Food Crisis

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/story/2008/04/27/ST2008042702198.html?hpid=topnews

The price of food has been rising for some time now. Shortly after I arrived, there were protests across the country, including Nema, calling for government assistance as the price of staple foods began to rise. Living in Mauritania and earning a subsistence wage while I am here, I began to feel the pinch, too, and was annoyed by the rising prices. Unlike the people here, I have alternatives. I can bring a few dollars from home to pay for the rising costs. Given the value of the dollar versus the value of the Ouguiya, that wouldn't be a sacrifice for me. Or I can say that I've had enough, go home, and have a pizza. My neighbours can't.

I don't bring money into the country, and I don't plan to leave anytime soon. So I've convinced myself that I am like a Mauritanian, paying too much for food, being asked to do the impossible. Feeling like I'm in the middle of things, I've managed not to see the hunger. I've heard about it, people grumbling about the price of rice and sugar. I've seen malnourished children at the nutrition center. But I haven't seen anything that I didn't expect.

But it's here. And it will get worse. We could be entering into a food crisis. Now would be a good time to donate to a food program. The World Food Program, Oxfam, CARE. I would encourage you to choose one that buys locally as it is able (in Mauritania for Mauritanians, for instance), and then expands to neighbouring countries (one that buys in Senegal for Mauritania, perhaps). I am not currently aware of what program consistently works in this way, but it is the best way I have heard of to manage the emergency without decreasing post-crisis repercussions.

Again, please help as you are able.

Brave New World

When it was founded, the Peace Corps placed volunteers like me in remote locations, far from the amenities and the conveniences of modern life. Flush toilets and refrigeration would be left at home. Mail would arrive after months in the postal system. Travel was long and at times dangerous. This was true in 1961, and it continues to be true today.

There have been some significant changes, though. Most notably, I can blog. I can e-mail. I can keep in touch electronically. When I go to my office, I can maintain relationships, hear about life and love, and I can stay in the lives of my loved ones throughout the world.

A highly useful device, a computer can do so much more than provide access to family and friends. It can also help with work. I can type a report, research program options and information needs online, print materials out. A computer is an indispensable work device. This is true in the US, and this is true in Africa.

If I write a report by hand, my report no longer carries the status of a typed and printed report. My peers in the health care community have computers. The mayor’s staff has computers. Many boutiques have computers. Flush toilets are still a long way away, but even in the remote corners of Mauritania, without a computer, I’m just another guy.

Recently, both of the computers at my office died. Whether from physical or information problems, neither works, and neither has worked for awhile now. This has kept me from producing requests and proposals that have been essential to my work, and it has significantly hindered my communication with the bosses in Nouakchott.

This is a lot of pressure to put on a computer. If my ability to work is seriously hindered by my access to a device, the device had best work. When it breaks, life brakes. Coming to the RIM, I expected not to need computers to live in Africa. I could live without a Western toilet or shower, a stove or a tv. It has been more than slightly surprising to me that, while the life comforts that I am used to are completely absent, expensive and complicated tools have become essential facets of life.

A Governmental Concern

In the RIM, animals don't occupy the same place in the hearts of the people as they do in the US. But being a born animal lover, I try to do what I can for our furry brethren when I can. So far, I've rescued a dog (Bella) from the streets and a cat (Survivant, the survivor) from a family where the youngest son, about 3 years old, loves to kill animals. They're both doing well, and have taken to their new life of luxury, with a home where people don't kick them and where they get food on a regular basis.

There are days when I am completely shocked by the cruelty and disdain that I see for animals. I can understand not loving pets, but engaging in random acts of cruelty is absolutely beyond my tolerance. Unfortunately, I can't support every animal that I find. It's not all as bleak as that, though. Sometimes, I find surprises in human-animal relations, and a level of care for animals that renews my faith in mankind.

About two months ago, I was on my way to a friend's house for lunch. On the way, I got sidetracked when I found a donkey lying in the street. At first, I thought it was dead. On closer examination, I realized that the poor brute was just on his way to dying. He was laying before a store, in agony, writhing slightly, lips turned back. I stepped into the store to ask about the treatment of the poor donkey, hoping that they might know how he had come to be there. As I spoke with the storeowner, I became more and more incensed as I realized that he not only didn't care, he thought that my concern was funny.

Eventually, I sought out help from others. The regional health post was nearby, and I know most of the staff there. The men with whom I spoke didn't feel that it was their responsibility, but they assured me that care for the donkey is mandated by the Islamic faith. Unfortunately, they couldn't do anything, but they directed me to the regional authorities.

After knocking on a few doors, each of which was more welcoming and sympathetic, I came to speak with the Hakim, a governmental appointee to the region. Knowing that this might not be of interest to him, I prepared my speech to appeal to a valid local need. "I know that the suffering of animals isn't the concern of the government, but consider the sanitation concerns, and the obstruction of the flow of traffic." But before I could finish, he stopped me. "What do you mean, it's not the government's concern? This is an Islamic government, and Islam calls on us to care for all animals. This is ABSOLUTELY the concern of this government!"

It was too late. The Hakim gave me a note to take to Director d'Elevage, the local authority of all animal matters. By the time I returned to the site where I'd found the donkey, it was gone. Someone had come to collect him, I don't know who or how. I felt that I had failed in my simple task, try to alleviate even a little bit of suffering on the part of a much put upon beast of burden.

In spite of my failure, my delays, I found new hope. Men in positions of authority shared my concern. The Hakim did all that he could to help me to find a solution, all the while calling me noble and saying that what I did was pleasing to God. The Director d'Elevage took me into his home, shared the afternoon with me, and thanked me for doing what I could. He also promised to send a veterinarian to the home of the owner of the donkey (a piece of information I was able to uncover). After speaking with these two men and a half dozen others, I found that concern and love of animals exists here. Maybe it's hard to see sometimes, but it is strong.

What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate

I've always wanted to learn French. I think it's a beautiful language. I really love the throaty "R." But every time I've tried to learn French, I've hit one massive roadblock- languages are hard. I don't mean getting up on a Monday morning hard, or doing your taxes hard. This is more of a practical problem. French is an unbelievably complicated language.

So you can imagine my joy when I learned that I would be living in a Francophone nation for two years. Most of the barriers would fade away when I was faced with French as my primary language of communication. I could practice constantly, work on the grammar, and really get the hang of thinking in another tongue. This is not an every-other-day kind of opportunity.

Not wanting to miss out on this amazing chance, I've used French every chance that I've had. I've picked up idiomatic phrases; I've worked on my speed and my accuracy. I try to roll my "R" with the back of my tongue, not the front. And my friends and peers have been very kind about it. More than a few times, people have commented on my growing linguistic skills. When I arrived, we could only talk about the weather. Now, with a little effort, we discuss current events, politics, history, society. It's been great.

Then I received my wake-up call. Laurence, a woman I met here, came for a short-term volunteer project late last year, and then returned recently for another month. In addition to being a good friend, she offers the incalculable advantage of being French. Wanting to show off my linguistic development, I greeted her in her native tongue when she arrived. "What," she replied. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you said. Try English."

Crestfallen, I thought that my friends were being polite. I had never learned any French, they were just nodding politely (since most of my friends do this when I speak in English, it's not a big leap). But that doesn't quite fit. Sometimes, in addition to nodding, they would reply. So either I have been getting my points across, or my eyes are extremely eloquent.

Then it hit me. I have been learning French. Really learning French. I can understand, I can make a point, I can use tenses, I can guess what a word should be based on shared Latin roots. I can communicate in French. In Mauritania. And I'll only ever truly run into a problem if I try to go to France.