Ups and downs on the plains of Mauritania

field journal

My stomach: not pleased today. My body equally pissed. Guess I couldn’t stay healthy forever? Will try class today, though I’d rather skip. Desire to learn language > need to pass out, with scales rapidly tipping…

…

Gah, Keith came to visit today and I nearly missed it. I’m so glad I braved class today. My anticipation for site placement tripled over the course of twenty minutes… like finding the Christmas presents in November, hints were dropped and I am thrilled for what is to come.

Interaction with kids today surprisingly pleasant and discouraging. Had a fabulous, if disjointed, conversation with my brother Lemine. He tutored me on numbers and explained the field work now that the rainy season is here. Lemine is so thoughtful for thirteen; I never realized what an asset and friend I had in him.

Had a less than fabulous, if disturbing, run in with some local Sabualla kids. A pack of wayward boys, just younger than Lemine, intercepted us on the way to the garden. They wanted to show us some birds they had caught. And by caught, I mean pelted and gashed with a slingshot. With the most wounded victim, the boys devised a game of tossing it in the air, laughing as it tried to pump its bloodied wings. The bird plummeted to the ground each time, only to be snatched up and launched again.

Feeling wounded myself, I decided to try to distract them. Eywe, shingalu jigrej haddhe? Shinhu esmu? I offered them my tree seeds, asked them if they knew the names. Their response: the word for penis in Hassaniye and a chorus of vicious giggles. Where is Lemine when I need a well-mannered, thoughtful boy to beat the bloody hell out of a bunch of ruffians? Sufficiently disturbed, I told them I was going to the garden, you can come along if you want to help work. This was the most successful tactic; they dispersed immediately.

Once in the garden, we came across another group of kids, different faces, similar tactics. At first, we provided entertainment for a silent audience, soon after a target for childish taunts and eventually poop. At that point, our patience was exhausted – no slinging poo at the trainees please – and we told them to scoot. As offensively as our language skills would allow. Hopefully our garden does not become the object of their retaliation later. Do Mauritanian children exact vengeance on personal property? Or are there enough feeble birds to occupy their aggressions?

Home stay coordinator visited Sabualla to check up on the trainees, was a nice break from evening routine and an opportunity to seize yet another Hassaniye victory. Fall asked Teitta dozens of questions, from did I lock my door to was I eating enough. I understood each question, each response – it was miraculous. I was so “on” that I caught the difference between tipki and tibqi and had to chime in: Anne nipki ebeden, wallahi, anne nibqi userti! (Of course, I never cry, I like my family!) They got a kick out of my interruption, which indicated comprehension and good humor. Score one for me.