2005-01-24 - 5:15 p.m.

Second entry today:
Being Jaded/Going Back Home

Peace corps is a battle to say the least. From the moment we step off the plane we are fighting against a current that flows into an abyss of jaded volunteers. Some people don’t make it past the first few days. Hell, I know some people that had fallen before we got on the plane. The attitude is not easy to put a finger on, but is always recognizable: aloofness to the people and culture, a sense of utter futility with the job, and venomous dialogue with more active volunteers. At first I didn’t understand these people. Why were they here? Didn’t they know it would be hard? Can’t they be more accepting of other cultures? Well after 6 months of living here I begin to see how these feelings can manifest. Being constantly viewed as an usurping outsider can grate on anyone. Coming back from vacation was especially challenging. Not only was there the difficulty of losing our friends again, but also a return to the most unaccepting conservative area of West Africa. A general malaise and depression set into the Adrar group that could only be drowned out with the bottles of alcohol we snuck up from Senegal. When the opportunity came up to visit Kaedi I jumped at the chance to get away.

Taxi brousse is a hell I wouldn’t wish upon the worst of my enemies. Stuffed into a tiny car in circus clown like fashion with an assortment of Mauritanians who either despise you, take it upon themselves to convert you to Islam, or ask you to give them every item you have within their view, one cannot help but get the slightest bit irritated. Needless to say 10 hours into the trip with 4 to go I was feeling extremely jaded. “I hate this country. I hate these people, and I hate Peace Corps.” Finally entering the Gorgol all feelings of animosity were excised from my body, for on my right I saw home. It was still there like a filthy jewel sticking up among sandstone, M’Bedia. It was three months since I had seen my former residence, and just squinting at it through the darkness warmed my heart.

That evening I spent at Jenny’s which is the Kaedi regional house. Jae and Dara were also there visiting, and we stayed up till midnight to wish Dara a happy birthday at the first possible moment. The next day I spent gathering gifts for my coming visit, and the day after I left for M’Bedia. I was nervous. Would they remember me? Would they be angry I hadn’t made any contact since leaving? Would I still be welcome? I pounded on the side of the truck taking me on the 25 km ride out, and signaled for him to stop. Getting out I headed for the first house in from the main road, my old house. About 200 yards away I spotted a small figure running around the side of the house. Two others followed after. They sat together playing for a few moments till I had narrowed my gap to 150 yards, at which point they froze in place, then disappeared to the front of the house at incredible speed. A moment later 10 figures returned facing me, and all of the windows of the house were opened. I could here Ezza inside yelling out, and the kids, now moving in my direction were clapping. I dropped my bag and met the first with open arms. I picked Dar up and threw him in the air. Next I grabbed Kumbo, and rushed into the house with her many friends following. Ezza was grinning from ear to ear laughing her head off. We greeted for what seemed an eternity, and then she began her barrage of questions. When had I arrived? What was I doing down here? How long would I be there? How was Atar? Did I have a family there? Did I still go by Mohammed Lamine? How was work? Somewhere in the middle of this more of the boys began to trickle in, first the twins, then Cher, then Mohammed, and last but not least Aboo. I tickled each of them till they were in tears and gave them the toys and candy I had brought from Kaedi. A flood of memories returned to me of sitting in the house drinking tea, taking naps next to Alyoun, and hours of playing with the children. The scent of the place that revolted me when I first arrived smelled so much like home it almost brought tears to my eyes. I was home.

I asked about the trees I had given them, scared that they had been destroyed by the locusts. Ezza only smiled and motioned for me to come outside. They were all in perfect health. They had kept them covered during each invasion, and had thus saved them from massacration. The Banana trees had almost quadrupled in size. While I was examining them closer, Ezza turned to me and said “Alyoun.” I turned around to see a figure coming out of town dressed in black heading across the field to the house. I moved out to meat him. I could hear his laugh before I could distinguish his face. As he drew closer he held up three fingers and said “Three months, three months.” We hugged and held hands on the way back to the house exchanging all of the appropriate greetings along the way.

Once inside he asked me all of the same questions Ezza had. We took tea and then I asked him about the locusts. “They ate everything.” I could tell that the children were thinner, but they all seemed relatively healthy. “The first wave came in and we moved to the fields for two days beating them off the plants and waving clothe in the air to scare them up. Finally they left and everyone thought we had won. Three weeks went by and the skies were clear. One day we woke up to find that they had flown in over night. By the time we reached the fields it was too late. Little remained, and it was futile to try to defend it. They made 3 more passes after that to finish off what little we had left. Any attempt to grow was thwarted with each visit. In all my life I have never seen anything like this. The day they first came in I was scared. What hope did we have against such numbers? Even in my mind I could never have imagined so many. I tried to be brave in front of the children, but it still didn’t save the crops. We received assistance from many aid groups to make up for the lack in harvest. It hasn’t been too hard, but if this happens again next year I fear the worst. All of our stores are empty, so we have nothing to fall back on.” I told him about the conference we are having in April to teach methods to combat the locusts. I promised I would come back and share my knowledge with the village afterwards. He smiled and nodded, but didn’t look hopeful.

We ate lunch and chatted for most of the afternoon. They asked me to come back in two days for Tabaski, and I promised I would. After the second round of tea I headed out to visit Molly and Jeff’s families. They were both thrilled to see me and asked thousands of questions about Molly and Jeff respectively. I did my best to respond, while trying to avoid getting sucked into dinner so I could get back to Kaedi by 6. On the way back to the house I found Alyoun at a neighbors house, and said goodbye for the day. At the house I was met by Ezza and the kids who accompanied me to the road where I caught a van going to Kaedi. They waved as I drove away. The only thought crossing my mind was why was I not stationed here where the people love me, and actually desire my help. Atar is a beautiful city, but by Mauritanian standards is quite rich, and the people would rather take a hot poker than listen to the advice of a white American.

Jordy came in that night to Kaedi and we celebrated her birthday with brownies and falafel, which was afterwards followed by an ad-hoc dance party. I spent most of the following day hanging out with Jen, eating at her host families and reading books. It was sad to tell them all goodbye, but the next day I got up at 8 and wished them all well. I’ll be seeing them all again in 3 weeks at ETR, so it won’t be such a long separation as the initial 3 months. Getting out of the car in M’Bedia I saw Cher moving onto the road. I told the driver that was my brother and he looked back and forth between us only replying with a puzzled look. The family laughed to see me wearing a dra and howly (very Lawrence of Arabia). We ate a few Beignets and then Alyoun told me to come with him. I was puzzled because I knew he had to leave to pray. He insisted that I come along, so together we headed to he mass of people gathering on the eastern edge of town. I lined up next to the rest of the villagers Alyoun to my left. I followed through the motions copying everything that he did as we raised our hands three times, bowed once and knelt three times all in unison. The act itself was quite relaxing and I can see how it would be calming to repeat 5 times a day, a constant reminder of an individuals closeness to God. Afterwards I greeted nearly half the village then returned home with Moy-de and Ah-med. Alyoun arrived soon after with the meat for the celebration. It was only 10, but he fried it up on the grill and we ate to our hearts delight. After taking tea we both headed out to make the rounds. I spent time at Molly’s family and again gorged myself on grilled sheep. I returned home just in time for lunch, which I did my best to shove down. After was naptime. Around three I began to say my goodbyes and Ezza and the kids again accompanied me to the road. I spent the night in Boghe so I would be sure to get back to Atar the following day. Mike was there along with Andy, Alicia W and Dan. We stayed up till 3 playing games and watching movies. I got up early the next day and began another torturous journey home by taxi brousse. In Nouakchott I was ahead of schedule, so I figured I could save some money riding in the back of a truck for less than half the price of a normal car. Well I paid for it in pain. We were stuffed 10 in back with 10 hours of travel (what normally takes 5). Once the sun went down I began to shiver from the cold and put on every article of clothes I had with me to no result. Lucky for me one of the passengers was French and he lent me a fleece that made the second half of the trip bearable. Arriving in Atar at midnight I collapsed at Audrey and Alison’s to awake with 10 minutes to get to work the next morning.

A side not about the trip: it was a logistic nightmare. Because of miscommunication and my misunderstanding of the liberties I have as a volunteer I was almost expelled from Peace Corps for not receiving proper clearance to leave my region. Additionally, one of the things I was looking most forward to was giving the photos of my host family to them upon arrival. Those photos I left on my dresser in Adrar. A plethora of other unpleasantries occurred in addition, which I don’t list here, but believe me when I say it was a less than perfect trip. Would I do it again if I had the chance? You’re damn straight I would. It gave me just the lift I needed. I have gained momentum to move myself away from that pit of jaded volunteers. My motivation has risen back up above normal levels. I have found reason to keep on working. I love my job. I love the people of this country. I love Peace Corps…for now.

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