Ch.6

March 95

Well, its Saturday, March something. I don't know 'cuz my watch be dun broke. I've been here in Nouakchott for six days now. I got tired of spending up to an hour and a half in the bathroom up to fifteen visits per day, so I came up to get fixed. Turns out, I had a bug living in me named Giardia. I had bad diarrhea for about ten days, but I'm better now. I've got to go back to my village sometime soon. At the same time I was taking treatment for Giardia, I got the flu or something and I had terrible body aches and my right shoulder hurt terribly such that I couldn't move that arm. I got X-rays taken by some French doctor, and she was really rough, slinging my arm around like I was some rag doll. Then she asked if I had been tested for Gonorrhea. NO! That's great! Rub it in that I have no sex life while at the same time implying that I have some dread disease. The severe aches mysteriously went away the next day, humdulilahi!

(to Mom) You can send packages to my Rosso address, but it is not secure. You can make it more secure if you write: religious materials, pork, bacon, or something like that (a hint from another volunteer!) (The Muslims wouldn't want the pork products since they don't eat pork, the dirty animal that it is!)

3/7/95 The car ride home.

I spent the night in Rosso last night at Pam's new place. It is nice, but very noisy at night. Yesterday, I was ready to move in: she has a closed courtyard with high walls, two showers, a latrine, a sink, five large rooms, a closet, and a patio upstairs. I even offered to pay her 2000 um ($16) a month if she would let me stay whenever I want. She declined, saying that she was in Africa to be with Africans and that if I stayed at her house that would defeat the purpose of being in Africa. Well, who wants to stay with her anyway! I sleep better in my village, and don't have to worry about getting her floors dirty. I think she is obsessive-compulsive: I have seen her go berserk a couple of times now about dust-once in Nouakchott, once here in Rosso. She rants around the room with her broom almost hysterically cursing the dust. Unfortunately, Rosso, and much of Mauritania, is prone to dust-storms. Luckily for me, and this will comes as no shock to you who are reading this, I don't have much of a problem with the dust. I just give one of the kids a broom, and afterwards reward them with a piece of candy or a magazine. The kids surprise me-when I give one candy, he *voluntarily* shares it with the others. (I think maybe the other kids will beat them up if they don't share though!) With hard candy, they bite it into pieces, and with chewing gum, they'll pull it out of their mouth and give it to the others, regardless of the state of chewed-ness.

After eating lunch with the family of Sall Kalidou, I left at 3pm to find a taxi. My village taxi had already left, so I took the taxi that goes to Keur Massene (pronounced cur muh san, meaning in Wolof "house of Massene.) It costs 100 um, or 80 cents whereas my village taxi costs 45um. After sitting around about an hour, we loaded up in the back of the back of the small Peugeot truck: myself, 4 large white sheep, a goat, around 10 50kg/110 lb. sacks of rice, various other things, 5 large black women, 1 man, and three children. Needless to say, it was extremely comfortable. I couldn't imagine how it could be more uncomfortable, until we stopped and picked up another large black woman, and a white moor man got in with us also. Luckily for me, I was able to ignore the two women practically sitting on me as I read The Web and The Rock by Thomas Wolfe. That is, until one of them blew her nose and I was splashed with snot on my face and arm. Even better, when I looked down at my book I spied two large globs of mucous lying on the page. Disgusted, I grabbed the woman's dress and wiped it off. Shortly thereafter, we had a flat tire. I think we have a flat tire about every other trip. Anyway, we stopped, and one of the black guys who had been in the cab of the truck ordered me to get out. It was something I really wanted to do, but I found it impossible to lift the fat black women off me. I am not sure why he told only me to get out, and when I pointed out to him the impossibility of the situation, he ordered everyone else out too. We climbed over each other to get out, and eventually, we replaced the tire, and everyone quickly crowded back into the truck, leaving me without a place to sit. I didn't really care, because the village wasn't far off and it was more comfortable to stand anyway. We continued on, and a man sitting on the roof of the truck in front of me decided his nose as well. I don't know if he didn't know if I was behind him, or if he just didn't care. I wiped his snot off of my face.

As I sit in my room and write this letter, I still wonder what the hell I am doing here. I have lots of books to read, but I think I'll need more than that to carry me through the next two years. There are things and people here I really enjoy, but I am not sure if they outweigh what I could be doing at home, and the shitty things I live through here. I found out last week that our director here will be gone in about five weeks, and that Washington is speaking of closing the American Embassy in Nouakchott. If the embassy goes, so will we. If we go, would I go in the Peace Corps again? Right now, my answer would be "Absolutely Not!" I dreamed of coming to Africa, making friends and helping the sickly black natives who would welcome me with open arms. My dreams never were comprised with visions of snot on my face, villagers reminding me daily that I don't speak their language, and laughing at me, kids in the streets yelling "Tubob! Donne moi cadeau!" ("Whitey, give me a gift!") and white moor boys in their teens whistling at me like I was an animal to get me to look their way. I hate it. I hate the constant harassment, the ungrateful bastards that want us only for what we can give them, and tell us so. I am lucky not to be a woman here: Pamela and the other girls are constantly: do you like blacks? do you want to come spend the night with me? can I buy you? These are but a few of the things that have been said to the female volunteers here. The crazy thing is, we are all much safer here than we were in the states. However, we were all more comfortable in the states, and much freer to be idealists.

I believe that I will feel better about myself and this experience when/if I find some good work to do. I am going to start on my water filter tomorrow. (diagram of filter)

3/8/95

Today has been fairly good to me. Nothing has physically changed, except that I finished the Wolfe novel I have been reading for a couple of weeks. Perhaps my new enthusiasm is a result of the bag of valentine hearts and the bag of lemon drops I have consumed since last night. Anyway, it was good to finish the novel, and I continued work this morning on plans I am making for a project in the village. The barrel I was going to steal this morning was nowhere to be found. I'll talk to the village chief tonight to get him to give me one.

Christmas! Between the boxes I received last week and the two I received today, life is going very well indeed. I got magazines, candy and slim-jims, newspapers and Q-Tips, a book and a seed catalog. I don't think I've ever been happier at Christmas. Today my gifts were brought to me by an Embassy official who just got the job as my program director, Carla Hunt. She was recently a PCV here herself, and married a Mauritanian. She is really nice, and I will enjoy working under her, if she doesn't send me home. While she, myself and Sam sat in my room and talked, she commented on what a nice water filter I had. I thanked her and explained how I brought it to filter out the bacteria of the river water I have to drink here. I'm not sure if I turned red or not. You see, the nice water filter she saw is one that she'll recognize soon when she begins her duties as my program director. Ben and myself, being the industrious and forward thinking people that we are, "found" the water filters packed in boxes at the Peace Corps office in Nouakchott. I had seen them two months previously, and Ben and I decided that since they were not in use, the Peace Corps office obviously did not need them. We, about to be hurled into villages with questionable water supplies, requisitioned the filters. Of course, we failed to mention this to any Peace Corps staff as we left the building carrying the boxes on our shoulders. We did this not in stealth, but with staff present during business hours. We knew it was right to take them, because no one said anything to us. When I was in Nouakchott last week, I noticed that the water filters had indeed been found, as I spied one assembled and high upon a shelf. It was not in use, and I saw no others, so we may not be in trouble yet. Oh well, c'est la vie!_

3/9/95

as each day goes by, I gain more respect for these people. Not! There are some nice, intelligent people here, and there are some stupid, short-sighted people as well. I learned that my good friend Amadou (remember my tutor in masonry) lied to me about missing materials from a U.S. Embassy project here. The embassy donated over $10,000 in materials for a project to build a storage shed for the villagers to keep their rice in. After prompting from the embassy about a month ago, I began asking questions as to why the project was not completed yet, as they have had the materials for over 6 months. After first blaming it on the embassy for not sending all the material, which I knew was not true, Amadou told me that the vendor still had the concrete in Nouakchott. About a week later, he told me that the concrete had arrived in Rosso, and they would begin work soon. Yesterday, when Carla, who is in charge of the Embassy program Gifts-In-Kind, started asking questions of some other people, we found out that the village had sold the cement. But, we were assured, the village was supposed to buy more concrete and begin work someday, eventually.

This morning, Amadou's brother brought over a battered, rusty barrel for me to make my first filter with. I asked him, in French and Wolof, if he was sure that he wanted to get his drinking water from that barrel, and that he didn't have another that was in better shape. Yes, it was fine, he said. I came inside, finished a book I was reading, and returned outside to commence work on the filter. After beating it back into shape, I noticed the unmistakable scent of diesel. I opened the lid, and the barrel reeked of it. I took it back, called him a fool, and left. Work here is going to be interesting!

(To family: I usually get out most of the things I am thinking when I rant and rave about my wonderful daily life here. This Peace Corps stuff is quite an experience. Some days I feel really good, that I know I am going to help these people here; some days I hate it, and want to go home; and yet other days, I say the hell with them: I'll do whatever the hell I want-and thick of this experience as a two-year sabbatical. Whatever comes of it, I do have a lot of time to read, I can do whatever I want during the days, and I am learning French and Wolof. When I'm done, I'll make a decision whether I love this job or not, it certainly is hard in a lot of ways. Tim, thanks a lot for the Osceolas! (Florida State University Sports Newspaper!) They meant a heck of a lot to me, because the local press here doesn't do a very good job of covering the 'Noles.)

3/11/95

A lot of mail I get from the states in about 10 days, but this last batch took a month. Damn this postal system!

I don't have a moto yet, but there is a fair chance I'll be getting one in the next few weeks. Oh, and my back is okay! It hurt for a while after the accident, but not anymore. I know everyone will worry about me with the moto. I'll be careful, and I'll stay away from these crazy drivers here. I mostly look forward to having one because of the freedom it will give me, and you understand why I prefer not to take the village taxi.

3/13

It rained again.

3/16

Went to Noaukchott and back looking for Ben. Ben came to Rosso.

3/17

Burned my leg on the motorcycle fooling around with Ben.

3/18

Went to St. Louis with Ben.

3/19

Fought with the Moor at the border crossing coming back into the country.

3/24

Went artifact hunting with Babbar. Found an almost whole pot.

3/25

Ate dinner with Khady Fall in Breun Darou.

3/28

Today I walked to the village market and taped me greeting the villagers. I sent the tape to mom and the family, who really enjoyed it. These are some pictures from that.

Met with Catholic Priest. He is a jerk. He accused me of being a typical American, coming to interrupt everyone's work just because I felt like it. I told him that he had told me to come at this time. He was nicer after that.

Went with Pam to see this crazy dude who had some new idea to charge batteries. He hooked up a battery to an electric motor, and this was hooked with a belt up to an alternator, which charged another battery. Don't think it will sell all that well, didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd do better just to hook the two batteries up together.

4/2

Adama Ndiaye came over and danced to some music at my house.

4/4

My first barrel filter failed. Diarrhea.

4/5

Went looking for monkeys.

4/6

Second barrel didn't seal. Went looking for monkeys. Didn't find any.

4/7

Went to St. Louis with the French to Jazzfest. It sucked because it didn't start until midnight, long past a villagers bedtime.

4/8

Went up to Nouakchott to talk to Wayne, whose mother had passed away. Stayed until the thirteenth. Got sick with fever, couldn't move my right arm. Accused by the French Doctor of having Gonorrhea.

4/13

Returned to Rosso.

4/14

Ate dinner with the Ambassador. Swallowed a fly. Got sick.

4/16

Sam's dog had puppies. She had asked me to terminate them, but lost heart upon seeing them. I'm pissed at Sam.

4/17

Gave up on my battery. Watched the villagers practice for the skit they were going to put on for the French.

4/18

Planted Basil seeds.

4/19

Heard the Federal Building exploded in Oklahoma on BBC. Heard reporters speculate that it was the Arabs.