New digs

I moved! Not that I had anything against my old house. Nothing other than the demon-possessed children next door, a disintegrating mud wall, corroded door locks, a splintered front door, creepy late night alleys, and biweekly scorpion surprises. Yep.

Honestly though, my old house had really become, well, chez moi. I had settled, hammered nails in the concrete, hung pictures on the wall, collected the batteries flung over the wall by aforementioned demon-spawn, and made peace with my awkward neighbors.¹ It felt, in an odd, transient way, like home. Unfortunately, with the influx of volunteers newly posted to the Adrar – from nine to thirteen in the region – my mud brick three bedroom became painfully insufficient.

During posting, entirely in passing, I mentioned that I was tentatively on the market for a new house. No less than three days later, Bahenna and Rajel, two Peace Corps staffers, had tapped their connections in Atar and found me a veritable palace. Four huge bedrooms, a huge kitchen, a huge magasin², a catwalk connecting two roofs with full access, a huge shower room, a huge courtyard, a huge covered breezeway, and did I mention it was huge?

Sure, sure, you say, huge. But huge translates the same in French as Hassaniye as English: cher, waa’ir, expensive. Right?

Wrong. Thanks to Rajel’s request and a small bit of cajoling on my part, the landlord lowered the rent from 30,000 to 20,000 UM (~110 to 74 USD) and agreed to kick in all kinds of improvements. Within four days, the robinet (water faucets) had been installed, the kitchen had a counter and a sink³, and my front door had been reinforced and rewelded. The volunteers in town (save one… it’s a long story) helped me move all my things in less than four hours, and all of a sudden I was home. Again.

Although I barely had time to process, evaluate or reconsider, this new place should be fabulous. It is located just behind the mayor’s office, vastly closer to all three of my schools, around the corner from three volunteers’houuses, and spitting distance from Houleye and her family. In terms of commute, security, and general well-being – perfect. And I couldn’t ask for a better house. There should be room(s) to spare for Atar PCVs and broussies alike, and finally a communal (shaded!) space to share home brewed wine and indulge in late night episodes of Lost. It’s what we envied in the other regions, what we thought was not possible in Atar, what we, essentially, always wanted.

Mind you, this is not a regional house. Regional houses were outlawed in Mauritania within the last decade to avoid loud debaucherous parties, eliminate potential targets for violence/harassment, and encourage volunteer integration. But my house will be the natural location to converge, hang out, drop off bags, touch down for PCVs in from the bush, etc. We have yet to navigate the politics of dues, house rules, participation, etc, but with such an incredible space, who could refuse? (I know I just jinxed the whole deal, but I’m not deleting my optimism.)

So what’s next? Navigating Ramadan. Surviving the last few weeks of fasting. Getting accustomed to the new bumps in the night. Relaxing chez moi. Daar-i jedide, mashallah⁴.

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1: Rumor has it that my neighbors ran a brothel next door. The volunteer living in my house previously got “in trouble” for not having visited her neighbors in prison. The charges: prostitution.

2: magasin – n. a small, ant-infested shop set into a traditional Mauritanian compound from which the family sells bags of sugar, bars of soap, bottles of bleach, etc. for extra income. It often opens to the inner courtyard and outside to the street, providing an additional exit for mangy goats and children, an additional entrance for amateur thieves. Mine is cemented shut, mashallah.

3: Don’t get too excited, the counter is quickly crumbling concrete. The sink is at least metal, but bounces a bit when touched, and drains directly onto the floor. It looks professional though.

4: translation: my new house, as god has willed it.