El Qidiya

16 Aout 2006

Much to tell, much to tell.

Today is the first day back at center, after we journeyed wide and far over the country-side for a site visit. My village is called El Qidiya (the 'Q' is actually a sound that doesn't exist in English, and only ever appears when one is swallowing or gagging). It's very secluded - 58K off the gudrone (paved road), over terrain both rocky and barren, and it's an oasis in the desert, nestled at the foot of a mountainous ridge, lush and green with date palms, a seasonal lake and waterfalls. Wow. It takes forever to get to, even the place where one turns off the gudrone is a barren wasteland. One would never imagine that people could live that far out, but that's just one of the many things people do in this country which make them seem like Aliens.

We got stuck in the mud, about 3 or 4 times in fact, the first time going in as the sun was setting, the other times trying to get the hell out. Another thing Mauritanians (our driver) don't do well is get unstuck from the mud, and so we ended up staying the first night with some man, randomly found as we wandered around from place to place in the dark. He gave us mattelas and tea, noodles, and water to drink. This is not in fact uncommon: hospitality is (supposed to be) a thing around here.

In the morning, he gave us porridge and tea, we bought bread, cobbled together a meeting with the mayor (don't let that word fool you) and toured the town a bit, mostly by car - it's strange how and why they drive these enormous landrovers through even tiny village walkways.

Then we were put up by the president of the "PTO" (I couldn't get a more accurate translation of his position from anyone), who fed us zriig (fermented, sweetened milk), and more zriig, and milk, and dates with butter, and tea, a sheep (not the good parts) and rice.

One thing though: this man has 3 black moors in his household, about my age, though he is white-moor (Arabic-looking), and thinking about their actual status in the family makes me queasy. Maybe they are paid laborers, and maybe I'm just jumpy, but they could be slaves. Slavery exists here, and though it's been officially illegal for many years, it still happens. It doesn't look like what we think slavery looks like, hence my hesitancy to identify it. It's social and mental, it's societal slavery, and therefore much harder to stop. So I'm really hoping that this isn't the case, and that slavery in general doesn't exist in my village.

The next day, after we had seen all the boutiques, the lake, the waterfalls, climbed the mountains, and seen the cave paintings (for real!), we tried to leave and spent another 5 hours getting unstuck from the muddy river dividing the two sections of town. Then, having run out of options, we decided to follow some other intrepid travellers (The chief of some village - a hideous, fat white moor with walrus teeth and an almost comically villainous look, his short little director of schools, and their beautiful young black-moor driver) who knew another way out of town. We dodged a few puddles and mudtraps, and after 40K (2hrs) over the rocks, we ran into a gigantic dam that had flooded all over the adjoining planes, and which they had somehow forgotten to mention. Mauritanians don't think ahead, ever. Since the sun was setting fast, and we were running out of options, we all piled into our white chariot, me squished in the rear (a night-mare) and headed for a (mythical) village 20K back, which the cheif knew of, allegedly. The paths, which are never more than simple tracks in the dirt, wind and twist and run together with others, and generally tend to get lost, especially at night. Inevitably of course, we ended up driving around in circles at night, through mud-fields and turga scrub-forests, in a vehicle now somewhat commandeered by the pushy village chief (even minor authority figures get big egos). Eventually we found the village of '5 Baobobs', (whether through skill or providence I'm not sure), a windy little collection of houses in the middle of nowhere. We didn't know the people, they didn't know us, but we slept and ate with them, because that's what you do. Part of the thing about living here is getting used to almost never knowing what's going on.

Anyway, the next day we made it back to El Qidiya, then left it again by our original route (it was now dry enough to pass) and made good time to the gudrone. I will never look at a paved road the same way again. As a bonus when we were approaching the road, I saw a man riding a galloping black horse over the desert, with his blue bou-bou billowing out behind him. It was epic.

This post brings me up to date, I suppose, but I go back to M'Beidia tomorrow which means no updates for a few more weeks, After that comes Swear In! where I officially become a Peace Corps volunteer, we have a big party to celebrate (alcohol has been rumored to make an appearance) and I start doubting my effectiveness as a human-being again. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

I hope you all write me soon. I love you. Be good.

Ma'selaam.