Falling from leaps of faith hurts less in soft, sand dunes

Mauritania is a game of trust.

For example, this morning, I needed to pay the electric bill for the regional office. Routinely, I give the money to Sid’Ahmed, the shop keeper next door who pays the bill for our building. Incidentally, he is also the son of my new adoptive host family. Since Sid’Ahmed was out of town, his sister, my friend Veyza agreed to help me negotiate the bill. “Come over tomorrow at 7am,” she instructed.

Dutifully, I set my alarm, forewent the blessed snooze,¹ and peeked my head in her house the next morning. Veyza was not yet ready, so “come in, come in, sit!” her mother Rabia called. When Veyza finally emerged, melifa neatly wrapped around her face, our conversation proceeded like a bad Monty Python sketch.

Ellen: So we will go to the cell phone butig to pay the electric bill?
Veyza: Yes.
Ellen: And Sid’Ahmed is there?
Veyza: Yes, since Sid’Ahmed is not there, I’m going to go to the shop.
Ellen: Wait, he is not there?
Veyza: Yes.
Ellen: Um.
Veyza: Well look, you don’t have to come with me, I’ll go find Sid’Ahmed. You know he’s not here.
Ellen: Right, he’s at the butig.
Veyza: No, he’s over there.
Ellen: Wait, where?
Veyza: Then we’ll go together.
Ellen: When are you leaving?
Veyza: One o’clock.
Ellen: One o’clock?² I can’t wait that long, so I’ll just go now by myself.
Veyza: Ok.
Ellen: Ok , see you later then.
Veyza: Ok, sit here and wait for me.
Ellen: Wait, what?
Veyza: Wait here. We leave in one hour.
Ellen: At one o’clock or in one hour?
Veyza: Yes.
Ellen: Um. I’m just going to go now, not a problem, I’ll go myself.
Veyza: Ok. Sit here and I’ll be right out.
Ellen: Um what?
Veyza: Ok.

I think to myself, will I ever dig myself from under this circular conversation well enough to leave? Trust.

On the way – yes, we finally left the house – Veyza gushed about her long-time, absentee boyfriend, “habibi” (her love) who speaks English and will someday run away and marry her. He is soo handsome and she is soo in love. “Do fairytales like this still work?” I wondered. Trust.

“Ooo,” she gasped. “What?” She cracked down on a small orange candy, removed a piece, held it to my face. I took it without thinking, popped it in my mouth. Will I inherit Veyza’s chesty cough? Trust.

We met several of her friends in the dusty market. I smiled politely and rattled off greetings while she paraded me proudly. She was especially friendly with a shop owner who eventually handed her an object she immediately handed off to me: a can of tuna. Why did she give me a can of fish? Will this be eaten? Shared? Explained? Trust.

Trust what exactly? I suppose trust that the incomprehensible will be explained. Or be at least happily tolerated. That my patience might hold up as well as my immune defenses. Better and better every day, I understand (read: reluctantly accept) the fatalism of “inshallah.” As god has willed it. Or, for the less religious, simply: as it has been willed. Passive tense, actor undefined, tomorrow unwritten.

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1: I have a torrid love affair with my snooze button. I purposely set my alarm early so I can sleep in nine minute increments for at least an hour before I actually need to wake up. It’s sick really. And it has alienated former lovers, roommates, and overnight guests. I have so few vices, that I guard my right to periodically interrupted sleep. I’m allowed.

2: To both our credits, this specific misunderstanding is France’s fault. The phrase for one o’clock and one hour is the same: une heure. Mille mercis, l’Académie Française.