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...