WAIST in Dakar, Senegal {February 15 – 20, 2007}

Americans from all over West Africa gather once a year in Dakar, Senegal to take part in the West African International Softball Tournament, better known as WAIST. The tournament has two divisions, one competitive – for teams who actually practice – and the other “social” – for teams who, well, don’t practice. Peace Corps Mauritania, better known as the Pirates {Arrrrrgh!}, takes part in the social league and is, in fact, the reigning champion. With the exception of a very few individuals, all RIM volunteers – whether they choose to play or cheer – make their way to Dakar for a weekend full of looting, pillaging, drinking and other unmentionable whatnots...and, oh yes, for some good old fashioned softball quoi. For some volunteers, this is the social event of the year, and they live each precious day like it is their last.

What follows are some of the highlights from WAIST 2007.

Safety and Security in Nouakchott: Before we, the volunteers, depart for Senegal, we gather together in Nouakchott for a day of safety and security talks. {Basically: Senegal is a dangerous place! You can die! So, be careful!} Most of the day, however, is eaten up by a Peace Corps administrator – she’s here all the way from Washington D.C., impressive! – currently in the country to help organize a new sector focusing on girls’ education and empowerment. I am not impressed with her presentation. Honestly, I’ll be astonished if the sector succeeds. The administrator, while having good ideas and intentions, seems to lack a basic understanding of the real-life situations that most Mauritanian girls must face. I feel that this disconnect between the top and bottom will be the downfall of the program, just as it has been the downfall of many others before.

Bus Ride to Dakar: The following morning we, the volunteers, load onto two buses at precisely 5:15 {an awfully premature hour!} hoping to get into Dakar some nine hours afterwards. Unknowingly, we rise early in vain. The trip takes us not nine but 18 hours. Why? Let me recount the reasons. On the way down to Senegal, just kilometers away from the border, in a heroic effort to avoid a wheelbarrow on the edge of the road, the bus driver of the larger of the two buses swerves and drives directly head-on into a sand dune. Not only are we stranded on the side of the road for two or so hours, but it also turns out the bus driver was unsuccessful in his attempt to avoid the wheelbarrow. At the border we sit in the hot and steamy buses for an hour and a half or so, waiting for our passports to be cleared. {They have to make sure we’re not spies, quoi.} We then stop in St. Louis, Senegal for lunch, after which we get lost trying to get out of the city. During all this, the second bus gets stuck in the sand for half an hour and must be shoveled and pushed out. We arrive into Dakar at nightfall. Our bus driver, being half blind – seriously, drives in the middle of the two-lane highway, successfully drives a large truck off the road and attempts to do so with several other buses, trucks, and cars, almost getting us killed far too many times to be counted. We also make several illegal turns, including a three-point turn in the middle of a busy intersection.

Oh, yeah, and I saw a car on fire driving down the highway...

We get to the Club Atlantique, the center of all activity for the tournament, and meet the ex-pats who are kindly allowing us to crash at their homes for the weekend. We all go to their homes and crash.

The Games: Peace Corps Mauritania has three teams: the Pirates, Buccaneers, and Swashbucklers. The Pirates play to win while the other two teams play to have fun. At each game, pirate flags fluttering overhead announce our presence. Also in attendance is a Whiskey Wench, in full pirate gear, responsible for maintaining the team’s morale and ensuring good pirate form by passing around bottles of liquor. I demonstrate my support for the games by sporting a double Mohawk for the weekend.

The Pirates win all of their games and are again crowned champions.

The After-parties: I go to only one party during the three days we are there. Thrown by the Marines responsible for guarding the Embassy, it is a low-key affair and somewhat bland. The high point, if anything, is when a group of individuals, consisting mostly of RIM volunteers, streak through the party. The party ends early, and I walk back home.

The remaining parties are nothing exceptional, from what I gather. They are as one would expect, with some dancing and brawling and much drinking and passing out.

And finally, the city of Dakar: {Interesting fact: the population of Dakar is more than three million; the population of Mauritania is just shy of three million.} On the last day, I am able to make it out to one of the four markets in the city. Called Sandaga, the market is an immensity of a thing itself. I am taken on a tour – given by a rather nice local – and walk through the streets and alleys, filled with small vendors of various sorts, and a massive building with a spice and fish market on the first floor, a vegetable market on the second and people cooking and selling food on the rooftop.

Dakar is located on a tiny peninsula, surrounded by water on three sides. As a matter of fact, one of the tournament softball fields is located on a cliff-like place overlooking ocean. Amazing stuff, especially at sunset.

And so there you have it, a quick summary of almost everything that happened – a refreshingly nice trip. Nothing terribly exciting, I know, but a pleasant break from daily Mauritanian life.

Till next time...

Mauritania: an introduction of sorts

Where can I start in describing this place – a place and people so unlike anything I have ever before experienced?

Mauritania, while vast, is one of the least densely populated countries in Africa. The land varies from sun-drenched sand dunes, which occupy much of the country, to lushly vegetated – comparatively speaking – riverbanks to the south and seasides to the west.

The peoples are themselves divided into two diverse groups, the Moors and the Africans – and within these groups, the Moors into the blacks and whites and the Africans into various ethnic tribes.

To begin to understand this place, I suppose one first has to begin to understand its people, and more specifically, the Moors, the dominant group in Mauritania. Once nomadic, the Moors have become more sedentary over the past few decades, due to droughts and other various climate changes. The transition from nomadic to city life has been, in my biased opinion, sluggish. The Moors still seem to romanticize the nomadic existence, and somewhere deep in the underbellies of their minds, they refuse to give it up. The old ways are perhaps still too fresh in their consciousness: their old lives still lingering and hovering over their daily thoughts and activities. It is my personal hope that future younger generations will, if not embrace change, be more accepting to it – such that, if not for anything else, to better develop their cities and the general infrastructure within the country.

Another important facet of Mauritanian life is racism, nowadays a natural aspect of daily living – like taking a breath or tolerating the heat. Organized in a caste-like fashion, white Moors put themselves on lofty pedestals. More often than not, under-qualified Moors get high-ranking government posts and contracts. One will almost never lay their eyes on a white Moor performing manual labor; they choose instead to run small boutiques and businesses. Black Moors, on the other hand, are given all jobs menial and strenuous. Often poorer than white Moors, black Moors are generally denied all the privileges that come with a lighter toned skin. Black Africans, viewed by the white Moors to be highly undesirable, are often well educated and pride themselves in their culture. They are generally more welcoming and generous than white Moors – a biased opinion, I will admit. More willing to learn French than white Moors, black Africans generally dominate the staffs of foreign aid organizations and NGOs.

Racism here is not like it is back home: it is not so hostile here, not yet. Change will come, however – I have seen and talked with younger generations of angry black Africans who are more willing to act and speak out against the current racial attitudes of this place and its people. Yes – change will come, of this I am sure, but at what pace is difficult to tell.

That’s all for now…a rather brief and not terribly thought out introduction, I admit – but hopefully it’s not altogether terrible.

* * * * * * * *

And now on a personal note, I want to say this…

I came to the Peace Corps looking for something – to understand and to determine my worth, to grow and to mature: I came here for these things, among other such fleeting and intangible things. Over the course of the past half-year, I have come to realize though that I miss home very much, and that – more importantly – home lies with friends and family. I miss people the most, much more than I had ever anticipated. The conversations, the laughter, the sad moments and even the angry ones too – all of it, I miss it all.

C’est comme ça – c’est la vie, though, I suppose…I’ll be home soon.

In the meanwhile, to those who may read this, don’t have too much fun while I’m gone…