Hello all you happy people. Since you last heard from me, I've been living in the glorious Midwest, dragging my GPA up to a normal-school-acceptable level, making periodic sanity trips to Chicago, and spending the holidays at home for once.

Much to the relief of my mother, I've cleared out again, this time to the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and I'll be writing to you from Oahu, Hawai'i for the next two years. I'm attending Hawai'i Pacific University, majoring in Diplomacy and Military Studies. Which will ideally lead to my working internationally for the government again, in a more officially ambassadorial capacity. We'll see. But in the mean time, I'm planning on posting more updates as to my various activities.

As you may have seen on my Facebook page, I recently hiked to the top of the Diamond Head Crater:

My legs were very unused to much walking and somewhat rubbery on the last few hundred stairs. Alas, in the suburbs, everything is just slightly too far away from everything else to walk. Okay, okay... I had an office job and sat around on my butt for a year. I'll admit to not going far out of the way to make time for exercise if you will. Luckily for my health, fitness is sort of a byproduct of living on a hilly, beach-filled island. And I intend to learn how to surf and SCUBA dive. There's also a hiking club at HPU and I'm taking tennis this semester. Shape, I shall uncover thee!

Classes started today! I'm taking Oceanography, War & Civilization, Writing 102, World History to 1500, Global Economics, and Tennis. Wish me luck and love. More soon...

1. Why did you pick Africa?

In the Peace Corps, the head office offers Invitees (people who have applied and been accepted to service in the Peace Corps) a position in a country. The first offer I received was in Mauritania, West Africa, as an Agroforestry Agent. I accepted, but at the time I knew very little about Africa in general. This ignorance was one of the reasons I accepted the placement. I wanted to learn about life in Africa, first-hand.

2. Would you like to go back?

Absolutely. I'm already looking for ways to get back there. I'm even thinking of applying for a short-term (4-6 week) consultancy in Mauritania with Grandmother Project surveying the cultural reality of being female in a rural village. I have a family in a village in Mauritania and I would love to see them again. They took me in while I was working there with the Peace Corps and I am considered a daughter. I also have many friends, one of whom I called a few weeks ago. Everyone wants to know when I'm coming back!

3. What did you do there?

I worked with the village women's co-operative, a group of local women who work together to better the nutrition of their families through gardening and other means. I spent time in the garden and with the villagers, helping develop knowledge and use of new gardening techniques and technologies.

I designed and taught music and art classes to local young girls on the weekend. We learned about perspective, group co-operation, harmony, and how to be creative, among other things. This was one of my most rewarding projects.

4. What is different in Africa from the United States?

Not all of Mauritania is rural and the capital city has the same amenities you would find in the rest of the world, but I lived on the edge of civilization, between the Senegal River and the brutal Sahara. In my village there was no electricity and no running water. We used fires and flashlights with batteries brought from the city for light and got our water from wells. Every morning and every evening the village women are crowded around the wells, throwing bucket after bucket down into the well and pulling them out by hand. This is how they get water for making food, for bathing, for drinking and for cleaning. It is a lot of work, and very time-consuming.

Also Mauritanians are far more social and hospitable than Americans. Every person that comes to a house is made welcome and comfortable. A guest can expect to be greeted profusely and enthusiastically. A mat is laid out for guests to sit, recline, or lie on, often with many pillows for their comfort. A tea ceremony is common, with three rounds of mint tea (the first glass is like life, bitter; the second is like love, sweet, and the third is like death, gentle). Guests will often be invited to stay to eat, or a special snack will be provided. If it is late, guests will be invited to spend the night. Long-term visits by guests are also not uncommon. There is very little privacy and next-to-no alone time. Mauritanians are always together and expect others to want the same.

Also, Mauritania is an Islamic Republic. In French, one of Mauritania's official languages, it is called the Islamique Republique de Mauritanie. This means that most of its population are practicing Muslims. Every city, town, and village has a mosque. In fact, the cities are crowded with them. The imam (the head of the mosque) calls the people to prayer over a loudspeaker 5 times a day (at dawn, noon, the middle of the afternoon, just after sunset, and at nightfall about two hours after sunset). People all over the country stop what they are doing, wash their face, hands, and feet, and pray on special prayer mats. Friday is a special holy day, and throughout the year several festivals are held, including Ramadan, which is a month of fasting followed by a big celebration of Abraham's near-sacrifice of Isaac. Everyone buys special outfits for the occasion and cooks a lot of food. It is a big party.

5. Does Africa have different laws than the United States?

Mauritania is, legislatively speaking, a democracy. In practice, however, Mauritania is still learning what it means to be democratic. While I was there, the military, headed by Mohamed Ould Abdel Aziz, decided they were unhappy with the job that the elected president was doing. Rather than go through the legal process of impeaching him, they threw a coup d'état and put the president under house arrest. Aziz was later elected as Mauritanian's new president.

6. What jobs do they have in Africa?

In my village, most of the men are either fishermen, shepherds, or farmers. There is also a mayor, a schoolteacher, an imam, a baker, and a couple tailors. The women manage the household, raise the children, work in the garden and the fields, prepare the food, do the laundry, fetch the water, and take care of all guests.

7. Which place do you like better the United States or Africa?

I like both places, but the United States is my home. I learned many things in Mauritania, but I wouldn't want to live my whole life there, especially as a woman. Women do not have as many rights or options, legally or socially. There are many other problems making life there difficult: poor education, malnutrition, and lack of sanitation (or sanitation systems for trash collection, sewage and floodwater, pollution management, etc) are only some of the major ones. In the United States, there are far more opportunities and freedoms than almost anywhere else.

I love Mauritania and I am very grateful to my host family and to the Peace Corps for the experience.

Summarizing the past few months:

Peace Corps Mauritania was temporarily closed due to a final build-up of safety issues. These include earlier events such as the coup d'etat in August of 2008 and denying of visas to Americans beginning in 2009, and more recent events such as the fatal shooting of an American teacher in the capital during a kidnapping attempt (which Al Qaeda claimed responsibility for) and a suicide bomber targeting Westerners who killed only himself. This is all extremely unfortunate for the average citizen of Mauritania, most of whom are peaceful and very hospitable.

Peace Corps Volunteers, including myself, were offered interrupted service or to extend their service in other countries. I chose to take interrupted service and have enrolled for the fall semester at a local college near my hometown outside of Chicago, IL. I am pursuing studies in International Relations and hope to transfer to a 4-year school next fall.

My African experience taught me a great deal about myself, but it also opened my eyes to the United States and our relationship to the international community, a relationship that is becoming increasingly important as nations become less isolated. What we do, what other nations do--each affects the other in countless ways. Our economies, our environments, our freedoms or lack thereof are tied together. It is for this reason that I am striving to become involved in diplomatic relations. We must work together or we will fall together in this coming century. Reach past fear and toward understanding.

Yup, I'm still out here, sweating my way through the hot season. I'm dreaming of the rainy season, which could show up in as little as a month. It will be just as hot. With the humidity it will actually feel even hotter. However, as a native Chicagoan I am far more used to wet heat than this dry and ache-y misery that is the hot season in Mauritania. Also, rain will bring with it some greenery. I miss a great many things about America but what I miss most is the natural landscape. Granted, with the nasty cheap "development" that capitalists were so obsessed with during much of my childhood, natural landscape is in ever shorter supply. Mauritania has the same problem, as does much of the modern world, and it springs from taking a tragically short view.

It's easy to understand why people do. We have, after all, tragically short lives. However, our impact does not need to be short or tragic. To walk, even to stumble and crawl, toward a goal larger than our own lives makes us grand, makes our impact far-reaching.

That certainly isn't an easy thing, and I don't say it lightly. The worst ignorance in my own life is of perspective and constancy. I know that I would rather come to the end of my days having lived broadly and deliberately. It is my greatest fear that I won't do so. And yet in full spite of my fear and my hope, I often find myself bobbing along with a current I didn't choose intelligently and trying not to realize it.

Perspective is a tense muscle, constancy is a routine to stretch it. But ignorance is tricky and persistent. I forget lessons I don't use, even hard-won lessons I treasure in my mind, heart, body, and soul. I am learning great things here in Mauritania. And as much as I want to leave and go back to the easy life that I knew in America, I know I must stay. I know that what is best for me is to last, to stretch, to reach, and perhaps at the end find that I am healthier, more flexible and connected than I was, moving toward a grand pursuit I chose in awareness and joy.

Can kids are what we call the little boys that beg with big old tomato paste cans.  However it isn't begging in the American tradition.  They are begging to pay an imam for the cost of their Islamic education, and actually it is part of the religion to give money to those children.  I, however, am not a Muslim and have no desire to contribute monetarily to the propagation of Islam.  This is unfortunately a concept too complicated to explain to swarming children in a market situation.

Anyway, I am calling myself a can kid because I am begging for food and letters to support my cross-cultural education.  :)  Aren't I sneaky?

To those who are curious and kind, you can always send me:

*Nuts—my favorites are walnuts, pecans, almonds, and honey roasted peanuts, but I'm always interested in broadening my horizons*Dried fruit—I don't really care for dried pineapples or bananas, but I LOVE dried cherries, cranberries, Trader Joe's berry medley, golden raisins, peaches, apricots, and mangoes*Granola bars—in my opinion, Nature Valley makes the best ones.  Although Nutrigrain and Quaker Oats are tasty too.*Gum/mints—any kind, as long as it's wrapped in some sort of foil or paper and not plastic, which is impossible to get rid of here and blows about the countryside.*Pens—let me lay all suspicions to rest: I love to write.  I write every day.  I keep a diary and several journals of varying types, as well as the numerous letters I send.  As a lady particular about her inks, I am desperate in this country that is completely sans decent pens.  They all bleed and blob and are depressing to write with.  I like rollerball pens that don't bleed through a page best.*Lotion—this may seem vain but in fact it is a health issue.  My skin is my first line of defense against infection, and in a dry climate like this one, especially now in the hot season, it needs daily care.  Local products are not trustworthy (these are people that put antifreeze in toothpaste).*Cereal—any flavored Cheerios or Quaker Toasted Oat Squares.  Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Kix, Peanut Butter Captain Crunch.  I am drooling just listing these.*Chips and Chex Mix*Candy—One cannot go wrong with M&Ms.  There is NO chocolate here and the candy shell keeps it from melting too much.  And I would eat them anyway.  Peanut, dark, almond, and peanut butter are my favorites.  Plus Skittles and Starbursts.*Bisquick (the pancake mix)*Yoga Journal (magazine)*Emergen-C—a fizzy dissolvable vitamin supplement that former college students might remember.  I use it on days that I don't get enough vitamins/minerals.  Which is oftener than I would like.  Hence the asking.

As ever, all my love for being who you are, and all my thanks for remembering me.

Well, I spent a couple days in the Western World (Dakar, Senegal has become America for me) and remembered many things I had forgotten.  Some problems that are still waiting for me back in the States, and others that now confuse me with their irrelevance.  Just the regular growth pains, I suppose.  But I do wonder what will happen to me when I return.  Will I be difficult to live with?  What will I have to deal with as far as the economy and finding employment?

I've been thinking lately about what sort of life I want to have.  These things, after all, for most people, do not just happen, no matter what fairy tale endings Sleeping Beauty and Snow White get.  Between frustrations with the dense government bureaucracy I am forced to interact with and the purely physical difficulty of surviving in a malnourished country, I want to plan and act for my future, so that I am not planned for or acted on.

Other than that, I am living on letters and packages from friends and family, my lifeline that lets me know I am not forgotten and I am not unloved.  I am starting to work on a project proposal, what will be the biggest work of my service (at least according to some standards).  When it's been approved by my boss and my boss' boss, I'll let you know.  Until then I'm going to be cagey and secretive.  :)

I'm doing well.  Life is hard, but every day I try to manage it better.  It helps to know you still care.  I may be alone in my village, but I am not alone in this world.  I love you.

The house where I live is one of the newer, nicer, and larger homes in my village, and belongs to my host father, who is the village chief.  Whereas American houses are analogous to a human body with its layers of skeleton, musculature, nerves, circulatory and other systems, etc., Mauritanian houses are simpler in structure and form.  Rooms are not defined by their fixtures.  There are rarely any fixtures at all.  No indoor plumbing, no gas line, no electricity, no insulation.  Just cement bricks and mortar, possibly smoothed over and painted, possibly not.

If I were to define the rooms of my house by their current use, I would say there are four bedrooms, a salon (living/sleeping room), and a storage room, all branching off a large foyer/hallway.  The roof is flat, like most roofs in Mauritania, and accessible by stairs.  In hot weather we use it as a sleeping area.

My room has a desk, where I study and research, write letters, and organize my time.  I don't have a chair as of yet (they cost 2000 UM and I am not made of money!), so I sit on a bucket that isn't quite tall enough and reminisce about being a kid at the adults' table.  A plastic woven mat mostly covers the cement floor and the walls are scattered with pictures and cards that I have received.  There is also a map of the world and of Mauritania, and occasionally I occupy myself by staring at them and making travel plans.

I have two sleeping mats, one almost tall enough to qualify for a backless couch (I do use it for couch-esque lounging).  And I have a trunk containing my clothes and various and sundry items.  I'd like to have a bookshelf made because a great many of my possessions are, by necessity, simply piled on the floor (providing a habitat and hiding place for local wildlife).  That will have to wait as well, as a bookshelf = 8000 UM.

During the day in the "cold" season, the temperature varies around 70-85 degrees Fahrenheit and the natives run around comically in winter jackets.  Tragically this extremely pleasant season is coming to a close and my body is remembering what it is to be constantly sweaty.

On an average day, I get up with the heat, so the time varies from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m., depending on the season.  I have what I call my "Inter-Continental breakfast"—a protein bar or oatmeal or a handful of nuts and a packet of Emergen-C vitamin supplement.  My host family also brings me a glass of coffee (they serve it with so much milk and sugar I can basically feel my teeth rotting in my head) and a chunk of local bread, which is what they have for breakfast.

I typically use the morning for studying languages (Pulaar and French) or attempting to come up with elegant solutions to inelegant problems related to local development.  Occasionally I also write letters, have meetings with persons of note, or survey average villagers to gather data.  Lunch is served around 2 p.m. and I eat 1-2 fish over a bed of rice and some veggies with 5-7 other women.  The lunching process includes tea, which takes a minimum of 30 minutes for all three rounds and can be closer to two hours.

Around 4 p.m. when it is no longer appallingly sunny I go to the fields or to the women's cooperative garden, and am there until the sun starts to set, at which point I run back to clean off some of the grime and sweat before the light dies completely and I can no longer see to do anything.  On the weekends I teach classes to kids at this time (during the weekdays they have school).

8 p.m., or thereabouts, is when we have dinner, which is almost invariably a dish called hako.  Hako is literally is the cut and dried bean leaves that are cooked into the dish, along with crushed melon seeds and beans, sometimes with a bit of fish or goat.  I love hako.  It's the most protein I get all day and it reminds me a little of ground beef in taste and texture.  They serve it over couscous.  We also have lacciri kosam (couscous in milk) after everyone has eaten their fill of hako.  I love this dish as well.  Dinner is definitely my favorite meal.

Some people drink tea after, but I find it hard to sleep if I put caffeine in my system.  I usually am in bed by 9 or at the latest 10.  There isn't much going on after sunset, as most peeople do not have electricity.  So that's a typical day-in-the-life.  More to come on my host family and my actual work.  Write me, call me, love me!

"The emotions, the plans, the feelings, the objectives I had seen swirled like floodwater through the city of facts I was slowly erecting on the grave of my other self, and though an act is an act, in the best Steinian tradition, each wave of interpretation that broke upon me shifted the position of one or more things I had thought safely anchored, and by this brought about an alteration of the whole, to the extent that all of life seemed almost a shifting interplay of shadow about some never to be attained truth.  Still, I could not deny that I knew more now than I had several years earlier, that I was closer to the heart of matters than I had been before, that the entire action in which I had been caught up seemed to be sweeping toward some final resolution.  And what did I want?  A chance to find out what was right and a chance to act on it?  I laughed.  Who is ever granted the first, let alone the second of these?  A workable approximation of the truth, then.  That would be enough..."

The above is taken from a novel by Roger Zelazny, and sort of introduces the train of my thoughts for this new year, 2009.  The passage of clock time is often incomprehensible to me, but reflection is a regular pastime and not out of the way of my everyday activities.  So I've been in Mauritania over half a year.  What's changed?  What hasn't?

I am one of the things that has changed.  I'm not sure Africa is any different for my presence, thus far anyway.  But my experience has affected me.  There are shallow changes: I love Coca Cola and straight shots of espresso.  Slightly deeper changes: a different regard for hygiene (let's just say that there are levels) and a closer relationship with my digestive system (I call it an enemy closer than a brother, in kinder moods I refer to it as a treacherous ally).  And my French is now sufficient to converse, and to deal with service personnel and people harassing me.  Although I wouldn't say I was to the point of being able to particularly recommend myself to strangers.

It has been over half a year since I've seen my family, slept in a bed, had a hot shower, and been really clean (although I got to do the last three while I was in Nouakchott for vacation and work).  A little story for you: while I was there, I went to a real grocery store.  I can't really describe how that felt, although I can say it probably isn't what you'd imagine.  I could barely stand to be there.  There were too many items arranged in tidy rows, the place was too clean and well lit.  I felt an urge toward a visceral reaction, perhaps a scream, perhaps even throwing up.  

Moments of that sort cause me to realize I hardly know myself anymore.  I hope my readers understand this is not a negative thing.  Re-read the quote at the start.  Yes, I feel unmoored from who I was, but who I am and who I am becoming are closer to the truth.  A "workable approximation of the truth", anyway.  :)

Living in a village where everyone is preoccupied with day-to-day survival and trying to facilitate development there is a lot like repeatedly smacking one's head against a cement brick wall.  Fun, no.  Pleasant?  Not often.  Challenging, yes.  Am I learning anything out here?  Absolutely.  I wonder where this next year will take me.  Keep writing and sending love.  I've got some really amazing projects in the works.  I'll write some of it up next time I'm in town.  All my love!

Well.  We do celebrate American holidays here.  And although they don't compare to being with friends and family, they are something of a trip.  For Thanksgiving we did our best with ingredients sent from home (thanks to those families that sent pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce in cans) and drank until we forgot what a terrible terrible country this is.  (conservative elements who read this blog: you will forget I mentioned alcohol!)

I didn't cook for Thanksgiving, but since then I have started making, if I do say so myself, delicious meals: chilis & soups & sauces & peanut pad thai & cakes & cookies all from scratch.  Everyone raves.  But it is hard to get certain things here.  Certain spices.  We can get, say, sugar and salt and flour, although (and this is extremely gross) you have to sift out nasty little brown bugs and squiggly larvae.  But everything else needs sent from home.  So you can certainly send me spices.  We are out of nutmeg in the region house.  I made, from my own recipe, a carrot-and-squash soup and a spice cake and used the last of that.  Plus chicken bouillon and chili mixes and brown sugar and baking powder/soda.  Dessert and soup and spice mixes in general are really awesome.  If someone would send me canned cherries I could make a really bitchin' pie.  Gorgol thanks you in advance.

Site is...fine.  But I will say that it has gotten harder, and particularly wearing as a woman alone in a village.  The culture is oppressive to me, and I think to any American-educated adult female.  Living here has made me more aware of women's rights violations.  Even more than that, I have never had more respect for the women who demanded equality (and continue to demand it) in America.  I never before realized what enormous bravery is required to walk against the tide of culture.  I can't imagine it happening here in my lifetime, not with women's education (and education in general) being what it is.  But for those who think there isn't any truly good work left to be done in the world, look to Mauritania.  Peace out, y'all.  Send me letters and boxes!  LOVVVVVVE!

Here you see me in my current and actual room, sporting henna and a new wutte for Juulde Koorka.  I wasn't sure when the timer was going off...can you tell?

This is one of my (bratty little) CBT site host brothers.  But I haven't seen him in two months, so I've forgotten his brattiness and am only able to remember the cuteness...

This is the boutique that my CBT host family ran.  It's just in front of the house.  Check out the selection!  Actually, the one boutique in my current site has even less.

This is my room back at CBT.  I much prefer my setup now.

Home sweet CBT home.

I tried uploading more, but the Internet is playing the game Merry Havoc.  So we will have to be content with this little taste of Mauritania in pictures.  I really miss you people.  Way too much.

First off it must be said that Slim Jim's has my celebrity endorsement as the best beef jerky in existence.  However, I am, generally speaking, rather over jerky in general.  And trail mix.  And protein bars.  I've heard Hormel's makes some kind of non-refrigerated bacon that I find very intriguing.  And...Velveeta!...soup mixes...Skittles...coughcoughcough...

On with the show.  "Brousse" is a French word for the bush (the Mauritanian outback where I live).  And getting brousse-y is the PCV terminology for what happens to those of us posted alone in bush villages.  Like me!  Does it happen?  What are the symptoms?  It does happen, and the symptoms seem to be most in exhibition on return to English-speaking society.  The first sign is a non-stop verbal diarrhea that can go on for hours.  The second sign is subtler, a desperate need to communicate how unfair it is that we make so much effort to understand and involve ourselves in the culture of host country nationals while they seem to basically write off this effort (the thinking must be along the lines of: "it's just daily life, talking in Pulaar is a natural state, and I am so awesome it is a gift to this American to spend time with me and in fact they should give me some money").  Luckily a few days in the city rubs away some of the cynicism and bitterness, at least enough to make me look forward to getting back home.  NOT the actual travel.  That is hell.  But the being home.

I do, in fact, look upon my house in my little village as home, and my host family as actual family.  I'm not sure whether or not I'm joined in this affection by anyone other than my two-year-old nephew Ibra, but kid love is more sincere anyway.  Okay, I am going to have to wrap this up, because I have to pee and the fact that I am seriously tempted to squat outside is vaguely horrifying me.  I have a vague plan to write soon and describe more exactly the terrors of traveling in Mauritania.  Mashalla!

Good news: Ramadan has finished!  Bad news: I cannot find my camera-to-computer cord so there are no pictures to show you.  Sorry!  We're working on getting one sent.

Ramadan ended with a big three-day party.  Everyone, including myself, purchased a new outfit, and henna-ed our palms and feet (an interesting experience in and of itself, as it involved getting plaster taped, covered in gritty goop, and then wrapped in plastic for 2 or 3 hours.  I couldn't touch anything or move, so it was a bit interminable).  Slaughtering a sheep is also traditional, so I got to watch that occur.  Gross.

Anyway, we ate ALL DAY.  I lost count of the meals that I ate during the day, but it was at least 3.  And then everyone gets together with their "fedde", which is an age group, and eats more.  It was a bit like a potluck.  Yup, that's right, more eating.  And everyone expects you to eat out of their dish.  I was so full.

The first day my community contact took me to her age group, the late thirties-late forties-ish group.  Just imagine, not only am I the youngest person in a group of loud household directors, but this is all in Pulaar.  Oh man.  The next day I insisted on going to my actual age group.  We make tea and this milk made with blue mint candies that is pretty much the most delicious thing I've had here.  It's amazing and I promise to make some when I get back to the States.  Oh, and then we had another meal after the fedde.

In other news, I've moved from my old residence.  There was this long drama about the room I was supposed to have, the nice one the last volunteer had.  The son of the head of the household had decided that he wanted to keep that room (I had said at site visit he could stay in there until I arrived, big mistake).  If I understand correctly, he is trying to obtain a second wife.  Hm.  But the room I was staying in did not have a functioning door (I closed it with a rock).  Not really long-term acceptable.

Now I'm living with the village chief in his brand new house, which is quite patron.  And he has a solar panel so I can charge my cell phone.  My new family is phenomenal, and the women of the household are such wonderful examples for me of good behavior in this culture.  It's a good situation.

I'll be in Kaedi again next weekend to cast my vote.  Don't forget to vote, America!

As you can see I've escaped to Kaedi to send you a clandestine message via the Internet. Well, it isn't secret really. Actually I think this is a public blog. So my little village is very welcoming, although very little and very isolated. Ramadan has started, and it's a rough ride. From sunrise to sunset, no one eats or drinks (excepting the children, the pregnant women, and me). As the day wears on, people slowly become more and more irritable (and less and less patient with my Pulaar). Mostly everyone lays around all day, and I for one don't blame them for that. People continually ask me if I am fasting, to which I reply "No, I can't. I'm not strong, like you!" My own personal answer to that question would have to be "Not in a million years would I go without water for a day when I have water to drink. This is AFRICA! It's HOT! I'm dripping sweat as we speak!"

Because it's only the kids eating, they prepare gosi (which is a sort of overly sweet, slightly tart milk porridge) or, for variety, boiled rice paste. I have taken to preparing food in my room because the only meal I like porridge for is breakfast (and even then I prefer oatmeal). And boiled rice paste? Do I need to explain that one?

Breaking fast is a big deal. It happens at sundown and in stages. Right at sundown, someone comes on the mosque loudspeaker to announce that everyone can eat and drink. We drink bissop (an awesome juice made with leaves, tastes a little like cranberry juice), Nescafe, tufam (a type of slightly sour sweetened milk), and sometimes other beverages. We eat bread, and some dates too, but mostly just drink until our stomachs are full. Then a bit later comes a meal, typically fried fish and sauce and something like fries and onions. We eat that with bread. But wait there's more... A third meal, which can be many things but is often also fish, but with rice and veggies this time. By this time it is between 9:30 and 10:30 or much later, depending on the family. I try to break fast with different families, it's a great way to meet people, and they love it when you visit.

So, until Ramadan ends, these are my days: trying to avoid angering the crabby people all day, then trying to refuse too much food all night. In case you were wondering, it's impossible to eat enough. No matter how much I actually eat, they say "You didn't eat!" and "You need to eat" or just "EAT!" Which was actually the first word I learned for sure in Pulaar. :D

I've been writing a lot of letters, so start expecting those in the next month or so. Hugs and kisses!

Well, my class and I (minus one Early Termination—they expected more, but we are super hard-core!) have now finished Stage and are now full Volunteers, with all the capitalizations that entails.  I'm in Kaedi again, trying to rest up in the one night I'll be spending here.  For some reason my feet and ankles have been chewed to pieces by the local wildlife.  I counted 30 bites on one side of one foot before counting them became too itchifying.  Blame that on the rainy season—plenty of standing water!  At least I have my malaria pills!

Tomorrow I have protocol, which is what we call our greeting of the local officials.  I'll meet the Wali, the Hakem, the Mayor, and various others.  I'm not sure what the equivalent in America would be (except for the mayor, of course!) but feel free to look that up.  And then I have to run around like a chicken sans head in the market trying to snatch up a leeso or three (floor mat for sitting on/"carpeting" for my room), a makaresh of my very own (or butt pot, as we call them), some cups, a tea service, a matlah (a sleeping/lounging mat), a mirror if I can find one (who knows what I look like anymore?!), food, and various other necessities.

When I get to my site I'll probably spend most of the day receiving visitors/visiting.  Hopefully I'll have the chance to at least set up my mosquito net!  I've got to run (sorry this is short!), but rest assured I miss you all so very much!  And expect some letters in the next month, because it's Ramadan and I'll finally have time to write them!

Oh goodness, a lot has happened since I could last post!  There was a military coup (see http://www.wsws.org/articles/2008/aug2008/maur-a11.shtml for a pretty clear picture of what has happened thus far) and two days later I had my 25th birthday.  In my village, I'm pretty sure my birthday was a bigger deal (my sitemates snuck into my room with breakfast in the morning when I went to use "the hole" and surprised me so much I almost clocked them with the makaresh).  Yes, I'm quite safe and perfectly fine.  Life continues exactly as it has and the coup is not much discussed or mentioned day-to-day.  I was in Pulaar class at the time, and my teacher got a call.  To us he says: "The president is overthrown.  Let's make tea."

That's how things happen here.  Tea is what we do.  :)

I'm almost finished with CBT training and in a week I will be a full-blown Volunteer with all the capital V's inherent in that title.  You can imagine I'm pretty excited.  I'm also a little sad today because I left my village for the last time (until I visit again, inshallah).  A sitemate of mine started crying and I had picked up my two-year-old brother and when I tried to put him down he didn't want to, and so I started crying.  And then one of my host aunts started crying, and that was it for me.  I'm a little melancholy at the moment, but I'm listening to Guns N Roses, so hopefully that will jolt me out.  Classic rock, yar!

Hm...stories out of Mauritania: for the first time I had bought fabric and had it made into an outfit for swear-in, then wore it because I was excited to have a local outfit.  Some old woman I had never met before and who didn't even know my name came up and said "Give me that".  There's something of a cadeau (gift) mentality here in regards to white foreigners—we are all rich, apparently.  Someone forgot to give me my salary for being a white girl!  Dang!  So I get asked for my possessions all the time.  It gets old REAL fast.  Anyway, she told me to give her my new outfit, and I said no, and then tried to explain to her that a) I don't actually have a lot of money, b) I really like this outfit, and finally c) I'm very tall and it's hard to get clothes that fit.  Keep in mind my language is oh, somewhere around the level of a five-year-old.  So I finally just walked away, and within the next couple of days she came back and told me she was mad at me for not giving her my new clothes and that I was not a nice person.  That was a frustrating conversation.  But I carry on with the knowledge that all of YOU care about me!

Because some people asked: 

Foods that are good to send: sticks of minty gum, Cliff bars, jerky, tuna, dried fruit (apples, white peaches, cherries, cranberries, etc), cereal (Captain Crunch PB, Cheerios of every flavor, Kix, anything really), honey roasted peanuts, any other nuts, pudding, fruit snax, brownie or cake mix, pancake mix, instant mashed potatoes, hot chocolate, fancy tea from SereneTeaz (mom!), parmesan cheese, Velveeta, Easy Mac, peanut butter, chips (Bugles, Cheezits, Fritos, Goldfish, etc), cookies (Famous Amos, Pepperidge Farm, Teddy Bears, Oreos, etc), M&Ms of every kind, Skittles, Starbursts, sour gummies, and honestly anything that you feel inspired to send will be consumed.  In my birthday package from my family (just received this last week, thanks Mauri-Mail, lol), I got Skittles and literally savored each little piece for about a minute.

Magazines are really cool too: Newsweek or equivalent, Yoga Journal (I am a hippy, after all), Shape or fitness equivalent, Cosmo (am also a girl!), Philosophy magazines (there is a serious lack of philosophizing/deep thinking for me!), special interest magazines that seem interesting.

Any new books that the world thinks are amazing.

Pens (they're epically bad here)

Paper (for drawing and also for writing letters—and envelopes!)

Puzzles (sudoku or logic or whatever)

Playing cards, Uno, Skip Bo, etc

Oxy-clean (for clothes that seem to have yielded to several shades of gray) or hilarious t-shirts

Crafty projects that you think would take much too long (I have a lot of time)

Pictures of you smiling!

Any pirate gear (our softball team which will play against PC Mali, Senegal, etc in February is the Buccaneers and it's a pretty huge deal here).  If someone can find a Jolly Roger for my wall, I think it would make me laugh every day.

We all live for boxes out here.  In my journal, on the day I got a package from my family, the entire entry is basically just raving about how wonderful it is :).

Ramadan is coming up in September (a Muslim month of fasting).  They don't eat from dawn until sundown and apparently everyone gets extremely crabby.  On the plus side, I will finally have some time to write the letters I've been dying to send!  The village I've been in had never had Trainees or Volunteers before and did not really understand the writing of letters (when I try, they come sit very close next to me and take the letter to exclaim about my writing or the paper or pointing to words and asking me what they say, etc.).  Everything is a group activity in Mauritania, and things that really AREN'T group activities (i.e. writing letters, reading, studying) are incredibly difficult to accomplish!  Luckily, however, my village I'm posted to has had Volunteers before who have fought these battles on my behalf.  And I am excited to start sending more news!

I love you very very very much, my family and my dear friends.  I miss you all more than anything!  It's very difficult to be away from you in another country.  I love you I love you I love you and I wish I could say it a billion times and give you hugs.

Well, shave about 15 lbs off of my picture. Adjustment sickness will do that to you. But seriously, send me food. Ha ha ha... seriously.

I'm writing a quick note to you now from Kaedi, regional capital of Gorgol. My future village is also in the Gorgol region, although somewhat smaller (in theory around 400 people). We have 8 wells, although there are rumors of a robinet being put in (that's basically a faucet) so cross your fingers for me. I was ill for most of my site visit, but I did see that the village has many beautiful neem trees (including one with an enormous canopy in my front yard) and I have a small private courtyard off of my room. That's all I have time for, so for now I'll leave you with:

TODAY'S MAURITANIAN DIFFERENCE: In the market, to catch your attention, shopkeepers will hiss and snap at you. And they're not trying to be mean, but it's pretty distracting. It's also fairly impossible to browse, especially for fabric. "This is pretty, soooo pretty!" they say in French, Pulaar, etc, pulling out fabric after fabric and literally draping them on you.

Hello to the States and all friends therein!

So: Mauritania. It is hot. Very hot and very sandy. And the sand lives in the air and on everyone and everything. Yesterday I spent a half hour hiding from a sandstorm in a bathroom. By bathroom I definitely mean concrete box with a hole in the floor. It wasn't airtight, so I came out coated with a very fine layer of grit. It's like a daily exfoliation, whether I want one or not.

Goats are very gutsy. They will climb the grass huts and come into houses and eat out of the communal bowl if they are allowed. I was lounging with my host family in the salon a few weeks ago and a goat basically climbed my host mother. Everyone laughed and one of the kids chased it out—it climbed back over her and everyone laughed again. Every animal must be shooed with a different noise (goats are "Gis") or the locals laugh at you.

Actually, they laugh when I do or say things correctly too. I'm studying Pulaar, which is a dialect of Fula (a widely-spoken language). The HaalPulaar laugh often and long: at me, at one another, at animals, and whenever we can't communicate. So we spend a lot of time laughing.

Right now we are in the middle of Community-Based Training (CBT), and I am living with four other Trainees in a small village several kilometers outside of Rosso. We spend our weekdays (Sunday-Thursday) studying language and culture in class and with our family. They call me Danja So (that is an approximation as I cannot actually pronounce it!) after my host mother. My American name they pronounce Sooley Kay (in Pulaar phonetic spelling, it's Suli Key), which I think is adorable.

Tea is a big deal here. It is made with black tea, mint, and a lot of sugar. It is served in shot glasses and there are three rounds. The first round is a strong and a little bitter, the second sweeter, and the third is basically syrup. They use the same tea leaves for all three rounds and keep adding sugar. I think it is delicious, which is good because it is served often. By my host family, by other families when I visit, and so on, etc.

Alone time is pretty much nil, as this is very much a "we" society and quite different from the "me" society of America. No one hangs out or naps alone—we just roll over and go to sleep in front of everyone, and naps are the order of the day when it's hottest. It's also very difficult to read or write in public. People definitely want to be included in everything I'm doing, or they want to talk. And talk they do. Apparently if my stomach is running, it is everyone's business and merits constant discussion. They still ask me "Is your stomach running? Does your stomach hurt?" And I answer, because that's just how things go here.

There's so much to say, but I have to go eat now, and it will probably be some variation of meat and rice. I do miss American food very much when I think about it, especially the variety. I like the food, but every meal I apparently need to be told to eat, even when I have food in my mouth and in my hand. It is eaten out of a communal bowl, without utensils. I'm learning to ball rice, but it isn't easy!

I miss you all, write me letters, and enjoy your conveniences!

After months and months (and months) of hedging around when people ask after my doings, I can finally say "I'm in the Peace Corps."  I'm not a Volunteer (the title every Trainee covets), but I'm still enormously proud of being a part of this amazing organization.  Staging in Atlanta, GA has been somewhat surreal, a condition aided by the anti-malarial medication we are now all on.  Yay!  Night terrors and visual disturbances!  Don't worry and don't inundate Washington with calls, I haven't experienced any such side effects.

In all seriousness, staging has allowed me to meet some of the people that I will be depending on for hugs and social connection the next couple of years (which doesn't let any of you off the hook, I am still expecting multitudes of letters).  They are a fantastic bunch—if a person is judged by their companions, I will be sure to get an A and a blue ribbon.  I just hope I can remember all their names!

Soon we will all scramble through airport security, a nine hour flight, and a five-hour bus ride to Mauritania, hopefully managing to catch the raggedy edges of sleep at some point before jumping into training.  I have never been farther away from the U.S. than Toronto, Canada, so this is an exciting time for me and for many.  Don't be afraid if I drop out of contact for a while—I expect to be very busy the next three months before swearing in—but if you want to keep in touch, letters are the most reliable way of doing so.  I'll definitely leave a note here when I am able, so check back at least once a month.  I miss you, friends and family.  Stay well!