The spirit of democracy

Now they play loud music all the time.

In Tijikja, it came from right outside our compound, the same 10 second song fragment on a loop, blaring from ratty speakers under a white tent.

In the market there was another song playing, and as I wandered toward it like a rat through the rubbly maze of dirt paths, one gradually faded into another, after a clash of initial cacophony.
It followed me to El Qidiya (it was like a bad dream) and set up shop in big tents, store fronts and an abandoned house, newly splashed with the white-painted logo of the PRDR.

This is the 'campaign' . Supposedly campaigning is confined to the two week period between November 4th and 19th, in which the various parties (about 1 million) spew out their state apportioned cash on things like this, the tee shirts, the posters, the tents and the music.

These are the regional campaigns, but Kahn, one of my supervisors who came to visit tells me its the same everywhere. "In Nouakchott," he says, his hands to his head, "you can't sleep! It never used to be like this- why this music, all the time? This does not make me want to vote." Later, he returned from the market and reported on his inspection of the campaign 'headquarters' - "It was just some small kids and their tapes" he said. It's like the Wizard of Oz. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look behind the curtain?

Meanwhile, my return from Tijikja also found me moving out of my old house and into a new one. The day before the move, I dropped by my house, actually just one (10x20ft) room, to clean up. Its previous occupants had been animals, their dung, rusty metal bits and (a lot of) dirt. So me, and soon a few new little friends (they turn up like clockwork) started sweeping away, me with a grass hand broom, they with old palm fronds, making clouds of dust which swirled and gathered in the streaky sunlight.

The next day, I wrangled a donkey cart, and me and the 9 year old 'driver' loaded my junk onto the flat back, fastened it in with one tattered string, and we were off! (at a slow meander)

I hadn't been relishing the thought of parading through town with all of my crap -3 huge American bags, and the assorted other supplies I've picked up since coming here seems like an obscene amount of detritus for one person to have, when most families have less. Still, I needn't have worried, hardly anyone was out to gawk at me. It was after one o clock and the market was closed. BTW, donkey travel is pretty reasonable, a trip across town was only 200 ougiyas (about 80 cents) Still, I tipped the little rascal an extra 100, and gave him a miniature orange. Someone's lucky day...

My new house is almost identical to the old, except for a big hole in the corner of the roof and a missing door. And though it doesn't look like much, you'd be surprised what a few colorful plastic mats layed over dirt and bumpy concrete can do in the way of ambiance. Suddenly a barren hovel becomes livable. And if it doesn't... well, you still live there.

After two weeks of campaigning and loud music, the elections took place on November 19th. It's an all-day thing, everything stops. It's true by the way- they dip your finger in purple ink. Because we're explicity forbidden by Peace Corps to be involved in any and all forms of politicking, I never got much of an insider's scoop, but this is the first free election held in Mauritania after last year's military coup. The peacefulness and good faith with which this took place (the military actually did hand over power, like they said they would) got us a mention two, count 'em two days in a row on the BBC (no one ever talks about us), but if you'd lived here for a while, you'd understand why it couldn't have been any other way.

Still, it's also obvious that the details of the democratic process are, at times, unclear here. Again and again people would ask me if I was voting.

'No.' I'd reply

'Why not?' I'd stare at them for a moment.

'Because I'm not Mauritanian.'

Without flinching, they'd always ask the same question. 'Well what's wrong with you?'

Oh boy, I'd think, how much time do you have....?