80% chance precipitation, 95% chance integration

Today, I was feeling unintegrated, not in that exasperated antisocial way, but more in that slightly eccentric restless way. I decided thus to buck social norms and play in the rain.

Mauritania is in the desert. I know this much is obvious to our geographically enlightened readers, but it bears repeating. Especially since I have observed a morbid fear of rain chez les Mauritaniens. If there were grocery stores and meteorological reports (and televisions for that matter), forecasts of sprinkles would send Sabualla residents racing to clear shelves of toilet paper (if that existed here…) and bottled water (ok, the metaphor is a stretch). In a climate where temperatures peak one hundred every day, people run from a cooling drizzle.

And run they did. When the rain started, only the livestock scattered more quickly than my family, running for overhangs and dry tent flaps. I looked skyward, smiled, and sat on the yellow hsera in the rain.

Eventually, my little sister (eight years old and thus unencumbered by socially-constructed shame) joined me. We cackled madly as the rain soaked our clothes through, happy to be uncharacteristically chilled in this usually arid wasteland. The adults in my family looked on in curious confusion and reluctant jealousy. Separate as I was from my peers, it was a moment of pure friendship and giggly integration with Khadijetou sqiire. These bonding moments are so much sweeter when unexpected, unplanned like Saharan downpours.