1999-08-09 - 7:16 p.m.

A few weeks ago after returning from the garden I was in my room cleaning. It us amazing that my room is entirely made of dirt, yet I can still make it even messier. Finishing up I went outside to sit on the mat with Dar and the little 5 yr old that is my host father’s nephew. He got up when I sat down, but was then startled by a passing donkey. He tripped and fell back on the mat, crying and holding his foot. I immediately recognized this as the serious injury type of cry and not the I have a boo boo type of cry (difference in pitch). I picked up his foot and saw that it was bleeding. There was a moment of hesitation when I questioned what I should do. My instinct was to get my med-kit and clean the wound, but at the same time if I start fixing little kids owies soon the entire village is going to be visiting for every ailment. In less then 10 seconds I was in my room getting the kit. The cut was just below the small toe. I cleaned it with treated water and then used antiseptics and antibiotic cream. I decided not to put on a band-aid as that would most likely just serve to trap more dirt close to the wound. By the time I had finished the boy had stopped crying and only stared up at me with tear stained cheeks.

A few days later I was walking home from Jeff and Molly’s. I passed by Alyoun’s mother’s house (therefore my grandmother). I gave all of the appropriate greetings and rounded the corner to go home and felt a small hand come up and grasp mine. I looked down and the little boy whose foot I had fixed was there next to me. He walked with me through the rest of town and across the 200 yard field that separates town from my house. When we arrived he turned and ran back. I thought this was an isolated act of kindness to return the favor of healing a cut foot. However, the next day after passing Alyoun’s mothers I again felt a small hand come up and grasp my own. He had returned and once again escorted me the whole way home. When we arrived at the house Alyoun was lying on the mat. I had previously tried o interrogate the boy for his name, but the most I ever got out of him was a “fine” when I asked how he was. Alyoun informed me his name was Eunice.

Since then I will often be walking at all corners of the village and out of nowhere I will feel Eunice’s familiar hand grab mine. He smiles up at me and on rare occasions he will reply to my simple questions. Eunice is my protector. As a white person in a black moor village I am a major attraction for hoards of children. If I am with Eunice when the approach he will try his best to chase them off, even if they are twice his size.

The other day a woman passed by the house while I was under the shade. She spoke with my mother for a bit and then began to ask me questions. My mother introduced her as the wife of Alyoun’s brother; Alyoun has 4 brothers, but I ventured to ask, “is this Eunice’s mother?” My mother explained she was the closest Eunice had. Eunice’s father had a previous wife in Nouakchott. They fought constantly so Eunice’s father decided to leave her. He got up in the middle of the night, took the children and drove to M’Beidia. Shortly after Eunice’s mother got very ill and passed away. Since Eunice was not the child of the woman in front of me, she spent little time caring for him. It was Alyoun’s mother that looked after Eunice most of the time.

Eunice is my guide protector and friend, and I do my best to be the same for him. On several occasions I have caught him in disputes with older boys. I will approach the fight and lift Eunice out of it, carry him on my shoulders and then deposit him at his grandmothers.

I’m not sure if my medical supplies were the catalyst for my friendship. Either way I am sure that using them on someone other than myself was one of the best decisions I have made here.

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