It has been an emotional weekend. First, let me tell you about last weekend, though, my makeshift Mauritanian Thanksgiving.
A bunch of the PCVs, maybe 35 of us (out of 80-ish), gathered in Kiffa for Thanksgiving (celebrated on Friday so the teachers in the group didn�t have to take much time off). It was amazing. The PCVs living in Kiffa did an incredible job of organizing the weekend, from getting food to coming up with a cooking schedule to planning activites to making sure there was plenty of alcohol (a challenging task in a dry country�thank god for �brousse� wine, a hibiscus leaf drink fermented for a week in a large plastic jug�how �bout them tannins!). It was fantastic to see people, most of whom I hadn�t seen or spoken to for two months. We got to catch up and hear about each other�s sites and how the adjustment to life as a PCV was going. It was nice to know that I�m not alone in some of the things I�m feeling and going through.
But on to the important part: the food. For a country with not much more than rice, couscous, and goat meat available, we did well for ourselves. We had whole chickens, stuffed and seasoned beautifully, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes with marshmallows (yay for care packages!), au gratin potatoes, green bean casserole, creamed corn, ginger carrots, chicken & dumplings, this egg noodle dish that�s part of someone�s family�s T-day tradition, and a number of other random dishes like Asian noodle salad and bruschetta. For dessert, there was apple pie, pumpkin pie, cheesecake, key lime pie, pineapple upside-down cake, pineapple-blueberry crisp, and pecan pie. The PCVs in Kiffa are known for their culinary abilities and two of the gentlemen had a bake-off (I know, only in the Peace Corps! PC men are a breed of their own). It was between Caleb�s banana bread with peanut butter icing and Luke�s carrot cake with makeshift cream cheese frosting (made by yours truly and I must say that for using �cream cheese spread� and not having powdered sugar, we got the fake frosting right on; the secret? a few drops of lime juice). Anyway, Caleb quickly admitted defeat after sampling the cake, and I must confess that I felt a touch of pride for having contributed to Luke�s success... and then I dove into the cake, even though I was past stuffed by that point.
The next dayMichael made chicken soup with the leftovers (to continue just about every American�s Thanksgiving tradition) for lunch, and we had buffalo chicken, french fries, onion rings, and mac & cheese for dinner. Not terribly healthy, I know, but damn good. That afternoon, people went on an outing to a place not too far from Kiffa to see monkeys and crocodiles (and only ended up seeing one dead croc, which they tried to bring back for those of us who didn�t go). I stayed behind as I was low on funds and energy for another off-road adventure. So I helped make dinner and indulged in a bit of wine while they were gone. As I haven�t had alcohol in a few months, I was pretty happy by the time they got back. We�d sort of tried for it the night before, but as people were tired from traveling and lethargic following T-day dinner, the dance party didn�t happen until Saturday, but when it did, it was rockin�. I was a little under the weather the next morning and didn�t make it over to Luke�s house for the French toast breakfast, sadly (though I�d eaten enough over the past 2 days to last me at least 6 more). Someone saved me some au gratin potatoes, though, and Aaron whipped up pasta alfredo for lunch. After meeting my friend Leah�s host family, we got back in the car to return to Aleg, where Julian had a big salad (yes, a salad in Mauritania!) waiting for us for dinner. It was fantastic. I returned to Maal on Monday to wait for Cynthia, the PC Medical Officer, to come for a site visit later in the week; we were to discuss the possibility of her recommending a site change to help with my back problems.
Which leads me to the last thing I expected to write for this website: that I�m leaving before the two years are up. Cynthia didn�t think that a site change would do much for my back; life in Mauritania is just hard on backs, she said. I don�t entirely agree with her assessment that traveling anywhere in this country, whether on a road or not, is equally difficult. Yes, squishing 6 people plus a driver in a car about the size of a Toyota Corolla (I�m not exaggerating here; and did you know that two people can fit in the driver�s seat of a car? I�ve seen it more than once) for the 6-hour trip to Kiffa was not comfortable, but it wasn�t nearly as bad as flying around in the back of an old SUV when returning to Maal after Thanksgiving.
(It�s now December 7.) Funny that that was where I left off the other day, rushing out of the bureau in Aleg to make sure I got to the garage to catch the car to Maal on Monday afternoon. I�d decided that that was going to be my last trip to Maal; I was just going to pack up my belongings and say my good-byes, and then I�d tell Peace Corps I was leaving. I made that decision after talking to Daouda, my program director, who told me that, because Cynthia didn�t deem it medically necessary for a site change, there was no way I was getting one (though he didn�t put it quite so bluntly). As I don�t think I could handle two years of off-road travel and not being able to communicate with people outside of Maal, I felt that it was time to go. I asked for the weekend to think about it, though I knew what my decision would be, and took the time to visit Boghe and Kaedi, where a couple of my good PCV friends live. It was wonderful to see them and get to say good-bye. I also saw a number of other PCVs who were in town for the weekend, which was great. We had a good time together and everyone�s very supportive of my decision, though they�re not happy I�m leaving (which is, of course, gratifying). I�m incredibly sad that I won�t spend the next two years with this fantastic group of people, but feel that I�ve been here long enough to develop some strong relationships and know that I�ll keep in touch with at least a few of the people I�ve met here. It was a very emotional weekend, but I�m pretty much at peace with the decision to go. I�m not happy I�m leaving, per se, but I will be happy to be home with my family and friends, and feel that that�s where I�m meant to be right now. Though it will be interesting to go back to the States in the middle of the Christmas season� there are some things I did enjoy about not being there, the break from consumerism being one of them. It�s going to be a little intense to jump back into that. And don�t even get me started on what a shock to the system Wisconsin�s weather is going to be�
It was Monday when I started writing this posting (Dec 5). I expected to go back to Maal for a few days to pack and such. But things didn�t quite work out as planned, and I�m now in Nouakchott. Here�s what happened:
After stopping by Julian�s house to pick up mail, I rushed to the garage to get a car to Maal. The first car I saw was the old SUV; I saw its driver, Sid Ahmed, a minute later and arranged to ride with him. I waited a while, as cars never leave on time here, and noticed that the other two cars that go to Maal (a pickup truck and a VW bus, aka �prison van�) were there as well. Cheikh, the driver of the prison van, said hi to me as I was waiting, and when Sid Ahmed said he was ready to go, Cheikh, naturally, asked why I wasn�t going with him (they love to give you guilt trips about stuff like that here). I told him I�d go with him next time, that I�d seen Sid Ahmed first. Plus, Sid Ahmed was leaving before any of the others were, and all I wanted to do was get back to Maal and tell my host family and my sitemate that I was ET�ing (early termination, another one of the great PC acronyms) and start packing.
December 13, 2005
Wow. I still can�t quite believe that I�m currently sitting at my brother�s computer in Chicago trying to finish writing the tale of my homecoming. So odd. Let�s see if I can get through it this time�
Backing up to last week: we left for Maal kind of on time, which I greatly appreciated. I was relieved to know that it�d be the second to last time I�d ever have to do this ride. It�s pretty uncomfortable and, at times, a little frightening�we travel in old vehicles and the drivers, at times, go a bit faster than I would over such rough terrain. But I just had to get to Maal and back, and it�d be over, ilhamdulillah.
The car was packed full of people and stuff, and I was a little irritated because I kept having to move to squeeze in more people and their crap. There was also this big bowl sitting on a pile of stuff (I was in the back of the SUV, with all the baggage) that had a broom, the bristles of which kept ending up in my face, and a chicken in it (a live one). Oh, and the driver didn�t give me my change and I couldn�t figure out why. But whatever; I made a mental note to ask him about it again when we got to Maal and tried to make myself comfortable. We traveled for a while before seeing another car headed in the same direction. There are very rarely other vehicles on the path and, as there�s only one set of tracks in the sand, we kind of got stuck behind this little car that was not designed for off-roading and was thus moving a lot slower than we could�ve and kicking up dust that was, of course, ending up in our vehicle (windows wide open, no A/C here). Given that we were off-roading, though, we could�ve left the tracks and passed the car at any point, but the driver seemed to think it was amusing to follow them. I thought it was annoying.
About an hour into the trip, we stopped. There are these little fruits called nilbic, which are slightly smaller than cherries, have pits, and taste a bit like apples. They grow on trees along the path, so we stopped to pick nilbic and for everyone else to pray (I take the opportunity to stretch, which looks a little like praying). When we got back in the car, it wouldn�t start. The driver got out, poured some water on something, and tried again; it sounded even less promising than it had before. So all the men got out and pushed the car (I don�t think I�ve ever seen an automatic transmission in Mauritania), which didn�t work the first couple of tries. I�m thinking, �Wouldn�t it be ironic if the car broke down and, on my way back to pack up and leave, we got stuck out in the badiya and couldn�t make it home?� Well, eventually the driver was able to throw the car into gear and we were on our way again. When we all got settled in the car again, though, stuff had shifted and I ended up with my legs basically pinned against the seat by the big bags that were being pushed my way by the guy sitting across from me (not on purpose, things just moved when we�d hit a bump or whatnot). So, again, I find myself a bit perturbed, and wrench my legs out from there and kind of curl up on the seat. Not the most comfortable position to be traveling in, but, I remind myself that I only have to make it through this ride a couple more times and then I�m gone.
Well, we didn�t quite make it through the ride. About an hour and a half into it, we pass through a small community. This time, there were a bunch of kids playing in the path of the car. We were moving at a decent clip, as that section of the path is pretty flat and drivers tend to pick up the pace when we hit a smooth patch. I don�t know what the kids were thinking (though I never really know what Mauritanians are thinking, it�s just completely different from American logic), but they didn�t move right away. In Mauritania, cars take precedence over everything. Well, everything but livestock; camels, cows, and donkeys can hold up traffic and really piss off drivers. But people definitely rank lower than cars in this hierarchy, and the kids should�ve moved. But they didn�t. I get a little unclear about the exact sequence of events at about this point, but I know the car swerved to avoid the children. Unsuccessfully, however; we hit a boy and the car rolled, landing upside-down. I was sitting right next to the back door, which we were able to get open, mashallah. I think the somewhat uncomfortable, fetus-like position I�d been sitting in turned out to be advantageous, as I sort of just rolled with the car. Virtually the entire village rushed over right away and there was a big circle of people standing around the boy; I couldn�t see how he was. I started pulling stuff out of the car to allow other people to get out. Everyone was able to get out more or less on their own, though one woman was absolutely hysterical and basically collapsed on me, wailing about her child who�d been sitting on her lap (she was fine, someone else had her).
Someone came up to me and asked if I was hurt, if I wanted to go to the hospital in Aleg. I realized that my shoulder was pretty sore and, if nothing else, I needed to be somewhere with cell service because I needed to let Peace Corps know what�d happened. So I got in the back of a prison van owned by someone in the community in which the accident happened. It was full of people, and they kept trying to squeeze in more. I was a little dazed and struggling to understand all the Hassaniya flying around, but there were hoards of people standing at the doors to the van apparently trying to get in, and a couple of men shoving people out of the way to allow those of us who�d been in the accident to enter. The van was crowded. The boy who�d been hit by the car was laying down with a circle of people, mostly women, around him (there were at least a dozen when we started, thankfully a few got out a few minutes into the ride), chanting. I�m not sure just what they say, but it�s just a few words, this little prayer-type thing that I�ve heard a million times before; they chant when it rains, when they travel, while they cook, whenever. This time, though, the chanting wasn�t soothing as it often can be; it was intense, as many of the women were, understandably, pretty upset (I assumed they were relatives of the boy). When I got settled in the van, the adrenaline rush wore off and I realized that our driver (someone from that community, not the Maal driver) was going way too fast for comfort (he was a bit hysterical, too) and my shoulder was really starting to hurt and these women were going to drive me crazy with their chanting and we had an hour and a half ride back to the city. So I tried to distract myself. I closed my eyes and started singing songs under my breath. Once I�d gotten through all the pop-type ones to which I could remember the lyrics, I was at a bit of a loss. But then it occurred to me that I know most words to just about every Christmas carol ever written. So there I was, bumping along (the driver slowed down after a bit�I think someone told him he was being crazy and the last thing we needed was to get into another accident) in the back of a van with women chanting around a kid who could be dying, singing Christmas songs to myself. It was interesting, to say the least.
We finally made it to the hospital and they took the boy in. He was still conscious and had been talking a little during the ride, so, while I don�t know just what happened to him, I think he�ll be ok. I called Julian, one of the Aleg volunteers, and asked him to meet me at the hospital as my already limited capacity to speak/understand Hassaniya was seriously diminished at that point. Someone offered me milk, which was weird, and then they told me that the doctor would come examine everyone else who needed it when he was free. (I don�t know how many doctors they had there that evening, probably only one or two.) Julian arrived and called the hospital director, who happens to take English lessons with him, and he was still in his office. He looked at my shoulder and determined I should get an x-ray, so scribbled my first name and �x-ray� (well, in French) on a scrap of paper. We waited a while and then were shown to the x-ray room. I�d been on the phone with the PC medical staff earlier and they told me not to let the doctors at the hospital give me any medication, so I wasn�t sure about this x-ray thing. I was even less sure when I saw the machine. After consulting with Cynthia, the med officer, we determined that the x-ray could wait until the next morning, at which time they�d be sending a PC car to take me to Nouakchott. I went back to Julian�s house, took a bunch of ibuprofen, iced my shoulder, and tried to sleep. Which was, surprisingly, possible, just a little awkward as I had to lay on my back so I could prop up my arm.
I was still in a fair bit of pain the next day and was pretty irritated when the PC car didn�t show up until noon, as I�d been told it�d be there by 9 and it only takes a couple of hours from Nouakchott. But this is Africa, and that�s how it goes. The driver was very nice and, I think, very aware that I might be just a little nervous about riding in a car, so, though we were moving pretty quickly (on a paved road this time), he was very good about slowing down and honking hundreds of meters in advance of cows crossing the road or cars pulling out or kids who looked like they might be playing a little too close to the street.
We made it to Nouakchott quickly and Amel, one of the PC med staff, and I went to the hospital for x-rays. She�d called ahead to make sure the technician was still there as it was mid-afternoon and people leave for a couple of hours in the middle of the day for lunch. He was, so we went over. Of course, when we got there 15 minutes later, we were told he�d left. And though this is a hospital that attends to emergencies, they don�t have an x-ray tech from 2-5pm every day. So Amel talked to a bunch of people and they eventually said they�d call someone back, though no one lived very close to the hospital so it�d take a while. About an hour later, someone showed up and we went into a room with a big, high-tech looking GE x-ray machine, which I felt good about. Taking the x-rays didn�t take long at all, and there didn�t seem to be any bone damage, mashallah. We went back to the PC bureau and they set me up in the medical apartment there, which has an actual bed, a shower, and a toilet. It was like paradise. I called one of the PCVs who lives in Nouakchott and we went to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Again, pretty amazing.
So if there�d been any doubt in my mind about whether I should leave Mauritania, the universe certainly answered that question with this accident. It got complicated, though, because PC doesn�t generally help a person move out when they ET, so I wasn�t sure I�d be able to go back and get my stuff. I was not about to get in another taxi to travel to Maal, both because it�d be painful and because I was, frankly, totally freaked out. I�d been told PC would send a car to get my things, but that I probably couldn�t go with it, that they�d want me out of the country ASAP. I�d been a little disappointed with PC about the whole site change thing, but the staff really redeemed themselves last week. Everyone was very concerned and supportive, and when I told my program director I was ET�ing, he arranged for a PC car to take me back to Maal so I could get my things and say good-bye, and he came along.
Things got busy after that. There�s quite a bit of paperwork to do to leave PC (it is a government program, after all) and they have to do a full medical exam (complete with stool sample, that was great) and such, so after Daouda and I talked on Wednesday, I had about a day and a half to get those things taken care of. We left for Maal early Friday morning; got there around lunchtime; had lunch with a bunch of people who happened to be in town (which really did not thrill me, though we did eat well); talked with my host family to let them know I was leaving (well, Daouda talked to them, I just sat there and cried); sorted through and packed my things in a few hours, trying not to further injure my shoulder in the process; and left early Saturday morning so I could return to Nouakchott, finish up my last-minute paperwork, have dinner with the PC group, and make a midnight flight to Paris. It was a busy few days but I got to spend some time with the other PCVs in Nouakchott and talk to the people in other sites that I still needed to talk to, so I felt ok about where I was leaving things as far as my PC relationships go. I think I got off kind of easy with the people in Maal because I really didn�t have time to talk to anyone but my host family. They were very understanding and, naturally, talked about how it was Allah�s will that I go home. Hadjatu did shed a few tears, though, which, sick as it sounds, made me feel� well, not good, but at least as though I might be missed. I cleared out my house, giving a bunch of stuff to Beth, my sitemate, and spent the night at her place. She�s known for a long time that I�d been thinking about leaving and has been incredibly supportive throughout, but I don�t think either of us were prepared for my actual departure. It was a restless night and we were both up well before we needed to be. The car came late, of course, and it was a tough good-bye. I have great respect for her, staying in Maal and staying there by herself. If I could�ve made myself tough out the two years for her, I would�ve; it sucks to abandon her like that. But she understood and we�d talked about it a lot and she thinks she�ll be ok. And I�ve promised to send her spectacular care packages, in an effort to assuage my guilt, so� hopefully, that�ll help us both.
I left Mauritania on Saturday, flew into Chicago on Sunday, had dinner with my parents, and have been staying at my brother�s place since. I�ll go back to Janesville soon and start thinking about what�s next. I�m in no rush to make any big decisions. I�m planning to hang out until after the holidays, possibly go to Mexico for a bit, then return to �real� life and get a job and an apartment (most likely in Chicago) and responsibilities and financial obligations and all that good stuff I could�ve done without for a while longer. It�s good to be back, though strange how normal it feels. I find that I appreciate things a lot more than I used to, as expected: hot showers, feeling clean, washing machines, using my left hand to eat, refrigeration, people saying thank you, vegetables, spices, cheese, wine, Miller Lite� oh, yeah. I might gain a few pounds in the coming weeks. Maybe.
As for the main reason I left, my health, I�m feeling ok. I think the accident may�ve done something to fix my back because it hasn�t bothered me too much lately, though that could also be attributed to the pain pills I�ve been taking for my shoulder. I have a great bruise on my shoulder (honestly, it�s now green-gray and every time I look at it I think of the Incredible Hulk), it�s still sore and tough to move in certain ways, and I wouldn�t be surprised if a little physical therapy is in order soon. But, all in all, I�m ok and things could�ve turned out a lot worse.
So, I guess this is it for the site. While I�m happy to be back, I�m not entirely happy to have left Mauritania and my friends there. Life there was hard, no doubt, but the experience would�ve been incredible. It already has been, though, and I regret nothing about my decision to go or my decision to return. I was certain, when I left, that going to Africa was the next step for me, the one that would help me determine where my life was going, personally and professionally. And it has. It�s going somewhere very different than what I pictured six months ago, I think, but it�s not necessarily about the destination. This time, it was the journey. And six months or two years, it�s been an amazing journey.
PS: Sid Ahmed still owes me 500 ouguiya.