embracing the unknown

Kaedi music stoop

Local fauna does not provide much in terms of aural stimulation; luckily the imported wildlife – read volunteers – has much to play, sing, pluck, beat and shake. I am nestled among the makeshift band on what I have affectionately called the music stoop. Haley and Jon Katz on guitar, Maggie on mandolin, Lee George on harmonica, Rob on keyboard, and Jon Slattery on egg. Yes, egg. He plans to break out an egg solo at the upcoming talent show. We warble out folk melodies and half-hearted harmonies, hoping to avoid mosquito bites and bed time.

Earlier tonight, I finally passed on my USA treats: oreos to Jess to take to Miriam in Nouakchott and pudding to Michael to take Rachel when she arrives home from Ghana. Trainees and volunteers alike seem shocked that I would one, ask for requests, and two, actually import “emergency items” from the States. I expressed the sentiment (the hope?) that future trainees might take pity on me next year and bring me goodies. The unanimous and pessimistic response: unlikely. Still, I don’t yet crave pudding, and if I did, I’m sure someone back home would send some. (please?) For now, my fixes are local and include boxed UHT milk and mango juice.

The mango juice was not my idea, but a recommendation from Alicia, a PVC who took me to “downtown” Kaedi today. She said plainly: treat yourself occasionally, your sanity will suffer otherwise. I owe her for the advice, the juice suggestion, the fabulously haggled price on peanut soap, and the quality bills she demanded from the merchant (change is often given in the form of perilously mutilated bills, barely held together by foreign-made scotch tape).

Kaedi was a welcome outing after my semi botched language test this afternoon. I began eloquently enough, but the facilitator finished the interview with a “whew”… The meaning of this utterance is yet undetermined, but it signified either he was hot, or he was glad to be rid of me and my mangled French tongue. Either way, I felt unsettled and unaccomplished.

This feeling, with time, should subside. Especially with continued linguistic encouragement from Aw, my APCD. During our meeting this afternoon, I confessed my shame over the language test. Aw offered to conduct our future meetings in exclusively French. I reluctantly accepted, stammered out a few sentences for evaluation, and was showered with compliments. Generously, he explained what an advantage my foreign language skills would be in country. I would be just fine, he assured me. To which I whispered under my breath, inshallah.

In miscellaneous news, I took a shower (rare), did some laundry (rarer still) and discovered the art of makeshift air conditioning (i.e. wearing just-laundered, still dripping wet clothes). Other than the rashes threatened by fellow volunteers, this will completely work. The sun radiates heat, but it also evaporates water. Giveth and taketh away, please.

I added another element to my increasingly complex cooling system: I reshaved my head. Thanks to Crystal’s hairdressing and Jon Katz’s clippers, my head is fuzzier, breezier. A new round of reactions followed, including oohs, ahhs, scalp massages, admiration, astonishment, jealousy and comparisons to Sinnead O’Connor or G.I. Jane (depending on how musical or military I happened to be at the moment).

In summary, I loved today. I’m feeling recovered from yesterday, ready to face the heat, the half-functioning showers, the peanut soap laundry, the sand, the squatting, the unknown, the unknown.