Waiting

An excerpt from my journal this morning:

It is election day. I awoke early without any real hope of returning to sleep. My eyes were still tired but my thoughts alive with anticipation. It is dark and calm outside. The morning prayer call not yet having broken the stillness. I flip on a light and cringe at the assault to my senses. My action alerts a fly to my presence which buzzes angrily in my ear. Its persistence is irritating.

The melody of the call to prayer begins distantly, still foreign to my ears, but comforting and reassuring. Having lived a full year in Mauritania, the sound no longer grabs my attention like it once did, an audible reminder of the great distance between my current home and my family.

The single melody is joined by a second, even more distant prayer. The unsynchronized sounds, despite their independant tones and cadences, complement rather than compete. I find them meditative, peaceful, and can already feel a pang of the remorse that will come in full force when we must return home next year.

If everything goes as expected today, we will have an answer by the end of tomorrow, or at least a clue to the resolution that we all hope for after almost a year of military leadership since the coup.

A new prayer call, closer and more earnest, breaks out across the sky. It seems to echo my desire for a peaceful resolution to this conflict. At the same time I hear sea birds adding their calls to the morning, and can feel the city starting to stir.

Our apartment is situated right next to an école primaire. During the year I would enjoy listening to the sounds of the children in their classrooms, singing in unison at the instruction of their teacher. Today the school will become a polling place for the election. The proximity does not put me at ease, but the reasonable side of my brain reminds me that Mauritanians are unnaturally calm in response to political upheaval.

That is why we are still here, still living in a nation that is currently fighting a slow path back toward democracy after a sharp departure from it last August. The apathy with which Mauritanians view life is exceedingly frustrating when it comes to our work, but I often realize that this complacency is also the key to our security.

The prayer calls have ended and the birds have moved elsewhere, but somewhere outside a car engine has rumbled to life and waits patiently for a driver. The sun has yet to begin its ascent as it nears six o'clock. The air is still cool, salty, pleasant.

I begin to think about the day, the tasks that should be accomplished, which I have been neglecting. My brain begins making a list, prioritizing my needs: packing for our trips, planning meals, doing laundry (ugh). My stomach rumbles a reminder, becoming more insistant as time passes. The sky is lightening noticibly now, and I plead with my stomach to be patient so that I can watch the sun peak over the horizen.

It's not my habit to watch the sun rise, but today it feels necessary. My eyes peer out the window to the bay, haze prevents a clear view of the water but I know it is there. I can smell it, taste it, feel the cool breeze coming off it. An owl hoots, a rooster crows, and I can hear men calling instructions to each other in some unknown task far in the distance. I consider going up to the roof to watch the unfolding sunrise more clearly, but realize that my uncovered hair and sleeping attire (shorts and a t-shirt) would likely draw unwanted attention if someone were to pass by.

I open another window to peer out at the school and feel my body tense in surprise as I see more than 30, possibly 50 people already gathering inside the courtyard. A group of men, tall & thin, skin dark against their deep green uniforms are gathered in a corner discussing their security strategy. Others stand quietly in a line and appear almost as if they are praying, although they are not facing east and I know the time for praying has already passed. They are waiting to cast their vote.

I was surprised at their presence primarily because of the eerie lack of noise. No one seems to be talking, just waiting, perhaps still half asleep. Some squat down to the ground to rest their legs. More gendarmes arrive, these wearing riot gear - helmets with visors to cover their faces, carrying batons & packs on their backs. I do not notice a single female among the crowd, only the blue and white traditional male bou-bous in abundance.

The gendarmes seem unnecessarily over-dressed among the quiet crowd, but I understand that their preparation is for what 'could be' rather than what 'is'. By now the sky is light and my stomach reminds me again with more urgency of the need for food. As I walk to the kitchen, I pray silently that the election goes smoothly, that the power struggle will cease, and the strong personalities involved will surrender calmly to the will of the Mauritanian people. Inshallah.

Please keep Mauritania in your thoughts and prayers today.

Links for more information from news outlets regarding the election:

Q&A: Mauritania elections

Mauritania gears up for elections

Voters in Mauritania prepare for Saturday election