1999-08-09 - 10:09 p.m.

If I were asked to guess what the hardest part about living in Mauritania before leaving the states, I would most likely have answered by saying the heat, the poor sanitation or the lack of toilet paper. The truth of the matter is, yes it is hot, but because you are exposed to the heat 24 hours a day 7 days a week, your body becomes accustomed. There are days when I ask God what unholy act the people of this land must have done to have unleashed the fires of hell, but for the most part I deal with it. Sanitation was hard the first week, but after that you learn to negotiate between turning a blind eye and keeping yourself healthy. I purposely do not watch the food preparation, but I always treat my water and wash my hands before meals (as do all who eat from my bowl). As for the toilet paper, who needs it? My butt has never been so clean. During the last town meeting one of the volunteers read a passage from Big Sur a Jack Keroak book. The gist of it was Americans are hilarious because they obsess over cleanliness, showering multiple times a day, using antibiotics and various disinfectants on every corner of the house, scrubbing with intense fervor anything in site, and yet they leave their butts riddled with fecal matter.

So to get to the point, what is the hardest part about living here so far? I really really miss American food. I was doing fine until the last visit to Kaedi. Every Lunch is the same at my house (Rice base with fish and maybe potatoes and cabbage). Diner is either rice and beans, sandy couscous, or a pasta type stuff. Lately vegetables and fish have been scarce so meals are even more basic. I find myself fantasizing about Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwiches with a side of fries and an ice cold Dr. Pepper, or Tacos from El Taco Casa in Burlington with a side order of cheese chips mixed, or a gyro and fries from Napoles, or a TAC from Quintons in Iowa City. Before I left the states I didn’t eat red meat for 4 yrs, but a month before departure I started again to try to readjust my body for the red meat I would be eating in Africa. Needless to say I ate about a thousand hamburgers. Now I have visions of them being served to me on a silver platter. The worst part is I get the image in my mind and I half expect it to be realized, but when dinner is uncovered fish and rice is staring me in the face again.

So you back home in the states, enjoy your meals. Enjoy your ribyees and baked potatoes covered with sour cream and butter. Enjoy crab Rangoon and taco salad. Enjoy your movie popcorn drenched in oils that may or may not be real butter. And when your children are at the table and refuse to finish their plates, tell them there are starving Peace Corps volunteers in Africa who would die for the meals in front of them.

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