Walking to school only takes ten minutes

As the title suggests, walking to one of my three schools only takes ten minutes. You’d think this is hardly enough time to assemble a montage of weird. But you’d be wrong.

8:45am
Leave my house. Wave to neighbor children who chant – in no particular order – aleykum (half of “peace be with you”), bien (well), bonjour (hello), ca (half of “how are you”), isselaam (the other half of “peace be with you”), madame (me), monsieur (decidedly not me), and va (the other half of “how are you”).


8:46am
Continue down my street. Two children catch up to me, match my pace. "Miyeteyn?" one proposes. This means two hundred, as in ougiye, as in gift comma please give me. I shake my head and respond in Hassaniye, “I don’t have any money.”

He repeats himself and offers the large green, slightly decomposing bundle he is carrying. I ask him what he’s got; it’s food, he says. I ask if it’s for people or for animals.

“For animals,” he says.
“I don’t have animals at my house.”
Incredulously, “you don’t have animals?”
“Nope.”
“Miyeteyn?”

I look at him puzzled. He offers simply: you could eat it. I laugh in spite of myself, and he joins me, understanding his proposition is ridiculous. His younger companion is slower to catch on, and interrupts our laughter with “miyeteyn?”


8:47am
Pass the bakery. A slightly post-adolescent male beckons from the doorway, “monsieur.” I correct him lightheartedly, “madame.” His response is in French, simply: “five.” I ask the obvious: “five what?” He gives me what could only be called “the eye” and asks me in a sultry Arabic accent to come inside. I respectfully decline.


8:51am
Almost to the center of town. A group of melifahs approach, all forty-something. I notice one looking intently at me. Further inspection reveals a large carrot in her hand, half hidden by the folds in her veil. She is holding it near her crotch making extraordinarily phallic gestures. I say the first thing that comes to mind, the Arabic word for “welcome.” Volunteers often use this word in such unsavory contexts, and the local women love it. Together, we erupt in peals of laughter. Incredulous, I realize I just shared a penis joke with Mauritanian women in veils. I shake my head, continue toward school.


8:52am
Pass the town square. Someone calls my name. I turn my head to see a small Mauritanian man bounding down the stairs from the amphitheater. It’s Jacouba, one of my English students and a teacher at the French Alliance. He lands in front of me, greets me in his normal exuberant style.

We talk for thirty seconds before my skin begins to complain under the morning sun. I realize Jacouba has not broken a sweat. This is all the more impressive that he is dressed for late autumn in Ohio: undershirt, polo tee shirt, long sleeved button down shirt, and a vest. He is talking about how English classes are so interesting, so fabulous, such an interesting social tool to gather people of different professions, languages, cultures, countries, but I can barely concentrate. I am still processing his multi-layered outfit. He finishes praising the volunteers, fires off a cheery greeting, and I am still left speechless, hotter having witnessed his fashion sense resist melting.


8:54am
Almost to school. A car whizzes past me. The driver screams in Doppler from the window: "nti zeyne!!". I was and am still unsure how to translate this. Hassaniye is not the richest language, and zeyn has a number of meanings: good, beautiful, cute, breath-taking, delicious, etc. Think of a positive connotation and zeyn covers it. I am thinking “you are delicious” is not what the driver intended, but one never knows…


8:55am
Cue end credits.