sometimes it's muggy, even in the desert

Kaedi, hot, stuffy, stinkin tent

Two confessions. First, the location of this journal entry is mostly bitching for humor’s sake. Second, regardless of my humorous vent, today was my first semi disappointing day. We had an enlightening tech session during which Environmental Education (EE) and Agroforestry (Agfo) volunteers learned the futility of our sectors (I should have known: trying to hug trees in a desert… duh, right?). This was followed by a very detailed overview of EE’s history in Mauritania. Since 1960. Very. Detailed. I won’t lie, it was not the most thrilling presentation ever given. Thorough, but not thrilling.

To make matters worse, I was culturally ostracized for the first time during that very session. Why you ask? For wanting to lie down in a hammock with Haley (my neighbor on the car ride with Nati and fellow EE volunteer). A few days ago, the facilitators informed us of the cultural faux pas possible when reclining: women are not to lie on their back, men cannot lie on their stomach. Apparently these activities are promiscuous, whereas the inverse (women on their stomach, men on their back) is entirely appropriate. Haley and I assumed some leeway on this cultural requirement, given the then present company of two PCVs (current volunteers), two PCTs (trainees), a Mauritanian co-coordinator who shook my hand without flinching just days before, and Kaedi lizards. Surely no one here would take us for prostitutes; we thought, laughing in the hammock. Au contraire. A PVC promptly chastised us for cultural callousness: “Actually, I’ve been told leaning back in a hammock can seem very promiscuous.” Again, we dissolve into chuckles, sure that the rebuke was delivered in jest. “So,” I eeked out between giggles, “do we get up, or just not care?” If there were crickets dumb enough to brave the heat (105 degrees in the shade today), they might have filled the icy silence with awkward chirps. No one but Haley found my comment funny, and even she stifled her laughter, shocked by the volunteers and trainees, unanimous in their scorn and disgust. We sat up immediately, straight-faced for the remainder of the session.

Cultural appropriateness is – and likely will continue to be – one of the most difficult hurdles here in country. This fact is evidenced by the daily reminders (admonishments) that the female trainees are being indecent (slutty): our shirts are too tight, our skirts are translucent when backlit in a doorway, our heads are not covered, etc. etc… A favorite lesson of mine was administered today: we are allowed to sleep topless, but cannot walk to our tents in shorts. Somehow nipples are more offensive than knees. The way my body is built, I beg to differ, but then, no one asked me.

I am by no means miserable, just hot and deflated, frustrated and not my normal bouncy self. Which makes me angry at myself. Which doesn’t do too much for the bounce. I feel like I’m breaking one of those inalienable rules: don’t be too hard on myself. Or, always have fun. Or, allow myself the entire spectrum of emotions, anger or frustration included, without self-flagellation.

It’s tough though, when sand is embedded in your scalp; sweat coats every square inch of your body every moment of every day; mosquito bites grace your knuckles, arms, stomach, feet; and you have to crank your flashlight every two minutes just to write a journal entry… My light is fading, and it’s not anything to do with the crank. I’m going to sleep on it and see how things look in the morning.

P.S. We might get a sand slash rainstorm tonight. I’m actually looking forward to rain, since it is always preceded by an intolerable mugginess which subsides after a good downpour. And to those who said Mauritania only had dry heat, I’m currently living in a river valley. It’s anyone’s guess as to the humidity, but I’m going to venture a modest estimate of 110%.