I'm teaching at the GMC these days. Girls Mentoring Center, GMC for short. It's one of the few fully-funded things that the Peace Corps does. Volunteers open and manage the centers, and find community volunteers to keep the program running, to make the centers sustainable. And usually volunteers who work in different sectors throw in and help out with classes. Being a health educator, I do a weekly health class. Right now, I'm in the middle of a 6-week series on women's and children's health.

The first session in the series was on women's health. Health subjects relating directly to women. This is not a common subject around here. Generally, women's health as it is taught here ties directly to childbearing and child rearing. Or to general community health. But there's more to a woman's body than producing children, and there are certain things that are very specific to maintaining a healthy lifestyle for a woman that just aren't covered by those other topics. So I added to the curriculum.

As I did my research, I was shocked to find information that had never occurred to me. The effects of exercise on a woman's cycle, maintaining a proper diet. Things I just didn't realize. I showed my planned lesson to Amanda, the GMC coordinator, and even she said she didn't know much of the material. I really wanted to give the young women a lesson worth learning. If they weren't going to hear about their health as women very often, I wanted them to at least get a lesson that they could take home.

But I still wasn't sure how it would go over. As I mentioned, it isn't a subject that's often focused on. If a health lesson isn't on malaria, or on breast feeding, then it's probably not even presented. Amanda had made some nice visuals for me to use, something to keep the audience focused, but it's always a gamble, trying out new material. Especially when the ground is nearly unbroken.

I started with Vitamin D. You’d think that this wouldn’t be an issue in the Sahara. After all, how could you develop a deficiency for the vitamin found in sunlight? But in countries where women cover up so thoroughly as Mauritania, or Saudi Arabia, it can be difficult for a woman to get enough Vitamin D. How could they in a place where the sun never touches their skin?

But halfway through my lesson, I found myself drifting into familiar territory. I think we all do things like this when we're unsure; we search out the familiar. So I discussed a bit more of how certain vitamins improve women’s health, while simultaneously improving fetal and reproductive health. Folic acids, I said, are good for preventing defects. You'll need iron for your blood production relating to pregnancy. Bring it back to what the women care about.

But then, one of the girls asked a question that I'd hoped for, but never really expected. "What about my health? I want to know how this relates to me."

Most of the young women at that lesson asked about their future children. But one brave young woman wanted to know how to guard her own health. She wanted me to help her, to give her the knowledge she needed, to maintain a healthy lifestyle and to keep her body in good shape.

I should thank that girl for her question. If she hadn't asked, I might never have taught the same lesson to a receptive audience of mothers at the health center that same week.

Have A Very Merry(tanian) Christmas

Growing up, Christmas was about anticipation. Sure, there were presents involved, but there were presents at other times, too. Birthdays. Easter. But no other gift-giving holiday could match Christmas for the sheer anticipation of the event. Santa and shopping, a month of constant carols. Even a calendar for each person, just so that we could count down the days until we could open those presents that were under the tree, toys just beyond our reach. And then, in a grand climax, on Christmas day, we would wake up at 5:00 am so that we could tear through the presents, see what we had, and then spend the rest of the day enjoying every single piece of the load.

This doesn't exist in Mauritania.

In Mauritania, the holidays are a bit more restrained, maybe slightly less kid-focused. For each of the major holidays, everyone tries to go home. It's very important that everyone spend Eid Sayeid with the family if possible. It can be difficult, with distance and cost. And then, wearing new clothes that were specially bought for the holiday, the people spend the day laughing and talking with family and friends, all over a big, expensive, but lovingly prepared meal. It's a lovely tradition, but I've always had a hard time reconciling it with the holidays that I remember from my youth.

I came home for Christmas this year.

I missed the blatant commercialism of Christmas. Say all you want about how it kills the spirit of Christmas; to me, the commercialism was always a major part of the spirit of Christmas. It builds anticipation. Seeing decorations everywhere from December 1st until about a week after the holiday itself has passed; hearing Christmas music from every working speaker and about a quarter of the broken ones; looking for that special something that each person will love. I like it. And it's tough to replace in the RIM.

For about two months, I anticipated this holiday. My trip home to see my family for the holidays. I hadn't seen them in 18 months. It was just too far, and too expensive to go home before. So the prospect of seeing my family was just too good to pass up, especially for a holiday. That's when everyone is home, and that's when we have the best food. There's nothing like sitting around the living room, joking with my brother and sisters, smelling whatever my mother has decided to favor us with.

I'm a little older now. Getting up at 5:00 is more something for a 5-year-old, and the gifts will be there at 8:00, and might be even more enjoyable with those extra 3 hours of sleep. That's not to say that I wasn't the first up; I was just slightly more restrained than I was 24 years ago.

So eventually we made our way downstairs to see what we'd all found for one another. Wearing my comfy new PJs, fresh the night before, I joined everyone at the stockings, and then the trees. We all had a good laugh at the gag-gifts (like the cute animal postcards with messages like "You Have 6 Weeks To Live"), and we all made the appropriate sounds for the meaningful gifts ("My, what a wonderful book!").

After the festivities were done, we set to work cleaning the house (a task I would never have embraced as a child), which was doubly important since we had company coming. 6 family friends who would be joining us for dinner. My brother and I cleaned up the family room, I set out the dinner table with my younger sister, and my mother and sisters worked in the kitchen to prepare the meal.

That evening, in our new Christmas clothes, we greeted our friends at the door. First in the living room and then around the dinner table, we talked about our lives, we discussed current events, laughed at the absurdities that we see everywhere. It was a fantastic dinner.

My brother remarked to me on Christmas Eve that he loves this holiday, too. And that he comes home for two things- Family and skiing. I agree, though I think that the whole thing might be lacking without the fresh clothes and a nice dinner. Having friends over is just icing on the cake.

Which sounds suspiciously like a Mauritanian Christmas.

Dances With Unintended Consequences

A dog adopted me when I was still living in Nema. When I showed her some small kindness on the street, she decided that my house would be a nicer place to live than a garbage heap (how much thought she had to put into it, I don’t know). It was a simple arrangement back then. When I was around, she was allowed in my yard. I would find her food every now and again, but she would use her own resources the rest of the time. If I left on vacation, she would be on her own. And she could follow me through town, if I wasn’t going to a meeting (she would always sneak into the conference rooms).

When I moved to Aleg, I brought her with me. While she had managed on her own well enough in my absence, I just didn’t have the heart to leave her. Since Mauritanians don’t love dogs, and children are allowed to stone them on the streets, I figured that she would be better off coming with me than staying on her own.

What I didn’t consider was that dog ownership is a responsibility. In Nema, it had been easy. She was a street dog who frequented my house. But as soon as I took her out of her zone, she became my dog. One that I had to feed every day instead of when I felt generous. I couldn’t just let her wander the streets anymore; she needed boundaries, a yard. She doesn’t always love the new boundaries, but she manages.

Since she’s now confined to a yard for most of the day, I have a new, completely unexpected responsibility- walks. Every morning, I get up early to take her for her walk around the town. And every evening, before dinner, I take her for the second run. A time to stretch her legs, smell things, eat rancid scraps that she finds on every corner (which keeps down her food bill). The biggest surprise is that she stays right by me, but I suppose that after spending the first year of her life on her own, she’s probably pretty grateful.

For the first few days of our walks, Bella and I would just stroll around town, take in the sights, and get a little exercise. But after a few days, the law of unintended consequences introduced a new variable- kids. Mauritanians, as I’ve mentioned, do not like dogs. Walking a dog is a bit like walking a wolf; everyone clears a path for the dog and wonders at my bravery, foolishness, or both. And children tend to hurl insults and stones at dogs, though which hurts Bella more, I’m not sure.

But they didn’t. The kids hurled neither stone nor insult. Instead, they greeted me. They greeted me with curiosity, and with wonder. And I found myself surrounded by children, none of whom wanted to touch the creature from bedtime stories that sent them into nightmares and screams- a dog, that sharp-toothed brute that runs like the wind and drinks the blood of small children. But I calmed them, and encouraged them. I showed them how gentle Bella is. And eventually, one of the kids plucked up enough courage to touch her- just barely- and then run back to the crowd. So another did. And another. And eventually, they were stroking her, and letting her sniff their hands. They didn’t listen to the words of prudence from the older women nearby; they had an adventure of which to partake.

And so I became a modern Pied Piper, the Nazirani Dog-Walker of Aleg, with a trail of twenty children following me to the ends of the town, entranced by this mystical dog that you could touch without fear of being bitten. Occasionally stopping to calm parents who were concerned about the activity, I led the children from one end of town to the other and back, and may again tonight.

Which begs the question- what is the next Unintended Consequence that Bella will unleash on me?

New Lease

I have a new house. It's not a bad house, really. I held out for as long as I could. After the disaster that my house was in Nema, I knew that I needed something good here, and I knew what to look for-

-A roof that doesn't leak
-Back windows (a cross-breeze is necessary in this heat)
-A good wall around the yard (to keep kids out and the dog in)
-Running water
-Reliable electricity
-An outhouse that doesn't smell too bad

In the end, I wound up with something that more or less fits the bill. I live out of a fairly large rectangle with windows on three sides. No more mud and stone huts for me; I live out of concrete these days. And the dog has a yard to run in and a wall that keeps her from mistaking the ends of that yard. So one of the things that kept me down in Nema is taken care of.

But I don't spend much time at home. I spend my time visiting other volunteers whose rectangles with windows are filled with other amenities, like carpeting and comfortable mats. Or residents of Aleg whose rectangles are improved by A/C units and glass windows. Or at offices and centers where I can get a bit of work done, alone or with other volunteers and Mauritanians.

It's amazing the effect that those other rectangles have on my life. In Nema, where most of my work fell apart after about 9 months, I felt that I was destined to wait out my 2 year stint and go home, pausing at the border only to kick the dust off my sandals. But here in Aleg, I have work, and I have 5 fantastic, dedicated, and positive peers with whom to work. There are countless organizations that not only talk about work, but show me what they're doing. And when I need to relax and decompress, I hang out with volunteers, fellow Americans with whom I can share my language, culture, and interests.

I like my new house. It's a fine rectangle. But if I had to live in a lesser rectangle, I'd say that the other amenities that Aleg offers are much more important to my mental health in what is shaping up to a very positive and productive 2nd year in Mauritania.

Won't Somebody Think Of The Orphans?

I have nothing against orphans. I've read the first fifty pages of Oliver Twist. I've seen countless commercials asking for donations, commercials that featured orphans, both smiling and crying. I fully support orphans, both in their right to be orphans and in their right to exist.

That said, yesterday I found myself unmoved by a woman who suggested that orphans might be a good charity for a fellow volunteer.

Several weeks ago, Aisha, the landlady of a fellow volunteer, paid her a visit. The volunteer, Janna, has been living in a hand-me-down house. Outgoing volunteers pass down decent houses to incoming volunteers, and this house has lasted several generations. In an effort to reach out to her new tenant, Aisha started the conversation by raising the rent by 15% remarking that the prior volunteer tenant had been a better person, and that she just didn't like Janna.

Janna, in turn, found another house. One where her landlady might not start conversations by raising rent and calling into question her worth as a human being. And when she was able to get in touch with Aisha, she said that she would be moving. That she had found a nicer house for a better price and that she could no longer keep the old hand-me-down house.

Yesterday, Aisha popped in. With a translator. Janna won't be moving for another week or so, and Aisha wanted to put up a fight for her tenant. Since insulting hadn't worked, she decided to change tactics. I was sitting in the other room at the time, and what I heard translates to,

"You need to understand, this woman has orphans."

As I mentioned, I have nothing against orphans. I think that many orphans are fine people, upstanding members of society. Given my hopes for a long life, you might say that I aspire to one day be an orphan myself. But when Aisha's translator brought up her orphans as a reason why Janna should stay put and hang onto her overpriced house, found reacted in a less-respectful way.

So please don't take this the wrong way, but here in Mauritania, I've finally found an orphan joke that really does make me laugh.

Back At The Keyboard

It's been awhile since I've blogged regularly. This wasn't entirely accidental. In part, I wanted to spare you. And myself, I suppose. For about 6 months now, I couldn't have offered much in the way of insight or humor on my blog. I hit the wall in my service, and I lost my positive attitude towards the work and the culture. And from a position of depression, it's really difficult to get out there and find something new to share, some new experience or insight into this curious melange of Western African cultures that is Mauritania.

So rather than open a window to my own malaise, and rather than force myself to explore what was making me unhappy, I took a long hiatus from writing about my experiences. It was easier. That's all I can really say about it.

But now, with 8 months left to my service, I've found my second wind. Living in a new town, I'm open to new experiences with new partners and new friends. With a new team of Peace Corps volunteers, I have a new group of people to rely on and work with. Being closer to Nouakchott, I feel far less isolated. And having had a little European vacation, I was able to recharge my batteries.

All volunteers go through something like this. I get the impression that my down time was more prolonged than usual, maybe a bit worse than most. But I'm looking forward to getting back to work, and hopefully having something good to show for my time in Aleg. And I'll try to share those things as they come.

Nema No More

I was sifting through my new e-mail messages about a week ago when I noticed a theme. Three of them asking me to call Obie, the big boss in Nouakchott. One from a friend, one from the receptionist, and one from Obie himself. But nothing remarking on why I should call him.

The reason everyone was so eager to find me, as it turns out, was because my phone wasn't working. I thought the reception was just terrible in Nema, which isn't uncommon. But as it turns out, my phone was broken. Everyone was concerned with where I was because for a week they'd been trying to find me, and no one could. So I shot Obie a message, saying that I was in Nema and, while I couldn't call, I was available to e-mail.

After a short e-mail conversation with Obie, I found that the reason everyone wanted to find me wasn't so much my scintillating conversation, or because I'd blown something important. No, this one was because I needed to pack my bags. I'd just received an one-way ticket out of Nema.

My old region, Hodh el Charghi, has been closed. With the dollar falling so low, our purchasing power in Mauritania is much reduced. The Peace Corps has taken some steps to improve our position, such as taking in less new volunteers in the future, and keeping less regions open. Since mine was a new region, and a frontier post, ours was the one that was closed.

So now I live in Aleg, in the northern half of the Brakna region. I'm just 250 kilometers from Nouakchott, which makes for a much-reduced commute when I need to fly or go to important meetings. And while I'm in an town with a long history with the Peace Corps, I am the first health volunteer in this town for quite some time. So I have a bit of work cut out for me.

It was difficult to say goodbye to all of my friends, especially on such short notice. But I'll have a year to get used to Aleg, and to do what I can here in the West.