Pictures From My Home Away From Home

Life in Nema is difficult to describe. It has an immediacy that can't be shared, and moments that really don't translate. So I've taken a few pictures to share.

For the time being, I'm living with Heather and Edna, two of my team members. Housing is very scarce in Nema, and we're having a hell of a time finding a place with secure windows, a proper roof, solid doors, water. Here's our current home. We go next door every morning to fill up a few water buckets.

I do my laundry by hand; it's not much fun, but I try to make it work. I suppose it isn't so much "doing laundry" as "leaving my clothes in soapy water." But so that I can feel a little better about it, I generally scrub the various articles against one another. I figure two or three swipes will do the trick.

Our loo is also quite nice, state of the art, really. There are wooden slats sticking out of the wall, from which I hang my solar showers (thank you, Frank and Joan). And there's a small hole in the wall facing the street, so all waste water flows directly out into the street. Very handy. I'd hate to have soapy water in my yard.



A very brief rainstorm hit Nema recently. Fifteen minutes of rain, but very heavy rain, and a lot of wind. Because Nema sits in a valley, and because the ground is baked solid, all of the water comes straight through town. Here is a view through the window of our house facing the street.


The middle of town is actually where the river flows. In the dry season, it just looks bizarre. A strip of sand in the middle of town, nothing built on it. It isn't until the rain flows that you understand the wisdom of not living there. I'm sure that there's a lesson in there somewhere, having to stick around to learn what the locals know, or something like that. But it's just too damn hot to think. Enjoy the pictures; I'm going to lie down.

Thanks For The Memories

Two and a half months is hardly any time at all. But I have found that it is quite enough to become accustomed to certain facts of life in the RIM, and it is enough time to begin to forget what has brought me here. Stepping back for a moment from my current life in the RIM and instead looking at everything through the lens of an outside observer (which I can never be anything but, really), it is interesting to see what I have already begun to take for granted in my brief stay thus far.

I am, and will continue to be, viewed as a rich Westerner. It doesn't matter that I make the equivalent of $200/month. It doesn't matter that I can't call my bank in the US to withdraw another $2000 every month. It doesn't matter that I have roughly the same commodities available to me as the people here in Nema. Children (at the instruction of their parents) will ask me for gifts in the street. Vendors will ask for triple the actual price of most products. It is frustrating and infuriating, and I am frankly a bit tired of it. But taking that moment to look at the circumstances and my life, I cannot blame them. It isn't exactly a world of "have's" and "have not's," but it's close enough. I have a good education from a quality university. I am a member of the middle class in a country where the poor make the Mauritanian middle class look destitute. I may not have a great deal at the moment, but I have enough, and when I am done here, I will go home to a life the people here can only dream of. It my be irritating to be constantly asked for a higher price, but I can haggle. It may be frustrating to be constantly asked for gifts, but I can say no. For the people who are asking, though, a "yes" on my part can yield a high return.

Since about WWII, the population has exploded, growing from one to three million. Production hasn't increased noticeably, infrastructure is taxed beyond function, and poverty is high. Couple this with Saharan desiccation and you have enormous water shortages (my faucet probably won't be functioning for between three and five months of the year). Without the infrastructure to manage waste and with modern consumerism, Mauritania has a tremendous amount of waste in the streets. Imported waste such as Old batteries, old tires, plastic bags, soda cans, food wrappings mix with the domestic waste products, such as goat feet, donkey tails, and animal feces. Public transportation? There is one road across the south of the country, and parts of it disappear either temporarily or permanently with the seasonal rains. To cross the country, people cram into sedans (four in the back, two in the front), pile into vans (with three people often hanging onto the back and standing on the rear bumper), or even sitting atop the cab of trucks (for an affordable price). In the US we call this overpopulation. Here the people are delighted. A bigger family, more friends. I like my personal space, but I respect the sense of community that allows Mauritanians to ignore this diminishing availability of resources in the face of the good fortune of new neighbors.

When I first came in-country, I didn't think that I could ever get used to the heat. Over 100 daily. After two and a half months, I still think it's ungodly hot here. So I suppose not everything becomes a simple matter of perspective.

My New Home

I've found myself happily in possession of some composite pictures of Nema, and thought that you might like to (finally) have a picture of where I'm living. I'm afraid that it has to be downloaded, but it's pretty cool. Enjoy!

Notes from the East RIM

Since my last posting, I've finished up Stage, left Bababe and Kaedi, and have moved to Nema. I didn't think that it would be particularly difficult leaving Bababe, and really, it wasn't too tough. It was touching, though, when my two host mothers gave me a big bag of soap on my last day with them. They weren't wealthy, and they wanted me to have something that they knew I would appreciate. Given that we didn't know one another particularly well, what with language difficulties and all, soap makes perfect sense. And I do appreciate it. It's nice soap.

My final days in Kaedi were a bit more filled with touching moments, more so than I had expected. I've only known my team for two months, but it's been a trying two months, and we've developed a closeness and a fondness that I never really believed could grow in so short a time. Will was a support, helping me to prepare for my language test. Sharon was a comedic foil. I don't want to bore you with too many names that you won't recognize, but I am fortunate to have those 65 people here with me.

There were much-heralded events throughout the week, none of which bear recounting. There was one impromptu party that does. I had a logistics meeting that was interrupted by a sandstorm, then by a rainstorm. Lightning, water, wind. We gave up on having a meeting, and I emptied my pockets into a friend's hands before running towards the yelling. Twenty or so members of my team and departing, newly finished volunteers were running in the puddles, throwing one another into the mud, making a happy scene of the unexpected gift from the skies. Ari, my trainer, nearly broke her nose trying to tackle me. Sensing distress, I took advantage of the opportunity, picked her up, and threw her into the water. That's what heroes do. I wrestled everyone either to the ground or to a standstill. Then the cry came out- "Get the giant!" Five others converged on me, and bested me. New and old volunteers played better than they could interact during swearing-in. We had more fun than we could that night with booze and music. A better graduation couldn't have been had.

Two days later, our hangovers having passed, we climbed into Vomit Comets to go to site. A Vomit Comet is an eight passenger van, with two rows of four seats facing one another. Ten of us climbed into each and headed off for the most distant point in Mauritania. We stopped at volunteer houses to celebrate and to eat (American food, I never thought that a simple chili or mashed potatoes would become memorable event). We dropped off our team in cities as we went. And Sarah, Edna, Heather, and I continued on to Nema.

We clung to our support, Sidi, for as long as we could. After four days of house hunting we found one that was liveable, and Heather moved in, with me and Edna crashing with her. We comparison shopped and haggled, and in the end, paid exactly what was asked to the uncompromising merchants. I now sleep on a thirty centimeter thick foam mat covered in a nicely patterned fabric, or a matala. I've spoken with the doctor, the head of the local health services, the mayor, the governor. It's been a who's who of Nema.

We've also spent more than our share of time visiting the American soldiers and the mineral contractors with Woodside, whose computer I am now typing on (the internet is not yet publicly accessible in Nema, so e-mail and blogging will be limited for some time to come). Now that we're a bit more comfortable in town, we begin the next big job- cultural integration. We'll be eating a lot of meals with families. Wish me luck; it's Ramadan.