2006-04-14 - 11:17 a.m.

Second entry in last few days:

Thursday night and only 4 out if 20 students showed up for English class…typical. We only have class twice a week and it never fails to amaze me how many people will sign up for the class, come for two lessons and then never come again. The level of the class is really good though. I have a few regulars that really want to learn and practice. They can even hold conversations. That is what this class is supposed to be about, an open discussion. I decided to start with a text to get their minds going and jump start dialogue. I ask Lalla to read what I have written.

“I am trying to organize an event to benefit young girls of Mauritania. Today I visited many places to try to get community assistance. Nobody was willing to help. They told me that they didn’t care about Mauritania. They only wanted money.”

Perfect recitation. She is the best in my class. One of the students in the back, Bamba, asks where I got the text. I smile and explain that I wrote it myself and the story is my own. It actually happened to me. You see I was working on organizing this summers Eco-camp for young elementary school girls. I wanted to hold the event in Terjitt, the desert oasis south of Atar. It is beautiful, it is cool in the summer and it has all the facilities we would need for the event. When I spoke to the men in charge of the resort I explained what I was wanting to do and that it is an event to help his country. After lots of argument in which he quoted me 3 prices more than twice the standard entry fee, I again restated that I was doing this to help Mauritania and he should help me out because of that. It was then that he said the above written line.

It’s been a tough few months. I have been organizing a lot of large scale events and it is like pulling teeth getting people in Atar to help themselves. I have often compared working here like trying to get a machine to work that needs a constant input of oil. Only in this case the oil is money. When the machine runs out of oil it stops completely. Not a single part will budge. Sometimes, even though you are dumping gallons of oil all over the machine, it will still stop just for the hell of it.

I know I sound jaded and bitter, but I promise this problem runs deeper. In December, my SPA grant came through. This is the project I’ve been planning since last January. It was to simply install garden fencing and new blackboards at my school. Additionally there was to be a seminar for all of the directors in Atar to teach them how to install, maintain and use school gardens. The fencing and blackboards came out great. My director stretched the money farther than I thought possible, getting extra equipment for our watering system and putting in a fancy door for the garden entrance. It all looks fabulous. Nothing left to do but hold the seminar.

About a month in advance I stopped by the DREN’s (director of all schools in the region) office. I informed him of the event and he was overjoyed. He promised me he would inform all the directors of Atar. Leaving, I was overly optimistic. It was going to be great. Everyone would show up. We’d have a great break with sandwiches, sodas and tea. It wasn’t until about a week later that Touree pulled me aside to ask if the invitees were going to be paid for the event. I explained they wouldn’t. It’s poor form to pay people to come to seminars because they just get an inflated impression that all Americans are rich and throw money around like it’s nothing. We are already giving them something, information. In the states, they would be paying us to come. Touree explained that people here had the habit of getting money for going to western seminars and that I might not get any attendees if I wasn’t giving anything out. I started to get scared.

In the days running up to the event I tried not to get my hopes up. If they didn’t all show up that was ok. Even if one or two were there, I would still do the session. My part in the whole thing was minimal. I wanted the directors to take what was being said seriously so I got my director to present the bulk of the information. Mariam, my counterpart, would present a lesson at the end. All I was doing was a demonstration on garden preparation. I checked with all of the concerned parties multiple times in the days leading up and on the night before the event I barely slept.

Getting up early I arrived at the school and unlocked all of the doors and set up all of the equipment for the demonstration. My director was there shortly after followed by Mariam and Nouha. The seminar was to start at 8:00. The first director showed up around 8:10, the second 8:15. This was expected. I didn’t really plan on starting until 8:30. As the directors began pouring in, my spirits soared. Touree didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. By 8:45 all of the elementary school directors were there. We still had the representative from the DRENs office to wait for, but my director gave me the go ahead to start things off. As I was beginning to open my mouth to speak, one of the directors stood up to ask a question. At first he said it in French, and I wasn’t sure what he was saying. Trying again he asked in Hassanya. Again I was puzzled. Switching back to French he asked clearly this time,

“Are we going to get paid for this seminar?”

“No,” I replied. “It is not our policy to pay per diem (money for a seminar).”

“Well we are going to leave them.”

I decided to call his bluff, “Ok then.” There was a shuffling around of tables and papers. I prepared myself to start the session with the remaining directors who weren’t complete money hungry jerks. Sixteen directors had shown up for the event, and all sixteen of the directors got up and walked out. They all pause briefly to admire the garden. I thought this was somewhat of a win, until afterwards my director told me they said he was wasting his time and money with me and the garden, getting nothing in return. Thankfully enough, I had prepared myself for failure and wasn’t too hurt by the event. There were three parts to my SPA grant: blackboards, garden fencing and a seminar. The seminar was the smallest portion. Like Meatloaf said it, ‘two out of three ain’t bad.’ It was clear to me that there was absolutely no interest to learn about gardens in schools, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to pay people to sit in on a seminar they didn’t want anything to do with and were only there because they wanted to make a quick 20 bucks.

Back to English class now. They have been debating on the reasons Mauritania is a third world country. I had asked if Mauritania was a poor country. Many people had answered yes, but Bamba raised his hand to object,

“I do not agree. Mauritania is not a poor country. We have here many sources of income: Oil, Gold, Iron, and Fish. There are not that many people. It does not make sense that the people should live at such a low standard of living. There is too much crookedness in the government. The new regime is trying to make changes, but I fear they will end up as bad as the last. It is so difficult to be the first to sacrifice for the good of the whole, because once you take a step out to give, all of the dishonest people step in to take before it gets to those who need it. Unless we all take that step together we are just throwing pebbles in a pond.”

I would have to agree with Bamba. Mauritania is not a bad place filled with crooked men. There are good people here. May of them in fact who are trying very hard to make things change. If they had their way this would be a great country where everyone had a decent education and a promise of a better life for their children. It is just the presence of really bad men and no laws to stop them that allows things keep going to the dogs.

I had a long conversation with the mother of my good friend Nataile Hunt, before I left for PC. She said something that has really stuck with me. “You know I’ve heard from numerous sources that the Peace Corps takes these liberal young Americans in and churns them out as hard core Republicans.” I thought her crazy at the time, but now I can kind of understand. Everyone comes to that point in their service when they say, “you know what. Forget it all, lets just bomb the heck out of the world and get whatever scraps they can in the rubble. All I really care about is the welfare of my family and friends” Republicans are realists and opportunists. They’ve gone past the stage of daydreaming about world peace and universal harmony. Living like that you just end up at 65 with a beat up Volkswagen and no 401k. It makes sense, doesn’t it?

Well sorry Uncle John but I’m still voting for Hilary come ‘08. I’ve become a realist, but I still know that if it wasn’t for liberal dreamers this planet would be pockmarked with potholes the size of Texas.

Mauritania can get better and I’ve given myself a third year to try to help make it happen. Realistically I know I may only help a few people, and even for them it may only be something minor. I can still dream though. I can still hope we can get people organized enough to make our jumps together. Even if a few people stay back we might be able to make a big enough splash to jostle the pool.

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