3rd Annual Atar Marathon and Trash Clean Up. Or, AAMATCU for short.

Oh marathon. We just put on the 3rd Annual Atar Marathon and Trash Clean Up and are reveling in the glory of an incredible Peace Corps project planned decently, executed miraculously. Here are some pride-worthy stats:

Thirty five volunteers from all over the country and over 50 Mauritanians (including veil-wrapped women, rake-brandishing men, and hyperactive children) assembled Friday to pick up the litter menacing Atar sand swept streets. Local participation was up 150% from 2007, a clear indicator that this event is gaining momentum, or at least infamy. We collected up over 500 bags of garbage, beating last year’s count of 450.

Saturday morning marked a blessed drop in temperature and the running component of the event. This year, we had 12 runners, 14 walkers and 9 helpers (i.e. distributors of water, first aid, and cheering). A Mauritanian won by a technicality with a time of 2h15min. Mark, my site mate who accidentally took the wrong route on Saturday, immediately re-ran the course on Sunday. He finished with a shocking time of 1h31h30s, officially shaving over 40 minutes from last year’s winning time. Technicalities be damned, that time is trophy worthy.

If I actually had awarded trophies. This year, as last, the prize for winning was hugely disappointing to our Atar residents. Apparently a mention on an internationally read web log and eternal, google-able fame was not sufficiently enticing.

The post-marathon party itself was incredible: beverages up from Senegal, volunteers up from everywhere, and the cool water of an inviting oasis pool. Commence piling skeletons in closets. For the stress accumulated throughout the year, it was the perfect remedy.

Writing this entry, I realize that I neglected to report on the 2007 Marathon. Let me say here that 2008 heralded a vast improvement

There was no transport debacle this year. I immodestly owe this to my own diligence. Last year, I bargained with my friend the garage chef, struck an oral agreement, and incorrectly assumed the price was conveyed to what became an irate chauffeur. His anger inspired him to call me incessantly, follow me to restaurants, drag me into the police station, and bring a truck full of his intimidating colleagues to have a “friendly discussion” over the going price of a 4x4 truck.

This year, I typed a formal contract, meticulously detailed my transport needs and the “no no’s” of the trip. As in, no overcharging for anything, no unauthorized (read: creepy) passengers in my truck, no Mauritanian (read: creepy) onlookers for oasis party, and no general tom foolery. I requested that the Prefect’s personal guard escort me to the garage to sign said contract and secure signatures from the garage chief and driver. As a result, this year, I was not inappropriately touched by young men; I was not cornered in an isolated tent; I was not harassed to tears. This year, I was relaxed, confident, accomplished.

Post-marathon effects are yet to be seen. Already, locals catch our attention, thank us for our efforts, and occasionally offer rogue bags of trash on our way to work. Whether they will maintain cleaned streets or begin clean up efforts of their own… well, the thanks and positive PR points will have to suffice.