Proceed to Phase Two

Hello everyone,

It's the end of Phase 1, a big accomplishment by any account. We've
successfully survived 2 or so weeks with our host families, 6 hours a day of language class and an assortment of minor illnesses and maladies. I have a few items of amusement for you this time, hope you enjoy, and that you are all having a good summer.

=== Mauritanian Bocce Ball ===
The same time each evening, a group of men gather on a sandy side street near
the Kaedi airport for a game of Patang. Or Batang. Or Batanga. Whatever.
Anyhow, the game is a lot like Bocce Ball so far as I can tell, and yesterday I was
coached on the ins and outs by one very intense fellow. He was a slightly pot
bellied black moor, with sagging blue jeans, and an almost handlebar mustache.
We sat against a crumbling brick wall, and he leaned in close to give me a
whispered play-by-play. “See that guy in the white shirt –Army Captain, very big man in town. And him, blue shirt, good player, a champion. Oh look, a good throw, but not close enough!”

Basically, three teams of three start off by throwing one small rock, that’s
the target. Then everyone gets three throws, and you try to get as close to the
little rock as possible and knock everyone else’s ball away in the meantime.
And no, my friend assured me, they don’t play for money. “It’s for the sport,
the competition, the fun of it,” he said. We’ll see what happens when I throw
1000 ougiyas onto the court and tell them it’s time to show them how the Toubabs play P/Batang(a)!

=== Bad Jokes Make the Medicine Go Down ===
I spent 24 hours in the infirmary this week, getting over my first Mauritanian
bug. Not a big deal. It was nice to have the company of PCT Dara, who might
not have enjoyed it as much as me. For example:
Dara: I wonder how the village people are doing?
Luke: You mean those really gay guys who dressed up and sang YMCA?
Dara: I have to go throw up now.

=== Host Dad Journal Entry #1 ===
Somehow I was able to get my hands on a journal written by one of the host
parents of a former Peace Corps trainee in Mauritania. You won’t find this anywhere else, so enjoy!

9 July – I got a new toubab today. His name is Phil, and I can already tell
he’s a real piece of work. First of all, he’s got 12 pieces of luggage, each
weighing about 100 pounds. The guy needs a whole crew of people to carry his
stuff, like he’s Livingston discovering the source of the Nile or something. But
actually it was cool because we got most of his bags yesterday and got to look
through them. I wonder if Americans always travel with that much hot sauce?

Let me count the stupid things he did in the first 20 minutes at my home.
First of all, he categorically cannot speak any useful languages, so he just smiled
and nodded as I introduced my wife, my kids, my neighbors. Within five minutes he used the word for animal dung when he meant to say “sea” or “river” or whatever he was going on about. And after he put his stuff in his room (which he’s sure to destroy with that little bottle of bleach!) he came out and sat on our new mat with his dirt encrusted sandals. Good one, Phil.

12 July – Phil brought out a photo album and showed us his ostentatious family and friends with all their jewels and wacky get ups. Everyone’s anorexic and acting overly happy in the photos. Ah, who is that you’re so tactfully pointing
at with your filthy left hand? Ah, your girlfriend, I see. Boy did she get lucky with this Peace Corps thing… man I crack myself up…

15 July – Brett has been here almost a week, and today he finally broke down
and washed some clothes; I think he figured that eventually one of my womenfolk would crawl over to his room and offer to do it for him. Sure… what do we care, he won’t smell any worse than that half brown half white goat with the broken leg who sleeps in his own droppings. So anyhow, he takes one bucket, fills it with water, and then puts like 15 articles of clothes in there. Total novice move. Then after a timid effort to actually clean the clothing a bit he has to take a break. He takes out one of his nine colored plastic water bottles and
rests under a tree awhile, swatting flies away, practically looking up into the
sky and mouthing the Toubab word for “mommy.” Finally, about two hours later he hung the clothes up on the line and they all blew off and got muddy. The clothespins are over there in the jar for next time, buddy!

17 July – Took Phil to my newphew wedding yesterday. Why do we even bother? I know we signed up for this and I do respect the mission of Peace Corps, you
know, to help American kids grow up and all that, but Phil, you have to get a
grip. First of all, he brings out his new “African clothes” which look ridiculous
on him and is asking everyone at the wedding all these ridiculous questions
like “how was your voyage” to someone you just met for the first time. Earth to
Phil, Uncle Moussa hasn’t traveled out of the neighborhood since ’81!

I May Be African...

=== I May Be African… ===

Recently I had lunch at the home of another Peace Corps trainee, who is residing with the family of a local government official. After the meal we watched French television in the cool living room and sipped icy beverages. I told the host mother where I’m living, and she noted that there’s no electricity or running water in my neighborhood. “I may be African, but I could NEVER live like that,” she said. “How are you doing with it?” My actual answer: “fine, thanks.” My internal answer. “Well, I was doing just FINE with it until I realized that I could watch the Tour de France and drink sodas at your place! Thanks a LOT!”

=== Drawing A Crowd ===

Privacy takes a back seat to community in Mauritania. For example, as I write this, a dozen kids are standing around me asking me questions and laughing at me. Adults tend to leave you alone unless you address them, but the kids in Kaedi can be a rambunctious lot, not to mention disrespectful, obnoxious little“you know whats” from time to time. We deserve a bit of razzing, in my opinion, walking around like aliens in their world with strange clothes, contraptions, and languages. I’m working on ways to deal with the bad seeds, for example the ones at the river who dare stand two feet from your picnic and stare at your American tuna fish packets. “You’re bad!” “leave me alone” and the always charming “may God shorten your life” are good stand by’s, but I’m working on something along the line of “I’m going to talk to your father” to see if the fear of a beating gets them to leave me alone for a few minutes.

=== Greetings ===

One fact of life in Mauritania is a tightly knit community where a la Cheers “everybody knows your name.” In the developed world, most times you’re lucky to get a “eh!” from someone when you say hello. Here, when people greet, they really go for it.

Joe: Peace out, my friend!
Sally: Same to you!
J: Everything groovy?
S: Absolutely!
J: Good health?
S: Yeah, totally, thank God!
J: Work treating you well?
S: No problem at all!
J: The fatigue getting you down?
S: Not at all.
J: Everything ok with your trip?
S: Piece of cake, thank God.…

and then the reverse …Imagine what you’d say to someone you haven’t seen in years. Then imagine doing that every day with everyone. I’m getting used to it.

=== Analogies of the Day ===
Waiting for an e-mail to open at the Kaedi internet café is like watching a bad movie one frame at a time. Sending an email successfully feels like winning one of the rigged games at a carnival. Completing a bath in the average Mauritanian latrine grants you the same sense of relief that you get when you submit your tax return to the IRS. Doing “your potty business” successfully? Like getting your refund by direct deposit.

=== AIM Book Review ===
Dark Star Safari by Paul Thereux

Take a trip through Africa with one of America’s most arrogant contemporary writers. Sound like an enticing advertisement? Well, much like my last review (John MacEnroe’s You Cannot Be Serious), arrogance can cut both ways, and in Theroux’s case, it’s entertaining, and also obnoxious. Theroux is an accomplishedwriter (he has written 20 or so books including The Mosquito Coast, and that was a movie so he must be good...) and knows parts of Africa very well. In fact, he was a Peace Corps volunteer in the “early days” in Malawi, where he was kicked out for being friends with an enemy of the state. He ended up moving to Uganda and teaching for some time at Makerere University befriending a young professor who is today the country’s Prime Minister.

The premise of the book is simple, and almost suicidal: starting in Cairo, travel south to Cape Town without stepping onto a plane. No one in their right mind makes the trip between Ethiopia and Kenya, for example, overland. It's often interesting, and shocking to hear what he has to go through to successfully make it from A to B. But because of his in depth knowledge of Malawi and Uganda, thebook really shines during his various homecomings. Due to his ability to speak the languages and compare the standard of living almost two generations later, he’s able to draw insightful conclusions.

But his trips through the touristy parts of Egypt come off as trite (making fun of the habits of unsophisticated western tourists is boring, not tomention arrogant), although he is able to come up with some interesting stories in places he’s visiting for the first time. Hear about the sham stories of the Zimbabweans taking over white farms (some claim to be veterans to get the land but in fact never fought in any war) and you'll realize the complexity of the problems Africa faces. But solutions don't exactly abound in Dark Star. His advice seems to be stop all foreign aid programs immediately. Yes, that is one conclusion after reading what I call the unholy trinity of anti-development books (The Road to Hell, Lords of Poverty, Tropical Gangsters), but it's easy to say and would probably be worse than what we have today. It's worth a read, especially if you have a long trip coming up.

Lost White Man

It's a hundred and ninety six degrees in Kaedi today, after a night of steamy rain which will surely bring more frogs and flies to my neighborhood. My word processor plugged in successfully today, so I'm giving you some "old material" that I wrote a few days/weeks ago? Enjoy the leftovers, and take care!

=== Lost White Man ===
One by one, the neighbors of a black moor household in the Jedida quarter of Kaedi, Mauritania, drop by with the same question: “How’s it working out with the white guy who can’t find your house?”

Or so I imagine after my first attempt to go home without my host brother Bakr. I figured it was time to try it alone, as the flooding to the north of our house had subsided enough to allow me to finally take the easy route – a 10 minute walk straight along the edge of the Kaedi airport with two turns, one at the end, one at the beginning. No problem.

I left class and made the first turn onto the main road along the airport. But lacking a good landmark to indicate my street, I got a little confused after about ½ a mile. I stopped, looked around, and wondered what to next. Then I spotted a pretty girl of about 10 years walking towards me. She flashed a timid smile with a few missing teeth – it was my niece Lahla, right? She said nothing, and I tried to communicate “your house” and “go” in Hassaniya. She looked confused. Then, she started leading me back in the other direction. I started to get worried… maybe this wasn’t my niece but someone who looks just like her? I decided to try my 911 phrase, my “lifeline,” that I needed to go to the house of Mohammad Salem, the name Bakr gave me, the name he assured me everyone in town would recognize. Her look was one of utter disbelief. Plan B… I asked an elderly man in his front yard if he spoke French. Nothing. Mohammad Salem? Nada. I asked a woman across the street. Blank stare. Some kids came up and shook my hand and said “Ca va?” Relatively sure then that I needed to go north, I pointed up the road and motioned to the girl to come with me. As we walked, a man passed nearby. “Sir, I am trying to find the house of Mohammad Salem.” He pointed at the girl. “She lives there,” he said in French. Turned out we were about 100 feet away the entire time.

=== One Scary Buye ===
In Hassaniya, buye means “my father.” It sounds like “Boo-ya!!! But no one here thinks that’s funny except for me. Buye here in Mauritania is the biggest, scariest, coolest looking guy ever. His name is Tayib, he has a shaved head, a mammoth chest, and hands that could palm a 4 foot stone basketball. I would be utterly terrified of him if I had never witnessed his favorite activity, playing with his 20 month old granddaughter Boyike. He lies down on his back, and picking her up with one hand, he tickles, kisses, sings, coos, and does what every other grandfather in the world does.

But that’s not to say that he doesn’t intimidate me from time to time. Normally I eat dinner on a separate mat with my host brother Bakr, but the other night I ate with buye, as Bakr wasn’t feeling well. The meal was my least favorite – millet cous sous with some goat and fish. The meat and fish was fine, but this type grain is pretty harsh – a sandy texture and slightly bitter flavor. I was holding my own until a fish bone slowed me down. “Mange!” buye said in a voice that made the ground shake. I pulled the bone from my mouth and managed to take in another ball of food. This time, some goat grissle had me in a bind. “Mange!” he bellowed. I finally was able to swallow and I tried my luck with my Hassaniya. Ana staykfate, or I’m full. “Mange!” A few more desperate bites, trying not to get any meat or fish. “Ana staykfate?” I said with the intonation of a beggar. “Ilhamdullilah” he said, or praise be to God. I washed up, never so happy to be done with a meal.

=== (Lack of?) Talent Show ===
The 43 stagiares of PCRIM had their first Town Hall meeting on Sunday, July 4th, basically a chance to perform any skit, song, dance, or other talent. I served as the emcee and got a good laugh from the trainers when I announced the objectives for the show at the beginning (all Peace Corps meetings start with the facilitator reading objectives from a flip chart). My impression of Woody Allen serving in the Peace Corps went over pretty well (dropping in as many lines from Woody Allen, Stand Up Comic as possible), as well as the suggestion that the program director had selected one of the trainees to serve in Mos Eisley on the planet Tatooine. The rest of the show was a lot of fun and at 30 minutes, just about the most we could handle at the end of the day.

In honor of Independence day, one of the PCVs (Lisa from Nouadhibou) brought barbecue sauce for the chicken and cookies to go along with our baked beans and sliced mango. After the show we enjoyed a brief fireworks show in the lycee’ courtyard, which felt a bit more like being shelled by rocket artillery, but still, fun. The night cap, a spontaneous sing-along of American tunes – the Star Spangled Banner, God Bless America, and even Take Me Out to the Ballgame…

And it's ONE, ONE, ONE drug violation and you're out in the old Peace Corps...

First Impressions of a New Land

First Impressions of a New Land
In my initial moments, what struck me was the dirt and urban decay. Trash filled the streets and people walked about aimlessly. But I thought, I can handle this. The temperature was bearable, and at least a breeze was in the air. The cityscape was bigger than Iexpected, and most people spoke decent (but not great) English. But then I realized that I was in Philadelphia for "staging" and not Nouakchott. I was getting ahead of myself.

Over three days of Peace Corps "Staging" or "stage" (pronounced in the French fashion) in Philly -- a crash course introduction to PC policies as well as the challenges and rewards of a cross-cultural experience -- I took in a lot. New people -- 44 of them -- new ideas, and even a few innoculations. The most fun has been the people, my "stage-mates" and hopefully future Peace Corps Volunteers. Most of us are young and all share the same sense of excitement, fear, and anticipation of what we will face inMauritania. We have one marrried couple (Todd & Saman), someone from a town of 1200 in North Dakota, a half Chilean, half-Scottish volunteer born in Los Angeles, a young man who studied abroad in Niger during college (I had never heard of the place at that point in my life), a former corporate software support specialist, and more than a few Michael Moore fans. Several groups made their way to see Farenheit9/11 -- I was, somewhat happily (Bush conspiracy theorists cover your eyes), unable to get a ticket. I'll catch it on video in a couple of years, or maybe Netflix Mauritania!

=== Roommate Problems ===
Stage was hosted by the slightly discombobulated staff of the Holiday Inn in Philly's historic district. My room was ready for early check-in at 11:30, while some trainees couldn't get a room until the evening. Upon entering my room, I noticed a hat on the dresser, and then looking further, several skirts and female tanktops hanging in the closet. I called the front desk, and had an interesting conversation with the attendent.
Me: Hi, I just checked in and there are female clothes in my closet. What might that mean?
Clerk: That means your roommate is already checked in.
Me: A minute ago you told me my roommate was John. Now, I don't know John, but I am going to guess that he doesn't wear jean skirts and orange tank tops.
Clerk: Sir, could you bring your bags downstairs and we'll get you another room?
Me; Well, is this my room? I'd prefer not to move my 900 pounds of luggage again if this is my room. Maybe this person checked out and left some clothing behind?
Clerk: [Unintelligable answer using three different tenses, points of view, and lines of reasoning]
Me: I'm just going to sit here and watch TV till you get this sorted out.

Well, it turned out that yes it was my room, yes a woman left some clothing behind, and yes John did finally arrive. But unfortunately, due to medical issues, he decided to withdraw from the Mauritania PC program. I hope that John can resolve the issuesoon and enter another program soon -- he seemed like a great guy with a lot to offer any country. Despite the reason, however, it was still the first ET (Early Termination) in the group. One down, 43 trainees left. One all too real reality TV show that will never see the light of day.

=== Nous sommes arrives!!! ===
With much anticipation and more than a little persperation, I lugged my guitar case and ever expanding carry on down the stairs of the Airbus A330 and onto the tarmac of the Nouakchott airport. As I stepped out of the plane, my hat was immediately blown off my head and sand filled my mouth and eyes like a fine powder. Chaos at baggage claim -- surely we were in Mauriania at last. Without any major hiccups we all made it to the Peace Corps Bureau in onepiece. The drive to the office was short but in five minutes of city driving we saw a smattering of Mauritanians going about their day along with a healthy dose of camels, donkeys, lots of garbage,and wrecked and decaying car hulls.

After a crash course on safety, security, eating, greeting and pooping in a foriegn land (the most I will explain is that for wiping you're given a "free flow" and "puddle and wash" method, useyour imagination), we were rewarded with delicious pizzas. A current volunteer asked me what I wanted. I jokingly responded "Hawaian" knowing it contains pork, a no-no for Muslims. Before I could say "kidding" she was back with my favorite - a full-fledged pineapple and ham pizza.

=== NKT to Kaedi ===
Wedensday we went in a 5 Toyota Land Cruiser convoy from Nouakchott to the training center in Kaedi, 420 km southeast of Nouakchott. We started out by traversing the city center and heading out oftown, settling on a smooth paved shot that goes practically straight to Kaedi. Outside of NKT it turns to desert quickly, and I mean rolling sand dunes and not an once of chlorophyll in any direction. As we inched closer to the equator the density of treesbegan to increase, small scrubby bushes and medium sized trees our driver Mohamed called Acacia.

The drive, normally about six hours, took almost two hours longer than usual for one reason: new PCTs can't hold their bladder very well. I drank about two liters on the trip and enjoyed several pit stops in the desert on the side of the road. This is an interesting process. Basically everyone who needs to go gets out of the car and walks off the road until they find a bush big enough to hide behind. The first time, one of the female PCTs didn't go very far and several cameras were popping off shots as she wentabout her business. It's safe to say that Peace Corps volunteers in Mauritania are not shy about their potty business and don't (or shouldn't!) expect a lot of privacy either. The training center in Kaedi, a secondary school on loan to Peace Corps for the summer, is a well organized and expertly staffed location. After arrival, we grabbed our bags and went down a handshaking assembly line, greeting approximately 25 staff members with Bonjour, ca va, and asalam aleykum. Greetings in Mauritania are a very big deal, and knowing the way to properly greet someone in Hassanyia (an Arabic dialect) or Pulaar is essential for success in Peace Corps. I've got a long way to go!

The temperature in Kaedi our first day was a hundred and something, suffice to say that I was wiped out from the trip. At night most of us have been sleeping outside in our mosquito net tents. The air is warm, but the breeze is fantastic. At 6-ish in the morningsleeping becomes difficult -- roosters, goats, donkeys and birds all give a shout, not to mention the call to prayer and my stage-mates who think that going RUNNING is a good idea!=== First Mauritanian Meal ===During our first evening in Kaedi we ate twice -- goat and rice the first time and lamb and cous cous the second time -- the idea being to look at what the Mauritanians do and try not to be offensive. It starts out with washing your hands in a basin (someone helps you with water while you soap and rinse and then you grab the kettle to help the next person) and then taking a seat at one of the mats without using your right hand for anything to make it dirty. The food is served, and with your left hand kept in the background (did I mention I'm a diehard lefty?), you grab a bit of the starch, squish it in your upper palm, and lick it off. Then you can go forthe meat (in the middle of the round plate) and mix it with the rice and continue with the balling up and eating off your hand method. There's not much drinking while you eat (that would fillyou up prematurely!) and no cleaing of your hands or face. Once you've had enough, you lick your fingers and lips and go back to the basin to clean up. BURRRRRRP!

=== TORNADO!!! ===
Sleeping outside under the stars and a full moon inside a free-standing mosquito net tent is a wonderful thing. Until you're woken up to a staff member walking around yelling TORNADO! What hereally meant was sand storm, and it ended quickly (and even turned into rain), but it felt a bit like a chemical weapons drill (gas gas gas!!!). We took down our tents, scrambled inside the dormitory, and closed all the windows as much as possible (they'remore like shutters, no actual glass here). The dust started filling the room and we wrapped wet t-shirts, bandanas, or sheets over our faces and tried our best to sleep in the stifling heat. "And to think," we all probably said to ourselves, "you signed up for this!"

=== Half the Pillow It Once Was ===
Last Friday was pack-up-and-clean-up day in DC, the culmination of several weeks of a Veblen-esque orgy of conspicuous consumption. All of my clothes, books and gizmos cowered in the corner of my tornado-stricken bedroom, wondering how I would ever fit them intoa large duffel bag, medium backpack and messenger bag. My secret weapon -- Space Saver vacuum pack bags. These things (thanks to Hava for telling me about them!) are simply large plastic bags withone sealable end and a nozzle on the top. After filling two with about 10 pounds of clothing each, the power of suction reduced them to shrivelled little beef-jerky-esque remains of their former selves. Rarely is it possible to wound someone with a pillow, but shrink it down to an almost white dwarf-like density and watch out!

===The Penultimate Supper===
My weeks leading up to Peace Corps have basically entailed eating,sleeping, working (if you can call 5 hours 4 times a week working),studying French and of course hanging out with Beth and others. But almost everything revolved around eating. The horror storiesof Mauritanian food -- you'll eat millet for 6 months straight, an alien will come out of your chest, etc -- convinced me to live large during my last days in the U.S. I expect to lose a few lbs in Mauritania, unless of course you all send me enough tuna packets and Balance Bars to gain weight, in which case I'll surely be fired by the Peace Corps for overtaxing their mail system.

My last big meal in D.C. brought me to my favorite restaurant in town -- Lalibela on 14th and P Street Northwest. It's the cheapest and most delicious Ethiopian food in town and is very authentic, towhich the many tables of taxi drivers can attest. Friends packed the outside patio table and kept the food coming -- lamb, kitfo (spicy ground beef), vegetarian dishes, tuna salad, and of coursethe "Sponge Bob Bread." Trivia time -- Ethiopian bread (injera) is made from the grain tef, which is so draught resistant that all polinated flowers will produce grain even if no rain falls from thetime of polination to the harvest.

So yes, I'm a little attached to Ethiopian food but I'll be working hard to make the transition once I'm in country. It'll be tough to shake the bias, though. The other day my cab driver and I werechatting about Lalibela and Ethiopian food and I told him I was going to West Africa. He shot me a look of absolute disgust and said, "Oh, they don't have real food in West Africa!" Sorry, millet and goat, when I eat you I'll be thinking of injera and lambtibs.

Thanks for reading to the bottom of this monster first-in-country issue. I hope all of you are well and happy and are not too HOT and sweaty!!!

--Luke