On the road, never bored

Atar in the summer. Everyone warned me about heat. “You think 40 [approx. 105F] is bad, you just wait,” they said with malicious giggles. In fact, their cruelty was kindness: upon arrival from the States in June, I harbored no illusions about the climate and its impending toll on my body. Highs of 117 in the shade and 136 in the sun: par for the course.

No one warned me about boredom.

School is out, kids are gone, the getna (date harvest) is in full swing and the city has emptied of locals. Temporary residents include hot shots from Nouahchott tearing through narrow alleys in shiny cars and gorging themselves on plates of goat meat, bowls of dates, cups of gravy and cream.

Wary of instantaneous arterial blockage, I avoid familial dining experiences that begin with sugary fruit dipped in butter and end with, “eat, eat, you hardly touched the fourth course of grilled meat!” Normally, I would resort to work. But with the schools empty, I am going to have to resort to travel. I have to get out of here. Again.

Between Jazz Fest in late May, America in early June, Nouakchott and Aioun conferences in late June, and EcoCamp in Kaedi in July, I have been on the road for seven weeks. I am here, temporarily, to look for housing for our incoming class of volunteers and do rounds of protocol (read: government schmoozing) with them for site visit. Come early August, however, I’m on the road again for medical interviews in the capital and training sessions in Kaedi.

Seven weeks on the road, four at site, four back out. It’s the perfect way to pass what would be an otherwise lethargic and unproductive summer. Living out of a suitcase is stressful, transient, but work-related travel is a guilt-free way to see the country, visit other volunteers, and spend multiple, sweaty hours in a bush taxi. I suppose I’ll ache to be home in my own bed, my own room in about a month. For now, I’m excited to escape the clutches of ennui offered by a lazy Adrar summer.