 6 times at point blank in the face... in Nouakchott, the capital of Mauritania! As some already know, Mauritania has been denying visas to Americans for a few months now, and we were worried that this may be part of a growing anti-American sentiment in this Muslim republic. Turns out we were right: the killing of this known Christian missionary was claimed as an act of Al Qaida.

We made it down to Senegal in a hurry, enjoyed our vacation with a few other friends, and on the 5th day of vacation we got wind of IS: Interrupted Service is an offered to us because Peace Corps Washington has apparently deemed Mauritania an unsafe country. As such we are given the 3 choices: (1) the opportunity to end our service NOW, receiving full benefits as if we completed 2 years, (2) the option of re-enrolling in Peace Corps in a different country, or (3) continuing our service in Mauritania until completion in 2010.

As of now we have an unofficial count of about 20 volunteers opting to go home. Seriously, like 99% of them are NOT going home because they feel unsafe: we all are totally safe in our villages, and are NOT targets in this mostly peaceful society. That 99% or so is going home because they feel ineffective in their sites/villages. hmmm... sounds familiar!

After thinking about it, talking with other volunteers (especially those finishing their 2 year services!), and thinking of the possibilities, I've decided to stay in Mauritania. My boss advised me to not think of the recent events in my village to make this decision, but to consider the entire year that I've served so far. The Garack volunteer said that the one-year mark is always a low point in a volunteer's service, so look beyond the here and now. And finally another had me consider the year I've spent already....multiply that by 100, and that is the awesomeness of the second year of service. These two girls really made an impact: hearing about their own struggles and ultimate victories in this place put a great, positive perspective on my own service.

I've decided to stay, focus more on teaching the children, working with the youths, and not feeling so caught up by village "expectations" to work with a specific group (especially when that group doesn't work too well!). Hopefully I'll be starting tree nurseries with the "soccer team" (group of young men that enjoy a very individualistic game of soccer), village clean ups with the teens, health and sanitation with the young mothers, English with the high schoolers, and other projects that will encourage learning, unity, environmental education, and healthy practices. Though these projects may not necessarily continue when I'm gone, maybe the message will be lived out in their daily lives, perhaps a love of education will be born, and I know the consequences of my continuing on will reach people and places we can never imagine.

The Dispensary, where people come for over the counter medicines, malaria treatment, and minor things that don't warrant a trip to the big city.

The New building at the Dispensary, donated by the Red Cross. On the left is the waiting room tent, where there are women waiting to weigh and measure their babies' in order to monitor their health and growth.

Every Thursday women come from all of the surrounding villages, up to 15 kilometers away, by taxi, canoe, or foot so that they can be sure their babies, toddlers, and small children aren't malnourished. Every mother gets to take home with her two bags full of CSB, a Corn-Soy Blend that they mix with milk, water, and sugar as a super nutritious meal for their kids.

On the far right in the brown outfit is Penda, my host mom, who volunteers with the Red Cross. As one of the more able readers/writers, she is considered a leader within the village and has her hand in everything! Every Thursday she spends the entire morning (about 9am-3pm) making the CSB mush for waiting families to snack on, teaching mothers the benefits of nursing until the child is at least 1 year old, and good hygiene.

Here another volunteer, Kadia (who won this position by taking a very challenging test comprised of math, word problems, and listening comprehension, and earning the highest score), is weighing and measuring the kids. They have to get down to their undies to get an accurate measurement...but don't worry about their puffy hair adding some height to their measurements. Go figure!

This is one of our doctors holding his nephews (about to be weighed and measured), sitting with his sister-in-law. The twins are named Alpha and Bocar, one being super outgoing, willing to greet me, and run around, and the other is really shy, afraid of white people, and clings to his mother's skirts. I don't know which is which.

Behold! The doctor's office space, storage room, consulting parlor, and experiment lab. Nifty!

These women are helping to sift through the CSB mixture given to the Dispensary by the Red Cross. I had no idea that if left alone, flours will acquire little black bugs that like to live, eat, and reproduce all right in that little space! The women take turns to help out with the flour sifters, going through several fifty kg sacks in a morning.

This is my host grandfather's third wife. My host mom's "aunt". I just thought she's got a pretty cool face.

Excerpt from a letter I wrote to a friend:

"Yesterday I spent the whole day at my local sister's wedding: it was AWESOME! I've never seen so much of the wedding as I did here. First I was sitting with her mom, aunts, grandma, the "women of the family" and these four singing ladies sang the bride's genealogy, sang her praises, and sang her many blessings. One woman sang the lead and played a beat with two dried out gourds tied together, with her rings adding to the music as she drummed the gourds on the ground. The next three sang the echo; two of which were clapping and one was banging a small cooler like it was a drum. The four of them were sitting mixed in with the rest of us, so we had surround sound! Meanwhile people were coming in the room to give gifts for the bride: eating bowls, straw mats, mixing bowls, pitchers with cups, tea sets, buckets (tons!), clothes and fabrics, a broom and everything she'll need to start her new home. Ghana (the bride) is turning 17 years old this year (and she's gorgeous! I swear 90% of the villagers could be models in the states!)

Later we all ate lunch: rice topped with beef (killed that morning), slices of green and yellow bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, and carrots. Then I went with some cousins to the khaima (say it: hi-ma) for music and dancing. Everyone sits on the ground under these huge tents propped up on poles and face the middle. As people are moved by the music, one, two or three people will dance to show off how fast, smooth, and well they can dance. Their heads could be balancing water, but their legs are bouncing along, their butts sticking out, back, left, right, and even up! It's so artful!

Then I "snuck out" to get pictures of the bride with her bridesmaids: they were stunning! A crown of two braids, with gold earrings pinned in the front of a braid, big metallic blue eye shadow, and matching dresses. Ghana had tons of braids, gold hanging everywhere from her hair, neck, hands and body, henna going up her arms and feet, and a very detailed tie-dyed dress.

I sat with the older women as they gave Ghana's mother 500 or 1,000 Ouguiya (about $2 or $4) to help her with the "loss" of her daughter from the house. As the sun was setting people left; there was apparently a dinner and more dancing that night but I was tired, don't like to go out at night, and had stuff to do on-line. The next day Ghana will be leaving to her new husband's house. Well, his family’s house. I didn't even see him the whole day! He didn't come to this half of the wedding!

...

Issa is Ghana's new husband, and their home is a veritable mansion! When I got back to the bride's house I found people looking at photos: the photographer got his pictures printed so the people could buy them. All the photos were being passed, handled, traded, etc. Around 5pm, as people were packing the 3 taxis with the wedding gifts, Ghana started crying, wailing, and I thought, "How dramatic!!" But really, she's never left her home town and now she's leaving her home, her parents, and her family, to go to her new husband--to be with a man for the first time.

So we pile into the 5 seaters, fitting 8 people in each car, take a canoe, a van, and get to Issa's house. A man, I'm not sure who since its night now, picks up Ghana (who is totally covered so no one can actually see any part of her body), puts her over his shoulder and lays her at her new grandma-in-law's feet, to rest her head on grandma's lap. Then her new mother sprinkles her with dried flowers while blessing the woman, and a liquid (smelled like milk), to bless the marriage. Then we--the bride's 8-woman entourage-- lead Ghana to her new mother's room to bring good luck and blessings to the marriage.

We then showered, ate dinner (meat and potatoes, also killed that morning), and hung out until around 1am while her "mothers" prepared her room (aka burning incense, putting on clean sheets, etc). Then the bride (who is still covered head to toe) was taken to her room.

After dinner I was talking to the groom, Issa, and found out that he's been living in Ohio for the past 11 years and came back to find a wife. About a month ago he saw Ghana, fell in love, asked her father's permission, I don't know what the whole process was, but they all agreed, and now, only 3.5 weeks later, she's married to him!

So I slept on the roof (very common) with her 3 cousins--all 17 or 18 years old (the four of us were the bride's "company" here to talk to her, keep her company, and help her with household chores so she can just relax)--and Anna, the youngest, couldn't sleep because she was so worried for Ghana's pain. We stayed up talking until 3am, as she was sure that Ghana would cry out, come running out, or start cursing Issa and his family.

...

So this morning the bride woke up and her husband gave her $200 and fancy gold jewelry--for being a virgin. Her new in-laws danced, sang out that "Tokomadji has married into the village, a good woman joined the family, and they're so blessed."

THEN more women came, started drumming on upside-down bowls, dancing, singing, and putting money into the mother of the bride's head scarf!

Now I'm sitting with Ghana, telling her how birth control IS good, no matter what she's heard in the streets (that she'll bleed to death or become sterile if she takes it). She has to stay in this room for a week! (It's like a honey moon: she does no work, just lounges around eating for seven days).

...

Women keep randomly dancing, singing, and drumming in the hallway outside Ghana's room.

...

The next day (a full 4 days since the wedding began at Ghana's parents' house) they "displayed the gifts" meaning they took out ALL the bowls, buckets, brooms, and gifts, set them out in front of the mother in law's house, and everyone came to see. Again, they were dancing, drumming, and singing as the mother of the bride, the mother in law, and 2 aunts divided up all the gifts: one pile for Ghana to start her new household, one for the mother in law, and random gifts given to the family members until ALL of it is claimed by one person or another."

........

And then I came home to Tokomadji. I know that Ghana is just about to end her week of being served while she's confined to her new room, then she'll be treated like a queen (inshallah) by her rich, American husband.

Obviously I love Tokomadji, my little on-the-Senegal-River village of about 1,000 people, complete with dusty roads, repetitive meal choices, and funny clothes. But I guess I took it for granted that my FAMILY from the UNITED STATES of AMERICA would be able to too, as well as overlook the heat, flies, communal aspect of EVERYTHING, eating--well, really licking-- food from the hand, squatting to do anything, and doing everything on the ground all the time.

It was a very typical African start to things: we somehow got split up going to the bus station, so my English/Spanish bilingual family (good on 3 continents) was TOTALLY lost in a French/Woloof/Pulaar/Bammbara/Hassaniya bus station. Then there was trying to keep tabs on them all as they tried to ward off peddlers, "watch" the baggage as its being put atop the car, and pile into the back of a 5-rowed, 19-seater "mini bus." After teaching them their first word (yuuni, meaning enough. say it: you- knee) to keep off the begging children, we started our 19-hour ride from Dakar to Matam, complete with trying to sleep in the stiff confines of stinky students, uncomfortable seats, and holding "carry-on" items in our laps.

Fortunately, we were greeted at the river by two brothers that SWAM ACROSS because they were so excited when they saw us coming! If only you could see them climbing into the canoe fully clothed, dripping wet, next to my grandma as she's sitting on the edge with her behind only 2 inches from the river's flow, my mom as she's bailing out water by our feet with half of a left over water jug, my dad as he's keeping an eye on the bag with the lab top to see if it--or any of the stuff--is getting wet, and the poor guy rowing, alone, all of us with all of our suitcases as well as the locals that needed to cross over.

When we landed all the kids in my house were there to carry our stuff, my host mom and 'dad' came running down the bank, showering us with hugs and greetings. As they were settling in, my family was welcomed to the village by hundreds of neighbors, elders, children, and a few crazy people, as I attempted to explain weeks of training, months of trial and error, and years of technique refinement to them in the space of a few hours.

Like how to tie a wrap skirt so your underwear (or lack of it) isn't showing, how to sit without flashing people, how to pour water from the cannery into the satela (say it sat-elle-ahh) aka "butt pot", where to sit according to age, sex, and social status, how to shake hands, say hello, say good bye, and what to generally expect from people during a quick greeting and welcoming to the village.

My favorites are seeing Penda hugging my mom, Neene Booli (Mother and say it: bowl-E) hugging and kissing my grandma (and grandma's shock!), translating (like, constantly) for my family to the villagers...and the villagers to my family...and my family to the villagers...and, you get it, right? and my "Twin", Djeewo (Jay-oh) calling my dad uncle (a sign of respect) in Pulaar: Kaw (say it: cow.) So he called her nalel (say it: ñ-ahh-lil') which is Pulaar for calf.

They really did it (almost) all! The prayer call before sunrise, the braying donkeys that wake up with the call, unknown bugs crawling on you in un-reachable places, sharing un-washed cups with everyone present, drinking from canneries to keep water cool, sleeping, eating, sitting, receiving guests, etc. all on the same straw mat, licking food from your palm to your finger tips,

bathe in the river (or in river water that I brought them back on my head), ...I love them for trying it all!

Common questions: 1) How was it? A: Good, stressful for me, but I'm so glad that they came out, know my family here, understand what I'm going through, and took way better pictures than I did.

2) Did they get sick? A: No! Just once, one person had the runs, but with well-cooked food and filtered or bottled water it was all good!

3)What was hard for them? A:Eating with the hand (it spilled en route), wearing the clothes (I think some people saw more of America than they ever hoped for), the tiredness (they looked literally beat up by life when we got them back to the airport), the flies (really do land on your face, food, butt, etc.)

The things I'm MOST excited for when my family comes:

1.Seeing the joy on Gogo Penda's (my local mom) face when she meets my US mom.

2.Watching the shock and final understanding of my US family when they meet my Mauritania family and see our home.

3.Teaching my mom and dad how to properly squat over the poop hole (you know, so they don't fall over, pee on themselves, or...miss)

4.Laughing at my sister trying to sweep the dirt with that puny little hand-held broom.

5.Showing "the women" aka Kelsey and my mom, the way to balance 10-20 liters of water on your head, walk up the steep river's bank, get to our house, and pour it all into the cannery...without spilling any on your shirt.

6.Letting my dad help kill, butcher and eat a goat. hahaha, hehehe.

7.Waking up with my sister next to me, at sunrise, dragging her tired butt off of the bamboo "bed", and showing her off as we go buy the breakfast bread at Mary's house by the Mosque.

8. Showing how Mauritanian women don't use tables for cutting, cooking, preparing anything... The knife is so dull that your hand is all you really need for everything: chopping onions, preparing meat, peeling potatoes, etc.

9.Hearing the "local-English-teacher-who-has-never-actually-left-Mauritania" try to speak with my grandma....even HE speaks better English than my grandma! (yeah, he still doesn't believe me when I tell him that....)

10.seeing the joy on their faces when the kids start to drum and dance around my family... or the fear!

11.Loading baggage, suitcases, and family into a canoe to paddle across the river to get to our village as the sun is setting.

12. watching the wonder as Africans learn that "America" does not mean the United States alone, nor does it mean "white"

13. Helping my parents eat dinner with their HAND. from a BOWL with like EIGHT people around it!

14. Making the parade through town to show off my family to my new (Mauritanian) family and friends. You know they'll be taking pictures of the first-ever entire American family to come to Tokomadji.

15.trying to teach my mom, grandma, and sister how to do laundry by hand so that it squirts water out and squeaks as you wash.

16. BATHING IN THE RIVER!!! without showing anything from your armpits to your knees

17.Putting these CLOTHES on my family!

18.Getting their hair braided and their hands/feet henna-ed. It'll take at least 3-4 hours of just sitting really still.

19.Letting action-based, pantomimed relationships form that will transcend culture, age, ability, social status, distance, and language. Seriously half of the village already knows the FULL name of each person coming to visit... along with their age, job and/or school year, types of food they like, and favorite color. They're excited!

20. being the connection that allows people new experiences: priceless.

With my parents getting ready to come out and visit me in Tokomadji (that's right! they're coming here! and my little sister...and my GRANDMA!!!) I'm constantly thinking of things that I will have to tell them to prepare them for a week in an African Bush Village. I know that I love being here and have learned to look past a lot of things that would bother most Americans, but how do I explain things like asking for gifts (ie your watch, hat, clothes, shoes, etc) from random strangers is totally acceptable? Or "washing" your hands before eating with them doesn't always include soap? And I know the bathroom sounds funny, but really, we're in Africa! Most Americans can count the number of monthly solid #2's they make on one hand!

So really this is for my mom, grandma, dad and sister:

As visitors expect to be ripped off at the airport getting your taxi.

Next, if you thought those 10 hour drives down to Baja were intense, just wait: at least you have your own car, snacks, air conditioner, music, space, and you've all showered within a 36-48 hour period. In Mauritania the ride is about 15 hours, squishing 10 non-deodorized people in the 8-seater, no music, snacks if you brought them and don't mind them being on your lap the whole time, broken seat belts, windows down, a cracked windshield, and random pee stops behind bushes with no toilet paper or water. And you'll probably be mooning someone somewhere! I think we'll rent a 7-seater for the 5 of us.

When we get up to Matam, Senegal to cross into Mauritania, I'm not really sure about the timing: boats usually stop when the sun goes down, but we may be getting there after that. I'll have to ask a local boat owner (and find out who it is!) if they can be ready for our phone call to come pick us up. When we get to Tokomadji the kids will be clamoring around, touching and hugging everyone, offering to be the best kid possible and carry all of your bags up to our house. Of course little 7, 8 or 9 year olds are going to try to carry your big 50+ pound bags ON THEIR HEADS. And they can do it, too!

My family will all be so excited to meet you guys! Mama, my 21 year old Mauritanian brother, is convinced that my little sister in the US is made for him. Penda, my host mom blesses the woman that birthed me, and I'm sure will be all over her new best friend. Uncle Siley (mauritanian) has been learning English pretty much since he found out my family is coming, and will be so eager to try out his new skill with my dad. And Mama Fati (the very old, grandmother next door) I'm sure will be ready to host my grandma and make sure her fellow senior citizen is going to make it in this place.

We'll eat:

gosi (say it: go-see)(kind of like rice pudding, but a little different),

couscous and milk,

couscous and boodi (say it: booty) (like a soft cucumber),

haako (say it: haa-ko)(bean mush, looks like baby poop),

rice and fish (the usual),

maafe (say it: maa-fey)(on rice: vegetable sauce with spices),

kele kele (say it: kelly kelly)(better-than-American- sweet potatoes cooked in a salty sauce, served with fish),

vermisil (gross pasta served in oil. that's it),

niri (say it: nee-ree)(over-cooked rice that sticks together with a tomato base. It's dipped in pure, freshly made cow's milk oil.)

Eating is the coolest thing: All of my friends will be over to greet and meet you, so they'll stay for lunch (probably). But of course having so many people over is hard on the family, so their respective families will send over plates of food from their own households to share with you, show you how good the food is, and show that they honor and respect you.

Remember, it's not a third world paradise! Your stomachs will then be so upset at you, run like crazy, and even disturb your mosquito-filled nights. We'll be going to the wells and the river to get water for ourselves, sweeping the dust in the mornings, filling our noses with nastiness, and sweating worse than a fat kid running. The hot season will be starting, people will be asking to be sent to America, asking for marriage (either me, Kelsey or Dad: he could use another wife or two, right?), laughing at how weirdly we do things, and expect us to be unable to do pretty much anything.

Leaving will be a sad affair: people will be sorry to see you go, and waiting for your next visit.

Any questions about the itinerary?

Did Djenaba ever travel! (the D is pronounced like a J; my name is said: Jen-uh-buh, or read it like it's a name in Spanish)

For the past month I have literally traveled half way up Mauritania and half of the entire width of the country for the holidays, training, and visiting friends' villages.

The first amazing thing is the car ride from Kaedi to Nouakchott: 8 hours to go 400 kilometers! On the bright side we had some sheep going with us on our taxi ride and I was able to share with 11 Mauritanians their first ever Oreos. In our 8-seater Volkswagen we had the standard 11 riders: three in the front seat, four in the middle row, and four in the back row (and of course the 2 rams!) It's always interesting being a white, Christian woman in the Muslim Republic of Mauritania: as a woman I should be in the back (thus going along with the popular view that men are of greater status than women, who should be obedient), but as a white person it's obvious that I'm not African, so I'm a guest, and they'd like to treat me extra special to show that they appreciate having a guest. But I'm still a woman. So on this particular ride I was in the very back row, but the 3 others were sure to give me as much room as possible. (Though it could also be due to the fact that a man was sitting next to me, and he's not religiously allowed to touch me. At all. Even in a car.)

Being in Nouakchott was like being in Ensenada or Rosarito (Mexico): restaurants for the Westerner's tastes, huge buildings made by private international organizations, people walking around in all kinds of western clothes, all mixed in with the trash every where, dirty little hole in the wall cafes, dusty kids holding out their cans asking for money, and the strange dichotomy of wealth living with poverty.

But we did eat hamburgers, pizza and Ben & Jerry's!

After Christmas with the PCVs in Nouakchott (including my friends Sara Cate and Ava, as seen here), I spent the New Years with my host family from training in Rosso. New Years, or "the 31st" as its called here, was apparently outlawed by the government in the 90's, thus forbidding large parties or celebrations as they are not officially on the Muslim calendar. This was explained to me just before Midnight as we sat on the ground just outside the house. There was a small party going on in the next village over, but none of my friends or family went because, in this culture, married women don't go out at night without the husband's permission, teenage girls (the ones that aren't married yet) don't go out unless they want a tarnished reputation, and the men can do as they please. So we brought in the new year with me learning about life here as we ate tangerines under the stars.

Seeing my host family was amazing! I got to experience real Pulaar hospitality. First everyone is ridiculously excited to see you, running out to the car, giving hugs, holding your hands, carrying your bags, women and children touching your arms, back, legs (for the shorter kids), just to stay near you. Fresh milk is brought out, tea is made, the questions about health, peace, family, friends, work, life are never ending as they want to be positive that there is "only peace" in your life. Getting there in the afternoon it was a given that I'd spend the night, so me and Mariam shared a huge blanket on our side-by-side matelas. (Sleeping is according to gender and age: there are so many people in one household with three rooms, so we split it: mother and little children in one room, teenage/unmarried women in another, and young men in the third). I knew I'd be staying one night, so I brought just my tooth brush, face wash, and deodorant. (Everyone lives and sleeps in the same clothes for 2, 3, 4 days), but when I was trying to leave the next day, they were so kind, welcoming, and insistent that I stay longer... so I stayed 3 nights! And they were still sad to see me go on the 4th day!

After several days of agricultural training with the Peace Corps, I headed East to Selibaby with two other volunteers to see their region, the capital, their villages, and their gardens (always work related!) Because the only way to take paved roads in Mauritania would take us north 6 hours then back south 8 hours, we decided to go straight across, in the most direct line possible, which is only available through Senegal. 2 days, a ferry ride, 6 cars, 1 metal bed for 3 people, lots of waiting, and one canoe ride later we were back in Mauritania, about 200 miles to the east of Rosso!

Selibaby is right in the "crotch" of Mauritania, the little dip that is bordered by the Senegal River: the Sahel is in full swing, baobabs abound, and I was singing the soundtrack to the Lion King about the whole time. Tim, Shelby, Sari and I climbed a fallen baobab tree as the sun rose in the cold morning--yes, it IS cold!

Later that day Tabatha, Tim and I went out to Koumba Ndow (say it: coom-bun-dow), Tabatha's Soninke village to see an Ag/fo volunteer's dream: huge, lush gardens, shallow wells easy for getting water, motivated people, and budding fruits. I even spoke Spanish with about 5 or 6 guys that live/work in Spain!

After 2 nights in Koumba Ndow, Tim and I went to his Moor village, which is only slightly changed from the traditional living from hundreds of years ago. Firstly, they have a phone. Secondly, they no longer move their tents, but use mud bricks to make a sturdier, longer lasting tent frame. Thirdly, they have wells.

The coolest thing about going all over, visiting 3 different cultures, and meeting so many people is seeing that although the Pulaars, Soninkes, and Moors are all distinct, they are also similar in certain ways: the hospitality, giving nature, curiosity about foreigners, and overall kind heartedness.

Can you find the Pulaar, Soninke and Moor women just by looking at their clothes? Hint: Moors use a mulafa (say it: moo-laa-fa), like a sheet, to completely cover everything but the face, hands, and feet. Soninkes have a head wrap in addition to a shawl, as do Pulaars, but they also have different kinds of facial scaring for beauty.

So I have a field. Not the "hills are alive with the sound of music" kind where little birds and bunnies frolic merrily by your feet. No, this is the work-for-your-food and pray-that-you-harvest-enough kind of field. It's four plots, each roughly 30 feet squared.

When I first got to Tokomadji my host mom Penda would take me to the fields to show me how they "weed" the fields, we'd work together with her two sons (Mama, 21 and Demba, 12), and it was a good learning, bonding, working experience for me. I had to learn how to distinguish between the grassy weeds and the tiny shoots of millet that look pretty much identical to the weeds, and how to recognize bean leaves--then not kill them. It was great! Then about two weeks into it we're out in the field when Penda turns to me, earlier than usual, and says, "Lets go home, I'm tired." I told her that I wasn't tired so if she wanted to go home, go and I'll stay to finish the parcel that was left. She said she didn't want to leave me, so we both stayed until it was done.

That night, after spending the afternoon puking and feverish, she was officially diagnosed with malaria. The next day, not knowing what to do with myself, I went to the field and kept weeding. For 10 days I was the only one to go to our millet field (Mama and Demba, both still considered children in this society--and act like it--didn't go because their mom didn't tell them to). Of course what took me 10 days would have taken any experienced person about 2 or 3, but at least I was kept busy!

From then on, Penda's been referring to it as "Jenaba's field" (that's my local name! say it: Jen-uh-buh or Jenna-ba). After not going to the field for a while (the Muslim holiday Julde, I went to Kaedi, had an ear infection), I came back to find the little ankle-height shoots taller than me! I was totally lost in the cooperative's fields and couldn't find "my" field: Penda had to show me where my babies were!

Just when I thought I had seen it all, it came time to water my little ones. Oh, my gosh, what a job! A rusty water pump on the Senegal River is heard throughout the whole village as it pushes tons of water up the river's bank (about 25 feet) in huge pipes to the canal system so it can flow into each man's field.

(Yes, I said each man's field: only men are allowed to own a field in the village's cooperative. We have three fields: Penda's deceased husband's, her uncle's, and her father's. None of which are next to each other). Watering goes by sections; within each section each person allows the water to go past their field and those furthest from the pump open the small door to their field to let the water in. Once their field is thoroughly flooded, they close their door, stopping the flow to the field, and the next person opens the small door to their field, and so on until all people in a given section of the cooperative have watered/flooded their field.

It takes all morning: watching for leaks in the sand-and-mud divisions between people's fields, faulty doorways, breaks in the canals, people going out of turn, people not paying but still watering, and anything you can imagine that could go wrong! The fun part is taking off your flip flops, hiking up your skirt, and going nearly knee-deep (on me, I'm short) in the mud and water, back and forth the entire length of the field as you check for possible problems, leaks, etc. Ideally, we water once every 20 days or so (which, from an agricultural point of view, is NOT ideal).

Hey, people like millet, right? So do the birds! We had a 3-4 week battle with the birds as they would come and attack the fields and we would defend them by throwing rocks at the little buzzards and yell at them our war cries (literally we yell--birds don't like loud noises!). Again, poor Penda got malaria and I was the only one to come to our field's rescue (this time all of the kids were at school, learning. How can I argue with that!?) I quickly learned the rightways to yell at the different kinds of birds, how to use the "sling shot" (two arm-lengthed ropes connected with a palm-sized piece of cloth where the rock sits. You wind up over head like a lasso cowboy-style, then at just the right spot you let go of one side of rope, sending the rock into the millet, scaring the birds away). Also, the best looking millet got nifty outfits: they were wrapped in cloths to keep the birds out.

Yelling became my favorite part: my friend Djeewo (Say it: je-woah) and I were the youngest out there (only middle-aged women and grandmas came out). We would yell all kinds of greetings in all kinds of languages, sing, yell, dance, shout, and just have a great time even though there were about 2 fields between our own and most of the time we couldn't even see each other!

It was a sad day when Djeewo and I couldn't dance and sing at each other in languages the other didn't understand, but that day came: we harvested. You keep a long, toothed, curved, handled knife in the right hand, grab the head of millet in the left, and chop it off. We'd chop, throw it on the ground in piles, then later collect with huge sacks, and send them by horse and cart to our house. Now the millet is sitting on top of a storage room, drying out, waiting to be stored for eating or local selling later, or shipped to Kaedi to be sold in the market.

Any foods we don't grow in our fields or gardens is bought in the market with the money made from our fields. For lunch we eat rice (or lachiri, a grain derived from the millet we harvest!) with fish (one is 70UM Ouguiya, say it: oo-gee-yuh; we usually have 2 fish for 6-10 people) and veggies. If they're bought in the market it's about 200UM worth of veggeis: 1 or 2 small eggplants, 3/4 cups of tomato paste, 1 cup of Mauritanian pumpkin, 1 cup of Mauritanian cucumber, 1 cup of sweet potato, 5 small okras, a small chili pepper, and 2 onions.

Right now we also have in our field/garden space: pumpkin, cucumber, sweet potato, okra, and a thing we call folere (say it: fol-le-re, pretend its a word in Spanish, and there you go!). I have no idea what this is in the States!

Finally, my field is being harvested down to the roots so that our 8 goats and their 10 kids can eat the leaves and the 2 calves can eat the stalks. Nothing goes to waste!

P.S. When we keep the birds out of the fields, its an all day thing: we go there 7am, lunch is brought to us, we nap, do laundry, bathe, brush our teeth, make tea, chat, and work until sunset around 6pm.

I realized that most of you are probably wondering what is going on here. You know I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer, but what do I actually do?

Peace Corps Goals:

1.Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.

2.Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.

3.Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

Sectors: Agroforestry, Girls Empowerment and Education, Small Enterprise Development, Health, Education, and Environmental Education.

Me specific:

Country: Mauritania

Region: Gorgol

Village: Tokomadji

Sector: Agro/Forestry

Ag/fo goals:

1.Fight Malnutrition.

2.Protect the land and environment.

3.Give training to create sustainability.

As PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) we are largely ambassadors from the United States to the everyday people of the world, sharing who and what we are. You'd be SHOCKED to know how many people in the world dream of going to the United States to make money, support their families, and build a better life in the Land of Opportunities. So, in response to the large demand, there are countless English classes given by PCVs in all sectors.

In Tokomadji I work in the fields with my host mother Penda, give pedagogical support to the village's first-ever kindergarten, help cement the local English teachers' English, teach English to high schoolers, and promote gardening, composting, and fruit tree management.

Right now I'm working on getting funding for a building for the kindergarten's 50 students, 3 (volunteer!) teachers, and director and sharing all of my knowledge with every person possible to help them with their quest for a better future.

Any ideas? Questions? Comments? Let me know!

Every day I have to face one of the most humiliating, humbling, most challenging tasks that --here--even babies do better than me: eat. Again, one of those things that sound sooo simple and you totally take it for granted, but in actuality, not everyone in the world EATS the same way as you do. And I had to learn this, the hard way: by trying as an adult.

First things first: the teenagers have finished cooking, they've placed the food in the big, communal bowl, they've laid down the cloth for eating at and they've called everyone to come and eat. As a girl--I'm not really considered a woman/adult because I'm not married, nor do I have children-- its culturally appropriate for me to sit next to other children or women. That's it. Sometimes if I'm with really good friends, it won't matter if I'm next to a man or not, but usually as we're all walking and/or scooting over to the cloth mat I'm already consciously thinking of how to make my way over so that as we sit down I'll be next to the right people. Ok, once we're all there I usually try to be the first or the last to sit down so that the others can really make it culturally appropriate by moving around me, or moving me to the right place. Once that place is found there's the next problem: how to sit down without flashing everyone who's already sitting, sit correctly so that as we're eating I don't flash the people across or next to me, and how to keep my butt from hitting others as I try to squeeze in next to them!

My advice for a wrap skirt is: stand with the right foot closest to the bowl, bunch up your skirt in front of you so that the back is pulled tight around your knees, bend over from he waist, so that your legs are straight and your torso is down, bend the knees, bringing the butt down to your ankles and sit. As you shift your weight to the butt, let your ankles cross in front of you, allow the skirt to give as you achieve your cross-legged position. If all goes well you should be facing the person to your left, and your right knee should be pointing towards the bowl, thus making the right hand reach to the food quick, easy, and short. Sitting sideways is most polite so that more people can fit around the bowl. You could also sit with both feet behind you and your knees facing the bowl as you lean over your legs, but its harder to do if you're a bigger person (like me--well, at least comparatively speaking).

Ok, so I'm sitting next to the nice lady of the house and a young teen is on my other side. One person, usually the eldest child, is in charge of making sure everyone washes their hands. There is a plastic bowl like thing called a ___________ with a (usually) matching satela. The child will place the ___________ in front of you, you put your hands over it, grab the soap from on top, and s/he'll pour water from the satela over your hands. When you're finished you say "yuni" (you-knee), s/he'll stop pouring, and move to the next person. Now its very important to remember NOT TO TOUCH ANYTHING with your right hand now that its clean and ready to eat. If you do, it'll be dirty again and you'll have to re-wash. Usually we rest the wrist on the knee while we wait for everyone to finish.

If that wasn't complicated enough, now comes the really hard part: digging in! Once everyone--anywhere from 6 to 13+ people have all washed, the plate is brought in the circle, and everyone scoots in as close as possible--usually with knees, elbows, or legs all up in each others space-- the host will say "Bismillah" (bis-mill-ah) meaning, "Welcome God" and we all reach in to the pie-shaped space in front of us. The first bite is always just rice, so go ahead and gently scrape off the top layer in front of you, bringing it closer to your piece of the bowl's edge. Be careful! If you dig too much the rice will be really really hot and burn your fingers!

Phew! Rice is accumulated in front of you; next is getting it outof the bowl and just in your hand. Gently cup your fingers and scoop the rice up the slope of the bowl towards you. Most people like to swipe side to side to make sure that all crumbs are collected off of the bowl's side, then use the momentum and pressure to just lift your hand up and away from the bowl! Voila! Rice in the hand! But don't rejoice yet, you're still hungry and haven't even eaten anything yet!

With your right hand only squeeze your hand into a fist, encompassing all of the rice with your hand and fingers. You know you're an EXPERT baller if you can squeeze it and make a juicy, squelching squeak and make some oil drip out!

ATTENTION: THE FOLLOWING IS ONLY TO BE READ BY THOSE OF STOUT HEART AND MIND. THE CONTENTS ARE DIFFICULT FOR THOSE OF SQUEAMISH DISPOSITION TO HANDLE.

The best way to actually get the food into your mouth is to collect that ball of food at the pads of your fingers, start with your tongue at the base of the palm, and lick all the way up, sometimes wrapping your upper lip over the top of your fingers to keep rice from falling off. The first few days of doing this will be slow goings, and rice will fall all over your lap, the floor, the cloth mat, and maybe back into the bowl. But no worries! Everybody's doing it!

A good host will pick off the choicest pieces of meat and veggies from the center of the bowl and throw them right in front of your eating place to show that you are honored and they want you to eat well. If not, it shows you're just one of the family and you've got to get your hand in the pile of food quickly, pulling out your bites of fish/meat or veggies as you go.

Possible challenges: the bones in the fish (you have to squish the meat in your palm with your thumb, looking for the bones, then pull them out with your left hand, depositing them on the cloth mat in front of you), small pebbles that weren't properly sorted before cooking the rice (these can really hurt your teeth if you bite down on one!), pulling the meat off of the bones or getting the fat off of the meat (ask someone to hold the other end for you, and pull off the piece of meat that you want to eat), being given intestines (either smile and swallow quickly or gently push it back into the center of the plate), or even bugs landing in the food (scoop him and the rice he touched out of the bowl and onto the cloth mat). Bon Apetit!

Of course when you've finally gotten enough food into your mouth and spilled the equivalent on the floor, your skirt, or your neighbor, you're full and ready to go, but your host will insist that you keep eating, increasing what you've eaten so far, and eating until you're full. They won't have you leaving (even slightly) hungry! If you're insistent enough, just get up, go over to the __________ and wash your hands so that they're clean. Ahhhh..... now lay down on the foam mattress, wait for tea, and relax! You did it!

"Get up!" It's dawn and the sun is rising as your mom is yelling at you: "You have to go to school!". If you're a typical 13 year-old girl--or just a teenage girl--in a Pulaar village then you'd look around and see that not only is your mom yelling at you to get up, but she's also yelling at your sisters laying on the mat next to you, your cousin on the next mat over, and the friend from the next village over where they don't have a school. That's right, you don't have to share a room with anyone, you share the porch! First thing's first: pray. As an Islamic nation as soon as you're of marrying age (a teenager) you have to pray 5 times each day!

Next you have to do your chores: Pick up your mat and blanket, put them away, and then there are 3 main daily chores that rotate depending on how many teenage girls actually live in the household. 1)Getting water--aka balance 20 liters of water on your head without a lid and not spill or you'll have wet clothes AND you'll have to go back to the well!

2)sweeping the house: oh, pain! Bending over to use the little hand-held broom to sweep the never-ending dust from the house and the leaves from the yard 3)Cooking lunch and dinner; all on a two-day rotating basis. Last night you cooked the family dinner so now you have to pile the dishes on your head and get down to the river to wash them --and yourself--before walking to school.

After you're cleaned up you came back home and go to the one room you share with all your siblings to go through your suitcase that has your clothes in it. But really you share your clothes with your sister, your cousin, and even your friend from the village over... because they share their clothes too!

It's getting warmer... so you know school is about to start! Grab your notebooks, pen and bucket (so you can stop at the well on your way back from school) you're about to learn math, science, history, religion...all in Arabic or French, your second and third languages!

Gurgle...gurgle.... your stomach is letting you know its break time! After two hours of class--which is naturally separated with boys sitting on one side and girls sitting on the other side of the classroom--and taking notes, man its time for some grub! At the market you find about 15 women sitting on the ground selling veggies and one has meat balls! Yes! Oh, but wait, it's your turn to cook lunch so pull out the money mom gave you before leaving for school, find the right veggies, get that special balance on your head, and drop them off at home. Then more class...but you don't get to sit next to that cute Abu you've got a crush on...

Sun-over-head means time to go home for lunch! If you're the lucky one that doesn't cook today, just go home and relax...if not...prepare the fish, veggies, rice (This is waaay harder than it sounds! I can't cook here!) don't forget the FIREWOOD, matches, and bowls.

Enjoy! Eating is of course a family affair: everyone all around one nice big bowl, digging in with the right hand, helping each other tear meat off the bones, sometimes elbowing your annoying little brother in the ribs to scoot over if he's too close...I mean, he does kind of smell...

Tea time is so important the family never misses it! So your big brother busts out the coals from lunch, tea leaves, fresh mint, tons of sugar, the little tea pot, and the special tea glasses. Ahhh.... enjoy the 3 cups of tea as we all lay around on the porch where you slept last night.

Ok, its getting cooler time to go back to school for more learning and trying to show yourself off to either catch Abu's eye or that of any other eligible bachelor with lots of goats and cows (they show the family's wealth, of course! Think My Big Fat Greek Wedding)

Now it's really getting cold out! Grab your bucket from under the desk and get to the well. If you get home quick enough there will be enough sunlight left to hang out with your friends! You do each others hair, play with makeup ideas, tease your sister, and maybe flirt with some of the guys in the neighborhood; since mom and dad are at the fields working there's a bit of a sense of freedom in the house...

The sun is setting so its time to buckle down: parents are getting back from work, and you have to cook dinner. Its off to the fire! As you cook your sister gets out the lantern or a candle so the 5 or 6 of you can do homework. Yup, all on the porch! (At least you always know where everyone is)

Wow, you're really tired now! Time for bed! Pull out the mat. Grab that fuzzy blanket you share with your sister. No pajamas, just what you were wearing earlier. Brush your teeth if you feel like it. Good night.

*Side note: there aren't any actual HOURS since no one here really uses them...it's all pretty much by the sun or by feel.

I remember in junior high being shocked when I learned that in the Middle Ages the average person didn't travel more than 12 miles away from their birth place. Ever. In their whole lives. And now I'm living in such a place.

This is our front yard.

Just to get here-- to Kaedi, internet, electricity, American cooking, and you-- I have to travel an arduous, tiring, haggard, and nearly impossible whopping 65 kilometers! Thats all of about 40 miles, less than the commute for most Californians on their way to work.

To begin with I'm really not bitter about any of this at all, it is part of "learning patience." That being said, whenever I feel the remarkable mother-child powers calling me to a beloved package that has arrived at the Post Office or sense your need to know more about life in Mauritania, I have to plan on spending the day in transit:

Usually around 6:00am I will get up so that I have enough time to pick up my bed, get dressed (no bathing since it's still dark and thus not safe to go bathe, or its too cold now), walk to the neighbor's house to buy fresh bread, walk back home, eat it, grab my bag (only one outfit needed for 3 days, everyone does this), and walk out to the "road." The "road" is about 5 minutes walking from our house and is actually tire tracks embedded in the sand that drivers don't actually need to find Kaedi. No pavement, no trail, and no guidelines whatsoever. (During the rainy season most of it is flooded, so to pave would be pointless for a quarter of the year).

You can see the camels "following" the "road" on an early morning walk.

Ok, so I'm chilling on the side of the road, maybe sitting on my bag, maybe alone, maybe with some other traveling Tokomadjians, and I'm waiting. From about 7:00am or so, just waiting for the next passing truck. Once I had to wait only 5 minutes, but another time I waited 2 hours. As soon as one comes down the "road" going in the right direction, they see me, I stick my hand out to show that I DO want to get on the truck, and the driver and I will negotiate a price for my passage. Even though we all know it's 1,000 UM (ouguiya, say it: uuuu-GEE-ya) (about $4.00 USD)to go from Tokomadji to Kaedi, we all know we have to barter. Drivers may say it's up to 5,000UM, but as long as I just insist that I'm going to pay ONLY 1,000UM then after about 2 minutes of repeating myself, they agree that yeah, it really is just 1,000UM. Done. Unless I have really big bags, then that's extra.

Of course the simple 3 seater Toyota with no cab or bed extensions is already full inside the cab, and all kinds of 50 Kilo sacks of rice, sugar, luggage, and people have filled the bed, but this is not meant to discourage travelers! I just hike up my wrap skirt (I'm sure to wear underwear on travel days!) so no one sees above my knees but I can still hike up the wheel of the truck and climb onto the bed of goods in the back, wedging myself between a stinky shepherd, a student, an imam, and a nursing mother. Quickly I try to twist my fingers around anything semi-stable while not invading anyone's privacy and keeping in mind my own safety, anchor my butt (the bulk of my weight, I mean, the center of my gravity), and wedge my feet under luggage or dangle them over the edge. Sometimes everything is covered with netting like fishing nets, so theres an automatic handle right where you're sitting!

You can see the nets by my feet! I was lucky in this photo, no one to squish against!

Ok, my fellow travelers: the shepherd spends most of his days alone with his camels, cows, goats or sheep in the countryside away from any sort of civilization. He likes to wear a ridiculously long (like 3 yards) scarf on his head and mouth to protect it from the sun and dust. He usually has some billowy pants that are a cross between gaucho pants and sweat pants (super light, big, airy, and tight on the cuffs), and a poncho-shirt that looks like Great-Aunt Mabel's old curtains (big, colorful flowers, etc). He's nice, sometimes talkative.

The Student is the embodiment of the West meets Africa or Africa abducts America: jeans (that say really funny things on the leg in English like "Use only non-chlorine bleach. Tumble dry low. Warm iron if needed"), sunglasses (cost about 300UM, or $2 USD), back pack (jansport knock off), and shirt that must pay tribute to Bob Marley, 2Pac, or any national soccer team (usually Brazil, go figure!). These are the boys that you can just see walking down a street in LA and totally blending in...sort of.

The Imam, or other professional religious person is almost always very interesting in what I believe, willing to share what Muslims believe, and usually very friendly. I like him!

This is what we see sometimes: a random canoe (the only river-traversing method).

The nursing mother always worries me. We're on this ridiculous, non-existent, ravine-ridden road, and she has this 8-month old balanced in her arms, suckling as she's trying to keep him from sloshing around too much as we bounce down the say. Somehow I am always next to her so I always try to let her lean against me since both of her arms are on her baby, not holding either of them to the car. She's usually pretty quiet as she tends to the nursing child while trying to semi-hide her exposed body part.

As we go along we pass several waiting people, sometimes stopping to pick them up, sometimes not even slowing down, and sometimes letting people off. This ALL could potentially happen in a village--like my case-- or in the middle of nowhere, which I'm still piecing together. There is of course a strategy to getting the best seat: the closer to the cab the less bumpy the ride; the more in the center you are the more you can lean on others knowing you're not going to fall out (but really its not cool to touch the others, so no leaning on them). If you're on the side you really have the potential to be jostled out of the truck! Oh, and we've squished about 20+ people in the back of the truck, on top of the goods.

This is exciting, right?! Good! This trip lasts about 2.5 hours on a good day. Yup, just to go about 40 miles. And its all worth it: about 11 or 12 noon we make it to Kaedi! We're all dropped off at the market, I go to the Post office, get that package that was calling me, and head off balancing my bag or box on my head for the 15-20 minute walk to our "Regional House" and little slice of America.

Our front yard as you walk in the door. Sam on the doorstep, Kelby the dog on the mat on the floor.

Sara Cate lounging in the lounge. We have tons of books, a fan, table, foam mattresses for sleeping/sitting/playing/lounging on, a table, and dvd's!

Yes, peeing. Pretty simple, right? you walk in, flip on the light switch, have a seat, do your business, wipe it clean, flush, wash and go. Easy.

Oh, but wait! Not in Mauritania!

First you have to find the makaresh, or satela, which could be sitting anywhere in the yard: by the cooking fire, under the sleeping platform, behind the door, next to the garden, on the corner of the porch, under the tree, or leaning against the water cannery, but never near the actual bathroom it self. Once found it is usually guaranteed to be empty. So its back to the water cannery.

At the water cannery there are 2 to choose from: one with river water and one with well water. The well water is strictly for drinking, and river water is literally for everything else, so don't dip into the wrong one. So you grab this plastic, 1-liter, handled "pot" and dip it into the river water cannery. Oh, but only use your right hand to hold the pot because the left is dirty (more on that to come ;). Pour the water from the pot into the teapot-shaped satela. I've been yelled at several times for doing this wrong:

you have to have to have to pour the water away from the cannery's opening. Not over it. The satela is after all dirty from going into the douche/bathroom, and if water drips from it into the cannery then the cannery is dirty too.

Ok, so you have your water. Make sure you have shoes on! Walk over to the bathroom, be careful because the door doesn't actually close all the way: I've been walked in on a few times... Try to close the door as securely as possible, walk over to the hole. Time to go, right? Nope, not yet! Since the door doesn't really close, and people have accidentally come in, its best to consider which way to face: if you face the door, everyone will see your junk. If you face the wall, they'll just see your back and knees poking out. But the hole is best reached if you face the door. So if it's #1 (peeing) face the wall! But if you have some real business to attend to, you'll have to really close the door as tightly as possible!!

Once you're in position, aim well! And remember that anything that doesn't make it in the hole, you're responsible for. Once you're relieved, use that pot of water! Right hand in back, pouring (but don't get your clothes wet), left hand in front for the balance (remember you're squatting over a hole, you don't want to fall over). When all is clean, stand up, still wet (we don't really wear underwear, that would be a natural nursery for diseases), and hopefully there's still some water left after your escapades, because I still like to use soap to wash my hand.

Usually there's this little scrap of soap up on the wall of the roofless toilet room, but it is a little taller than me, so I have to reach up, feel around, and try to find the little bugger. Then wash my left hand with just my left hand, so that my right hand can pour out the water. I usually do this over the hole so that any thing that may still need to go down the hole goes down. Put the soap back up on the wall, open the door, you and your wet behind are finished!

Deposit satela wherever you think the next seeker will most likely not find it, and go some place where either 1) your butt will dry while you sit down, 2) you can stand if the fabric of your skirt/pants/etc. doesn't show wetness, or 3)go for a walk

Hopefully you're not sick and you don't have to face the people that heard your explosive diarrhea and/or gas as it erupted into the echoing hole.

I realized that I have had to learn a lot of patience with my self as I learn how to do everything over again: talk, walk, greet, stand, sit, lay down, sleep, eat, drink, bathe, address people, cook, clean, sweep, read, write, do my hair, wear my clothes, sew, buy clothes, go to the market, shake hands, answer the phone, count, pay rent, fend off marriage proposals, joke, laugh, visit friends, make friends, know people, and yes, even pee.

Yesterday we had some visitors from the European Commission to see our health volunteers at work. Among the 6 visitors were a few Frenchmen, a couple Italians, and a Spaniard! They didn't stay very long, but we did have great conversation, exchange phone numbers, and speak English (a rare treat these days). Then the Italian invited me, along with all of the other local PC volunteers to his house for a get-together/ party (can we call this a party?) So this morning I got up at 5:30ish to pack and get ready for the 2-3 hour trip into Kaedi. After going around the market, greeting, talking to nice random people, bargaining for cooking oil, eating for the first time in a Mauritanian restaurant (on the floor, just like at a friend's house, we just had to pay afterwards), and buying oranges (we don't have any fruit in my village), I made it to our "PC house", found 3 packages waiting for me from my mom, AND was promised spaghetti for lunch! I was so happy!

My mom sent me Oreos and as we sat around eating them, we couldn't stop laughing, giggling, smiling, ohhing and aahhhing, and marvelling at the deliciousness that is the Oreo!

Some other weird new things that make Mauritania very enjoyable:

the smell of burnt tea

fresh bread in the mornings

watching people pray

bathing 2 or 3 times each day

talking to everyone I meet in my village

everybody knows my name! it's better than the TV show Cheers !

drinking Tufam! (soured milk mixed with water and sugar...amazing.)

Friendship bracelets

sleeping outside

eating outside

sitting on our raised bamboo platform called a donkey, talking to my host family

the joy people have when I take their picture

hearing my family try to speak English

understanding Pulaar!

sharing American candies with my family--they love it!

Africa is definitely NOT as savage as many Western people think it is. Yes, its dirty with trash in the streets, we do everything outside, and kids are always running around half--or completely-- naked, but people are still loving, educated, striving for improvement, and doing the best possible with what they have. This is definitely a place that more people should come to see and understand.

You always have a place to stay if you come to visit me!!

But of course I’m still having a great time in Africa. Haha, I totally get these reality checks sometimes and realize I’m IN Africa. Just the other day we were sitting in our “Peace Corps” house (a house for us to stay in when we come into the state’s capital) and saying, “You’d be surprised what you get used to.” And its so true!

I’ve been in Tokomadji for one month now, exactly the month of Ramadan. So I never knew what this entails, and it is sooo intense: from the night the moon disappears through the new moon—30 nights—all adult Muslims are required to Fast, meaning no food or water during daylight hours. Even in the crazy African heat, NO WATER!! I found out there’s a science to Fasting correctly: at 5:30ish everyone wakes up to the call in from the local Mosque, makes some breakfast, usually a porridge called ruy (pronounce it like you would in French, but with a rolled “r” or say it: ru-ee) and/or bread and coffee/tea. Once the second call is out from the Mosque announcing the official rising of the sun, NO MORE EATING OR DRINKIG ANYTHING, say your prayers, back to bed, then get up later to go to the fields to work.

Another interesting thing: field work. Going with my family to “weed” the fields made me so thankful that I was an athlete for all of my life, and that water was my sport. There is no other way that I could have kept close behind my fasting family. It’s bending over with a hand-held hoe from about 8:00am-noon. Of course they all are so much better at it than I am, even when they’re fasting, but I was at least able to semi-keep up. The whole time I would think of college water polo practices, and Rond saying that we’re swimming our yards when we’re tired to be ready for that fourth quarter of water polo play. And I would keep going in the field. I would totally be laughing, thinking of where I came from and where I am now, but I would keep going, relishing of the excellent cross training I was getting.

So after being shown up by my fasting host sister we’d go home, “shower” (you’ve seen the makaresh, right?) rest, then work around the house in the evening once it cooled down. Around 7:00pm, the Mosque would announce the official sun setting, and we’d break fast! Dates, water, and bissap to whet the whistle, then coffee or tea with bread (kind of like a regular breakfast). About half an hour later we’d have a dish of potatoes with meat or fish (kind of like a normal lunch), and around 10 or 11pm, once the food has digested a bit, we’d have rice and fish (kind of like dinner). I always saw breakfast as getting in the full day’s meals, all in the same order, just after dark.

Its required by the Muslim faith to fast, and I was told they do this for two reasons: 1. To cleanse the body of any impurities and 2. To feel the pain and suffering of the poor that have to live through this for their entire lives. The really old, the really young, the sick, and pregnant/nursing mothers aren’t required to fast, so I still got lunch with the kids in the family!

Basically during Ramadan any work that doesn’t need to be done isn’t. So many, many people spent their days sleeping, resting, and trying not to sweat out their water reserves.

Other things I’m –still—getting used to:

People always like to ask me about the United States, everyone wants to go there, and daily I’m asked for a Visa to the US.

Even my forearms sweat. It is so gross.

Getting marriage proposals, from random strangers

Being told why I’m going to Hell (not by all people or even every day, but when it does happen I’m still a little weirded out by it)

Not understanding everything that people say to me.

Being patient with myself as I learn something new.

Recognizing the cold wind that comes 2 minutes before heavy rain fall, and trying to pick up my bedding, etc before the rain gets here!

Strategizing my eating plan so that I get enough meat and veggies before they’re all eaten up by everyone else at the plate.

Keeping a good hold while in the bed of a very bouncy, very fast pick up truck so I don't fall out

Well, life continues and I honestly and absolutely love the support I get from you! Hearing from you in any form is the highlight--and main reason--of leaving the relative paradise that is Tokomadji to come into the city!

Twin! I miss you so much!

(1) This is the toilet: a nice hole in the ground about 5 inches in diameter and 2 bricks on either side to put your feet. Everyone squats at these things, even men!

(2)This is the "shower" See the little pot with a handle and spout? That's the makaresh that holds about 1 liter (or less) of water. That's what I bathe with.

(3) This is eating! We only have 6 people at this plate, usually there are about 12 for a plate this size. See the toes on the right? That's because we're all sitting cross-legged on the floor!

(4) Same plate just a few minutes later. My hand at the bottom is giving a sample food ball: rice, veggies, chicken all mixed in and squeezed tight to fit in my mouth.

(5) Same plate again, with Tanya on the left, Sara Cate (my CBT site mate, Gorgol region mate, and close friend), and me eating on the floor.

(6)This is my neighbor's suudu, a typical room made of twigs (say it: Sue-do). Right here the grandma, cousin, and daughter are making/eating breakfast. This is where they eat breakfast every day.

(7) This is Hawa (Say it: how-uh), my friend's host aunt. She's in the village's boutique, which is owned/ran/operated by her part of the family. That's pretty much all of the boutique.

(8)Inside a suudu is my great friend Daya (Say it: Dye-uh) and her youngest child. Notice we're all sitting on the floor. Every household has a suudu or two, and every woman is in charge of making her own. It's really cool though because once it's at a certain stage in the making, all of the village women will come to help finish it.

(9) Lastly is the place I go every day: the bathroom! On the left is the shower, on the right is the "toilet". This is a really typical layout for the bathroom here. Washing hands afterwards is using the rest of the water in the makaresh and some soap (if it's available) pretty much anywhere you feel like washing: by a tree, in the middle of the yard, etc.

Right most of my classmates from school are now either working or going to grad school; it all sounds interesting but hard; I was planning on going there one day, but right now I'm not so sure. I'm really loving the Peace Corps so much! I feel like this is the simple kind of living that I've always dreamed of for myself.

I just finished training and on Monday I'll be going to my final/permanent/for real village that I'll be living in for the next 2 years. So I'm not even sure yet what my daily schedule will be like, but this is what it's been for the last 10 weeks:

Get up 7am

go to the bathroom: a Turkish toilet/squat outhouse and use water/hand

wash my hands and face

go to the boutique for bread

drink tea with the bread

clean my room

sweep the patio

clean up the yard

go greet people/hang out/ talk

come home and make lunch 12ish

eat lunch 2ish

drink tea, talk

nap during the heat, until about 3pm

go to the ONLY water spigot in our village and bring back water for bathing/drinking/cooking

do whatever work may need to be done, like helping my aunt build her twig hut (very hard, and I really can't do it very well!)

shower

go greet, talk, hang out

home about 6ish to help with getting the cows milked (I don't actually do the milking)

drink some fresh milk

strain fresh milk

put fresh milk into container to be taken to a factory on the "milk car" which picks up the entire villages milk containers

play with my cousins, teach English to my aunt, start making dinner

eat dinner 9ish

go greet, hang out, talk

bed 11pm

In my new home starting on Monday I have to get my water from a well every morning! and I can balance it on my head! its so awesome to do all of this. we don't have electricity, running water, a doctor, a road, or very much at all really, but we laugh often and love a lot. so its worth it to me.

For 10 weeks I was learning Pulaar and the local culture. I was in the site with 4 other Peace Corps Trainees and a local teacher; each of us had a different host family where we slept, ate, studied, and lived like exchange students. Now that we've learned the basics we've all gone to our separate regions within Mauritania. Regions are like states: in the US there are 50 states, each with its own capitol, characteristics, and customs. In Mauritania there are 14 regions, mine being "Gorgol." I am so happy because my really good friend Sara Cate, or as the natives call her Suli Kay (they can't say her name well), and I are in the Gorgol together! That doesn't mean we'll be together all the time because the villages we live in are about 100 kilometers away from each other.

Now we've arrived in the Gorgol to buy the necessities for our homes for the next 2 years, including:

floor mat

sofa cushion-like bed

3 buckets for bathing, getting water from the well, etc

2 tubs for washing clothes, getting water from the well, etc

cups with handles, for dipping into the buckets and/or tubs

gas stove

water cannery, for keeping drinking water in

cooking pots/pans/spoons

bamboo cot

sheet

hand broom

makaresh (the toilet)

hand fans

bowl for eating in

and anything else that looks cool

Ramadan is starting, so everyone will be fasting during the day, meaning NO WATER or FOOD while the sun is out. Except for children, feeding mothers, and me. If you feel moved to send just-add-water foods to help sustain me, feel free!

brownie mix

baking mixes

oatmeal

bacon bits

Crystal Light juice mixes

your love

Let me know if you have any questions about Africa and I'll answer them!

I can’t believe I’ve already been in Mauritania for 10 weeks! They’ve gone by so fast! I just left my training site PK-6 and in about 4 days we’ll be sworn in as the newest Peace Corps Volunteers in Mauritania! Anyway, for the last 10 weeks 4 other Peace Corps Trainees—PCT—and I were in PK-6 to learn Pulaar and the African culture. Today we left PK-6 in a flurry of tears, hand shakes, hugs, and promises to visit. We all really love PK-6 and it was hard to leave. Sanitation is interesting here: ok, so its almost non-existent to the American standard. In the Muslim religion there are 5 prayer times a day and each time the person praying needs to wash their face, hands, and feet. This is really practical since everything is not very sanitary: kids play in the dirt, next to the spot they peed in earlier in the day. Cows, goats, chickens, donkeys, dogs, and cats roam everywhere, including the yard. Everyone spends pretty much al their time outside since inside is just way to hot. We spend our time under an “mbarra” which is a low roof with no walls: shade and the breeze! Anyway, everything has fine amount of dust in/on it, even the food! Food is good here, but it gets monotonous: rice, fish, and veggies every day for lunch. The young girls about 13-18 start cooking about 1-2 hours before eating, usually inside a small twig hut over a wood fire. When its ready, they spoon the rice into a huge bowl then strategically lay out the fried fish and vegetables all around, put the bowl onto their head, and walk over to the mbarra where the family is waiting. There’s a piece of cloth put on the floor, usually about 3 sq ft where anywhere from 8-15 people gather around. One of the 8-15 year olds, or who ever is “low” on the family totem pole will pour water out of the makaresh (which looks like a big tea pot) so each person can take their turn to wash their hands. Usually there’s soap but some times not, so that can be disgusting considering all the hands you HAVE to shake, the animals you’ve shooed away, the dirt we all do everything on, and the fact that your left hand wiped your butt that morning. Then, all of us gather around the big food bowl and dig in! Right hands only, or use a spoon with your left. You have to grab a handful and ball it up in your fist. Try getting a piece of wonder bread and making it into a ball using just your right hand. Easy? Good, now try doing that with rice. Ha ha he he ha! Please tell me if/when you do this, so I can laugh! When you’re done you get up, wash your hands, lounge around, and wait for tea! I love it!

I've been here for a month now and absolutely LOVE Mauritania! The people are so welcoming, loving, and giving: I now have family in Africa!

Ok, some weird things that I've gotten so used to that they're no longer weird:

peeing, etc. into a hole (aim well!)

speaking Pulaar

feeling naked/somethings wrong if I don't have a head scarf on

my mosquito net comforts me at night/in the morning when I'm not sure where I am

hissing to get someone's attention

my new name is: Jenaba So

snapping and pointing to show something I want/you should pass to me

sweating PROFUSELY

eating with my hand only

wiping with the left hand; greeting, opening, pointing, grabbing, accepting, giving, and eating with the right hand

a polite host throwing choice pieces of meat in to your eating space, so you don't have to pick out the bones

people trying to rip me off

its ok to burp!

men hold hands in the street

no chairs for sitting on, lounging on the ground on a straw mat only

tea three times a day, three rounds each time

not touching people of the opposite sex

dancing is the BEST pass time

sex beads! (kind of like a necklace for your waist/ hips)

friends (of the same sex) casually touching your boobs

no one works/walks/does anything from 11-3pm because its just too hot!

being excited when you pass a solid bowel

getting 10 marriage proposals each day

little kids whispering and/or shouting "toubab!" (white person) as we walk down the street

a typical day for me in my little tiny village for the 3 months training is getting up at 6:30, having my 3 rounds of tea with some bread with my host family: the woman who birthed about half the village, her name is Choya; my host mother, my namesake Jenaba, and wait, she's only 2 years older than me; her 1/2 sister that is 7 years old, named Binta; my uncle Yerba who's very old and eats with a spoon--totally weird!

then language lessons from 8-12, lunch, tea, nap, language from 3-6, work in the garden, greet people just about the most important thing you could do here!, drink more tea, go home, study, greet more people, and dinner around 9 or 9:30. Then I greet more people. our village is very VERY small and i can greet everyone in less than a day.

In September I'll be done with training and move to my permanent site in the region known as the Gorgol, just along the Senegalese River! So plants, trees, good food, and happy people.

If you are bored and want to send stuff, I will absolutely LOVE it! It takes about 1 month to get here, so keep that in mind. Some ideas:

meat

cheese

magazines

cereal

tea--the Celestial ones are goooood

oat meal

granola bars

power bars

DRIED FRUITS!!

fun letters

Its a general address for the Peace Corps and they'll get letters and stuff to me:

Michelle Hernandez, PCV

BP 222

Nouakchott, Mauritanie

West Africa

If you're interested in seeing photos of our training site look at my friend Zach's site:

zachinrim.blogspot.com

Yes! I'm joining the Peace Corps (PC) and leaving for Mauritania, Africa. On June 17th I'm leaving for Atlanta, Georgia and after 3 days of Orientation with other PC Volunteers (PCV) it's on to Senegal for a 6 hour (give or take a couple hours) bus ride to Rosso, Mauritania for 3 months of intense training.

Along with a record-high 135 other trainees, I'll learn about culture, safety, language (probably one or 2 of several Arabic dialects), etc while living with a local host family.

This is a chance of a life time and I can't thank you enough for your love and support! I'll be keeping you updated for the next 27 months!