The Beginnings: Stage

September 2, 2006

During my first night in Mauritania an ant bit my lip while I slept on the floor, and it swelled up [the lip not the ant] like mad. Within that week I also got my first taste of diarrhea – no, I didn’t eat it…you know what I mean. A month or so into training, I caught something bad and burned up with a fever of 105 degrees…and I thought I might die. Luckily, I didn’t die and the fever passed. Then, a termite flew into my ear. I could hear it munching on my insides. Munch. Munch. Mun…it’s really not a very comforting sound. I had to use tweezers to get it out. Everything was fine after that…well, almost. After two or so months of periodic diarrhea, I was getting slightly worried. It had been some time since my last normal bowel movement. But then the PC doctor told us not to expect normal looking shit for two years. So now I’m trying to get used to funny looking crap always coming out of my body, bugs included, while at the same time trying not to be overwhelmed by the new languages, intense desert heat and a culture that is the bane of my current existence. I cry sometimes…on the inside, of course, as a man should.

“Tough shit man…“Bienvenue à la Mauritanie!”


Damn it’s hot here. And I mean hot. Walking out from under the shade into the sunlight is like getting bitch-slapped…except not just on your face and repeatedly. It feels like burning. And the sad part of it all? This is the cooler season.

Aside from the heat, there’s the sand and dust that covers everything – including me for the better part of each day. [The first five minutes after my morning bucket baths are fucking awesome! After that, it’s all really downhill.] And to add extra some spice to daily living, the ground most everywhere is covered with heaps upon heaps of garbage and animal shit. Hooray! Trash collection is really still just an idea in Mauritania: why collect trash when you can just throw it out into the streets?! And animals – cows, donkeys and goats oh my! – get to pee and crap wherever they please. For those who may find this unfair – How come they can go anywhere and we can’t?! – don’t fret. People can pee and crap wherever they please too. Sweet! That’s right, don’t mind that man squatting down next to the veggie stand in the market, and don’t stare . . . he’s just taking care of a little nature call.

I’m currently in the process of training to become a Peace Corps Volunteer (i.e. PCV). For those of you who may not know how the Peace Corps is set up, here’s a quick rundown. Before one starts their two year service, they first have to go through three months of intensive in-country training, better known here as “Stage”. This period of time consists of approximately 180 hours of language classes and various sessions concerning culture and integration, medical, safety and skills. All sessions, with the exception of language hours, are held at a local lycée in the village of Kaédi that the Peace Corp rents out for the duration of the summer. Peace Corps Trainees (i.e. PCTs) are placed to live with families in various villages within the surrounding region. Language classes, held practically everyday, consume the vast majority of our time. The remaining hours are spent integrating with, or in some cases avoiding, our host families and moreover, and more importantly, attempting to maintain some level of saneness. All of the PCTs regroup once every two weeks in Kaédi to experience all the sessions not concerning language. These sessions are led by second year volunteers who, in my opinion, sometimes let the power of their positions get to their heads. Generally though, they’re a good bunch – always aware of the difficulties that we’re experiencing and constantly encouraging.

My training site is Bababe – a largish village dominated by Pular peoples with a smattering of black Moors. I live with a black Moor family at the foot of a barren and rocky hill [the highest point in the village with an amazing view]. I have one father, two mothers [that I know of…Come to think of it, there’s actually a funny story here that I’ll save for another time], and four brothers. I’m learning French. My family, while terribly nice, speaks only Hassaniya, an Arabic dialect – making living with them somewhat difficult simply because I can’t really talk to them.

My French class constitutes of me, another PCT by the name of Kristen and a middle-aged white/black Moor teacher, who regards himself to be one of the few “intellectuals” living in Mauritania. I use quotations because…well, I mean he’s “educated”, don’t get me wrong. He can speak better French than me. I just question him sometimes when…well, like after he tells me that things weigh less when they move fast – hence fast moving cars get into more accidents than slow moving cars…because they weigh less –and that AIDS is sanctioned by God to rid the world of all sinful peoples. [Note: For those who might argue – What about all those non-sinful people who die from AIDS? – worry not. They go to Heaven while the evildoer’s who gave them AIDS in the first place go to Hell. See, everything works out. Oh, and AIDS is genetic too…that’s how we get mother to child transmission.] Small things, I know. What can I say? I’m a judger.

Along with me and Kristen, there are three other PCTs in Bababe: Laura, Helena, and Rachael – all of whom are learning to speak Pular. Lucky dogs. I would much rather be learning Pular than Hassaniya, which I will have to learn after I finish butchering the French language. Not only does Pular sound better, but the Pular culture is so much richer than that of the Moors…but more on this later.

Stage is almost over; and while difficult, it has been a good experience. I mean, anything after this has to be a piece of cake…and any experience that allows you to say that has to be, well, character-building at least.