2005-02-08 - 11:13 p.m.

Last week Alison and I had our Hassanya lesson as usual. Our teacher, and my counterpart, Mariam was explaining the different forms of craziness. In Mauritanian culture a person can become crazy in one of two ways. The first is your normal western medical handicap, caused by biological defects. The second (and more popular) option is the person has been touched by the devil. The word for this type of madness is mejnoon. Mariam then went on to explain that the word Djiin is a derivative of mejnoon, since Djiins are inherently evil and encounters with them often lead to insanity. Djiin is the Hassanya word for Genie. In most northern desert countries they exist as a part of local myth, and are still widely believed in. These aren’t your ‘stuck in the bottle’, ‘grant your wishes’ genies. These are ‘play tricks on you and lead you into the desert to your death’ kind of Genies. They are much more like poltergeists or spirits, than anything we associate them with the states. After explaining this, Mariam went on to ask us if we had ever seen a genie. We of course laughed and responded that we had not, thinking she was joking. Hesitating momentarily, seeing that she wasn’t joking, we both asked simultaneously, “Have you ever seen them?”

“Praise be to God I have not,” she said. “But that is because I always say Bismilah Raqman Raheem.” People say this before beginning any activity (starting a car, giving a class, eating a meal). It literally means, “In the name of God we begin,” using three of God’s names. Little had I known, but it is also useful in warding away evil spirits. We went on to ask if Mariam knew anyone who had seen a Djiin. “Oh, lots of people,” she said. “Especially those who travel into the desert alone. They appear and play evil tricks on people. There are some who make friends with them and then work evil magic on their enemies.” I asked what they looked like. “You or me. They come to you in the form of a human.”
“Then, how can you distinguish them,” I asked
“They have only four fingers on each hand. If you come across someone in the desert, make sure to count the fingers on their hands before you do anything they ask.”

I asked my friend Mustafa about this later on. He told me that he knew lots of stories of people who had gone mad from encounters with Djiins. One guy that was friends with his father was in the desert outside of Tdjikja many years ago. In the middle of the night a beautiful woman showed up in his encampment. She introduced herself and sat down to share dinner with him. That night the man took the woman to bed with him, falling asleep with his arms around her. In the morning he awoke to find himself cuddling a dead donkey. He told me other stories of people who were camping in the deep desert and heard a party going on nearby. They followed the noise and saw lights in the distance. They moved toward the lights to see who was throwing the party, but as far as they walked, the lights never got any closer. They ended up getting lost for many days, having gotten away from their campsite and supplies. I scoffed at my friend’s tales. ‘Waking up next to a Donkey,’ how ridiculous. You call that scary? Apparently Mauritanians have never seen “The Exorcist.” Now that’s scary.

It is nearly three years now that I have been running almost daily. My schedule has changed quite a bit in that time, but currently I get up around 5:45 to get 30-40minutes in before I go into the rest of my workout and then go to school. The sun doesn’t rise until 7, so when the moon is waning or not present, the road I run on heading east of town, into the desert out, can be nearly pitch black. Normally, my mind is swimming with so many different things I have to do, or problems with my social life. I don’t even think twice about my surroundings. As my Aunt Sue so aptly stated last year, I’m not a person that lives in the present. Well, yesterday morning, as I headed out into the oblivion, my mind began to wander back to the subject of Djiins. “What a silly thing to be afraid of, Genies!” Hearing a rustle to my left I peered out into blackness barely making out a plastic sac on the adjacent fence. With less confidence I said to myself “Genies, how stupid these people are. They don’t have fangs or scary faces. They are just people with cartoon hands” Behind me I heard a tapping as if I was being followed. I didn’t want to look back. “There’s nothing there. Besides, I’m The Flash. No Mauritanian can keep pace with me…but a Spirit could.” I took a glance over my right shoulder. Nothing there, but my own footprints. I treaded onward. As I neared the turn around point I noticed a figure standing to further on, to the right of the road. “It’s just a Mauritanian that got up early,” I said, trying to reassure myself, not breaking speed or direction. “But what if some guy comes out and he only has four fingers on each hand? What do you do then Gaddis?” I tried desperately to swallow my fear and kept moving. The figure was not budging. It was someone tall, wearing dark clothing. I could see the silhouette clearly against the distant village. “It’s just a Mauritanian. Clam down Stupid,” but as the gap between us drew closer I could see that he was still not stirring and he was someone of incredible stature, maybe 6’3. “What are you going to do Keith-o? What if some tall-S.O.B. pops out of the darkness hear in the middle of nowhere, and he has only four fingers on his hands, and he picks you up and makes you sleep with a dead donkey? What will you do then?” Almost there now, the wind was picking up and I could hear him shuffling his feet, as if getting ready to move out towards the road. “Bismillah Raqman Raheem, Bismillah Raqman Raheem, Bismillah Raqman Raheem, ” I said out loud, almost shaking with fear. Something was moving up from the ditch now and I moved to the left to avoid it. A plastic sack blew across the road. I focused in on the man standing in front of me and realized that something was not quite right. His body now seemed misshapen and horribly out of proportion. I marched forward, unafraid now. An old piece of plywood was standing up in the sand. Here was my Djiin. I kicked it over with my foot and more plastic sacs blew up from its base.
I chuckled openly on the way home. Man was I stupid. Scared by a stupid piece of wood. As I rounded the last turn before the straight road home, I saw a figure in front of me that was clearly not a man. The donkey did not move as I passed by, but watched me in silence. It winked at me as I moved away. Thinking about it later on, I’m not sure, but I could swear that donkey had 4 toes on each hoof.

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