School's out for summa...school's out 4-ev-a...

...school is out, I think.  Officially, the last tests weren't even supposed to start until the end of next week.  But in true Mauritanian fashion, my administrators decided to bump up the exam dates and give an economical one day notice of the change.  The last test was 2 days ago.  Luckily, I have managed to finish the syllabus for most of my classes.  Most.  

I will continue two of my Monday classes through June, I am still teaching my English club, and I'm taking on another English teacher's class so he can go be with his pregnant wife in Nouakchott.  Plus, the college entrance exam is at the end of June and English might (?) get chosen as a subject so students might (?) mob the lycee looking for some last minute English lessons.  And the presidential elections are supposed to happen in early June which will cause even more confusion.  I'm just not sure what to expect.  What I do know is that I have finished the last exam required at the lycee that I had to write, proctor, and correct.  

Oh, proctoring.  Is there anything better?  No lesson preparation, all the teachers seem friendlier knowing a break is fast approaching, and I get to hone my classroom management skills.  Okay, that last one makes me sound like a dork, but my new hobby is busting cheaters.  I love it.  

Maybe that sounds a little harsh, but put yourself in my shoes: teaching seniors in high school a subject they don't care about, that they know is not worth very much for their final grade.  So what happens?  Several students in every class don't even come except on test days, because they have deemed the only worthwhile use of their time is to attempt to cheat three days out of the year (each trimester ends with a test in all subjects).  And many teachers turn a blind eye to the practice, resulting in some pretty pathetic attempts.  

(I started this blog on May 20, now it is May 31, just in case my timeline makes no sense)

For example, penmanship is very important to many students.  Several times throughout a test, students will ask, "Double feuille?" (doo-bluh fay?).  Meaning, they made a mistake and they want to start anew with a double sheet of blank paper that is so commonly found in all copybooks

Mauritanian.  If allowed, some students will use this sheet to rewrite some answers and pass them to a friend.  Unfortuneately, they often not only rewrite the answers but their name and class number as well.  I know many of the students by name and I can easily read 2 different class numbers on the same desk...busted.  Others will use phones to text message friends.  Easy to spot...busted.  But for every cheater I find, I'm sure there are many others that go unnoticed.  It's so rampant.  

For this latest test, I saw a student who was obviously cheating.  Normally, he's a good kid, but not without fault.  He's also not the brightest student in class, but he usually tries.  So instead of immediately kicking him out, I moved him to a different spot.  Two rounds of the class later I noticed he had moved to a third seat when I wasn't looking to look off of another student's paper.  Now, I'm sure many of my fellow ED. PCVs would have kicked him out right then and there, and normally, I would have.  He even stood up and handed me his paper when I pointed out his unapproved relocation.  But, I didn't want to give up even if he did.  I took his test, told him to sit down, and start over.   I don't think he really knew what to do.  I think he wanted to leave.  But when he realized he was going to have to stay, he sat down and began to write.  Or so I thought.  

He was near the back of class, I was in the front at the time, and I noticed that he would write, look up, write, look up, write, look up, over and over.  And each time he looked up, he looked right at me.  Also, I noticed his pen markings were way too long and fluid for the maticulous, equation-laden scribbles necessary for this math test.  Wait a minute, is he? Can he be?  I think he's drawing a picture of me!  I walked over to him, and he never once flinched or tried to hide it.  I told him it was good, but he should really work on the test.  For the next hour, he did.  When he left, he gave me his test and his artwork.  So, without further ado, I give you "Mike" through the eyes of an 18-year-old Mauritanian:

A little pudgy from the nose down, and I didn't know I was such a mouth-breather.  But otherwise, a decent rendering.  Too bad they don't have art class.  

And now, it is May 31, I teach again tomorrow, and I've heard English was chosen for the bac.  I still need to verify that, but that should mean I can expect...oh...about 300 in class tomorrow all expecting in turn some last minute English revision.  What would they do if I just drew their pictures for 2 hours? 

   

Adrar Vacation...part deux

I know this post is long over due, but we've had problems with electricity lately.  Broken machines, cut wires, the donkeys got tired in their giant wheel generators, I'm not really sure.  When asking any of several Mauritanian friends, the response is a very ambiguous: the machine is broken.  I can never tell if these broad answers are to cover one's ignorance of a subject or to get his point across to someone with bad language skills (me!).  Anyhoo, vacation...

...So we reach Atar after an exhausting 12 hour train ride (on which I was repeatedly woken up between 1 and 6 a.m. to the sounds of a 12 year old arguing about the price of a glass of tea for which he just paid around 15 cents) and a beautiful 3 hour truck ride (through some truly spectacular, hilly terrain).  Atar is known as one of the biggest tourist destinations of Mauritania.  Every year, many foreigners travel here, and to neighboring Chinguetti, to partake of historical expeditions, camel treks, and oasis visits, just to name a few options.  

Unfortuneately, for Mauritania, certain incidents have kept many tourists at bay for the last couple of years.  Therefore, Katie and I found Atar to be much less active than a normal day in Nouadhibou, which was a great change of pace: few cars, friendly people, good food.  If you're ever in Atar, Mauritania, I recommend 'the sauce lady'.  

While in Atar, we stayed with fellow married couple Sam and Kerri in their beautiful compound complete with garden, hammock and spotless terrace perfect for outdoor sleeping.  After a day or two of much needed relaxing, we caught a taxi ride through the mini-mountain pass to Chinguetti for a camel trek.  Big thanks to our friend Carl for organizing that.  You'll have to take a closer look at our pictures from the trip to see both of us on camels, sand boarding (eat your hearts out Adam and Andy!), the dune that sings, etc.  It was an amazing trip.  Two short stories to pique the curiosity: 

1. One camel was bitten in the foot by a snake and we got to watch our guides drain the wound. This is why I am walking for some of the pictures.  We shared camels, mine was the white one named Balthazaar, or Barry for short. 

2. The singing dune basically makes a lot of noise as you slide down on your rump.  In the moment it reminded me of the glorious chorus of low end brass from the mother ship in that kick-ass scene of "Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind" but in reality (watch the video) it was more like an 8th grader playing his tuba during an asthma attack.  Compare the videos and tell me what you think.  

After our Chinguetti trek, we got a ride back to Atar.  We spent the next 3 days relaxing, getting to know the city, and we even ventured to a (disappointingly dry) oasis.  One of my tasks during these last 3 days in Atar was to find old clothes at the "dead toubab" stores for the ride back on the train.  Riding with the iron ore gets very dirty.  We opted for howlies (turbans), 2 big winter coats, and corduroy pants.  There are also these great big soft blankets for sale at all of the markets.  We decided to get one for what would surely be a cold train ride through the Sahara in the middle of the night.  PROM #7: 

4000 UM ($16).  I know this might seem a little pricey, but c'mon, SUPER Luxury!  I've never even had normal luxury before!  The guy who sold it to me must have thought it was one of those Super-Mega-Ultra blankets because he started out at 9000UM and I had to bargain with him for about 20 minutes (no joke).  This is pretty common in Mauritania and you can really get taken for a ride if you don't know the correct price of items.  This is why I was sure to ask my fellow volunteers before venturing into the market.  On my way, a man approached me and tried to get me to buy these wall tapestries.  I kept saying I wasn't a tourist and I didn't need a tapestry but a blanket.  He finally understood and he proceeded to 'guide' me to the best place for this (probably his cousins shop).  He grabbed my hand and led me into this cool covered market area hidden from the main roads.  This was the same man I eventually bargained with.  Here's how the conversation basically progressed:

Arab Street Salesman:  This is the best blanket in all of Mauritania.  For you, 9000UM.

Me: 9000UM!  That is too much.  Please diminish the price.

A.S.S.: I can't.  This is premier quality!

Me: I don't need top quality.  I'm using it to stay warm on the train.

A.S.S.: You are taking the train? With the iron ore?  You are white, buy a ticket for a seat!

Me: I don't want to do that.  

A.S.S.: Are you French?

Me: No I am an American working in Nouadhibou at a school.

A.S.S.: My grandfather used to live in America.  I know Amercians.  You are very nice people. 8000UM.

Me: The price is 4000UM.  My friend in Atar just bought a blanket like this for 4000.

A.S.S.: 4000UM!! No way.  Your friend bought a different blanket, 2nd or 3rd quality.  This is first quality.

Me: The quality is not important.  It will just get dirty on the train.

A.S.S.: That is no problem, this is what you do.  After the train, take some water, do you know water?, take some soap, do you know soap?, and wash like this [rubbing hands together], then you have a great Mauritanian souvenir!  

Me: I'll look elsewhere [Threatening to leave the shop is a great tactic to get them to lower prices]

A.S.S.: Okay, Okay.  7000UM, because my grandfather likes Americans.  He knew a man named John from California.  Do you know this man?

Me: No and no.  The price is 4000UM.

A.S.S.: I have lowered the price.  You must raise yours.  That is how this works.  What is the highest you would pay?
Me: Okay, okay.  4000UM.

A.S.S.: [Dumfounded look]

Me: Thank you, I'll look elsewhere.

A.S.S.:  Wait, hold on, hold on.  You win, 5000UM.

Me: Goodbye.

A.S.S.:  I can-

Me: 4000UM

A.S.S.: You must-

Me: 4000UM

A.S.S.: It -

Me: 4000UM

A.S.S.: Give me the money.

And that was it.  Bargaining in Mauritania, fantastic.  We got our clothes and blanket.  We hopped the train (after another raucous encounter with the street kids of Choum - another story involving thrown rocks, a song directed at us entitled "You'll never get married" [an insult I suppose], French/Hassaniya cursing, chasing/grabbing/shaking/spanking kids all in view of the Choum community that must have been more entertaining than anything on TV that night) and made our way home. 

Story's over?  No way.  Upon arriving home, with 5 guests, after an exhausting 15 hour ride (the train slowed to a crawl for the last 3 hours/50 kilometers) we discovered the power was out at our house and with it, the pump that gives us water.  No water to drink, no showers for the 7 iron ore covered travelers!!  Needless to say, I was not happy.  Especially since this was not the first time Somalec, the power company, had cut our power.  

I stormed the offices at 2:00 (they usually close at around 2:30).  I was wearing soot covered pants, shirt, cheap flip flops, I was sweaty, and my face was filthy.  I reached the counter and slammed my fist on it (resembling my pops in his hey-day of stickin it to the man).  I gave a less than friendly "Isalama aley-kum!" and proceeded to say, in French:  "Look at my face!  What do I need?  I need water.  You cut the electricity, and that cuts the #@!$%# WATER!"  I couldn't tell if the lady behind the counter was scared or entertained, probably both.  A young technician approached me and said how this was no problem and for a mere 3000UM he would turn it on again in a flash.  I was livid.  After some time and the arrival of my landlord we figured it all out and got the power turned back on...bribe-free.  Ugh.  Fin.  Mike à l'exterieur. 

Adrar Vacation...part one

Mauritanians take a spring break from school at the end of their second trimester. This year the break fell on the week of March 29th. Interestingly, many Mauritanians call this break "les vacances de Pâques," which means "Easter vacation." This is probably a remenant of French colonialism since Mauritanians more or less adopted the French school system. However, our Mauritanian friends didn't really seem to understand why we found this name odd in an overwhelmingly Muslim country, even after we explained that Easter falls on April 12th this year.

Since Mike and I have never been away from the Mauritanian coast, we decided it was about time we explored some of the inland terrain. We also wanted to visit our good friends living in Atar and Chinguetti. There are a couple ways one can travel from NDB to the Adrar region. We decided to take the more interesting and direct route by way of the train to Choum. 

The train is operated by the Mauritanian mining company, SNIM, that extracts iron ore from mines near a town called Zouarate in northeastern Mauritania. They transmit the iron ore via train to Nouadhibou, where it is loaded onto boats and exported to foreign buyers. It was once the longest train in the world. 

The train is also a common route of travel to the inner northern regions of Mauritania. There are a few options for those wanting to ride the train. You can pay to ride in the passenger cars or ride for free in the iron ore wagons. For the trip to Atar, we chose to ride in the passenger car as opposed to the empty iron ore wagons, because we planned to ride in the wagons with the iron ore on our way back home to NDB.

The trip by passenger car was less than desirable as it was very crowded and uncomfortable. However, after a long 12-hour journey we reached Choum and got off the train to find a truck that would take us the remaining three hours to Atar. We arrived safely in Atar and were glad to be welcomed into the beautiful home of our PCV friends, Sam and Kerri.

Mike wants to share in the story-telling for our vacation, so I will let him continue the story from there. If you're interested in seeing pictures and videos from our vacation, go to the Our Photos link in the right hand column. Hope everyone is doing well!  

Froc and roll

Taking advice from my sister, I'm introducing this PROM with a 'guess what it is' idea I'm sure she stole from World magazine.  As a child, she got that cool subscription while I was stuck with Highlights.  Yeah, thanks mom and dad.  I'm only 1 year behind Gina; not a perpetual 4 year old!  Those pictures where you had to find the missing objects, hmm...I'm pretty sure that guy's head is missing.  Anyway, I'm just venting.  Highlights, give me a break.  Here's the photo: 

 

Some of you may know straight away or have a pretty good idea, especially if you are another volunteer.  This is the embroidery on a traditional Pulaar outfit for males called a Froc.  PROM #6: My new Froc (material: 5,000 UM, tailoring: 3,000 UM)

Hopefully it is obvious, but I had our gifted tailor sew a guitar into the already cool design.  We met this tailor, Bala, through a mutual friend (Katie's counterpart, Mariam).  He did a great job and I'm looking forward to wearing it during the next fete.  I want to save this outfit for a special occasion, it's not for everyday "around the house" wear.   

Clothes are an important part of the Mauritanian culture in many ways.  There are different styles for different ethnic groups, people buy new clothes for special occasions, clothes are often used as status symbols (I've heard stories about people spending upwards of 50,000 UM or more on a tradtional Hassaniya Bou-bou [similar to a poncho]), and the making of these traditional clothes can be a beneficial source of income for your family.  For instance, El Hussein, my host-brother, is Bala's apprentice.  One day, he will become a tailor and this will provide a good source of income for his family.

That's about it for this one.  Pretty cut and dry.  No funny story about getting the material.  No embarrassing anecdote of me doing anything culturally inappropriate.  No froc-induced riots.  Sorry to let you down.  Next time, maybe I'll yell jibberish at Bala when he takes my inseam.  That would make for an interesting blog...

Mike (frocin') out.

So what's a sensibilisation anyway?

Sensibiliser in French means "to sensitize." Sensibilisation is therefore the word Peace Corps Mauritania uses to describe the frequent educational activities performed by many of its volunteers in the health sector.

So as many of you know (and tease me about endlessly), I like to research. I just get this weird urge to find out as much information as humanly possible when I'm first starting a project. So for the past six months I've been doing a lot of reading and researching about health education, health standards for developing nations, and how to go about evaluating needs and motivating action.

One would think that with a background in nursing I would know quite a bit about health education already...and I do. However, arriving in Africa, I felt completely out of my element. Medications are called by completely different names, health standards here are by no means the equivalent of JCAHO, the entire structure of the health system (who runs hospitals, how health professionals are educated, etc) is completely different, and we're dealing with a whole host of health problems that are rarely, if ever, seen in the United States health system (malaria, nutritional deficiencies, etc.).

Of course, Peace Corps Mauritania does its best to train health volunteers about all these issues during pre-service training, but the spectrum is so broad and our backgrounds so varied that it's very difficult to cover everything. Additionally, culture and language learning are a very high priority early on, and therefore have a tendency to take precedence over sector related training.

So now, after over nine months of living in Mauritania, I feel that I'm finally gaining an understanding of the broader picture, although I still have a LOT to learn. I am now able to give "sensibilisations" in French on a variety of health related topics. I understand the general strengths and weaknesses of the Nouadhibou health system. I also have tons of project possibilities floating around in my head. So hopefully, after all that research, I'll actually be able to turn some of those ideas into realities. Inshallah!

The English Club of Nouadhibou (E.C.NDB)

English Education volunteers in the RIM (and elsewhere, I'm sure) are expected to produce secondary projects in addition to their hours of teaching at a public school. One such activity that has been popular and successful in the past is an English Club. Basically, an English Club is an extra-curricular class for the more advanced/motivated students. So, after administering the first exam of the year (in December), I used top test grades, good attendance records and homework participation as prerequisites to be invited to said club.
Out of my 7 classes, I chose between 4-5 'advanced' students and 2-3 what I will call 'bubble' students (students who are motivated and work hard but may not know the difference between hot and cold or spell 'she' as 'che' ["oh so your subject is not a pronoun but a militant, Argentinian revolutionary, I see, yeah...Che DOES like tea."{this is just here because I wanted a parenthetical reference inside a parenthetical reference inside a parenthetical reference...what was I saying?}])
Before I go into the details of my club, I thought this an appropriate time to relate yet another story of my recent past in the Bou so you will have a better idea of just what after-school groups are like here.
Okay, first trimester, mid-Decemberish, still getting my feet wet to the routine and just massacring the local languages. After finishing classes one long 6-hour Monday, a student approaches me with a tiny slip of paper. On the slip of paper was nothing but typed Arabic save the handwritten Roman alphabet letters: "Maykee"...my name apparently. After a confusing conversation in which the non-English speaking student switched between Hassaniya, French and even Spanish, I discovered this was an invitation to an after school club. "Cool!" I thought, "People want to invite me places! I'm making connections at my school!"
On Saturday, the day of the monthly club meetings, I finish my classes and head to the meeting. Keep in mind, I have no idea what this club is for AND I've been working in this city for a whopping month. I arrive to the reserved classroom 10 minutes early for the noon meeting and sit near the back. After greeting many students and attempting, unsuccessfully, to discover the nature of this club the meeting begins at around 1:00 with the arrival of 2 other teachers. These teachers, along with me, are ushered to the FRONT of the class and are seated at a table FACING around 100 students. Okay, no big deal. Good seat for watching, right?
One student begins singing a "call to prayer" type chant through a PA system crafted by Thomas Edison and we're off. The first teacher stands to thunderous applause and proceeds to deliver a 20 minute prepared speech in Arabic. I'm sitting right next to the guy and can see his speech papers with the bullet points and everything. He's speaking at somewhere close to the speed of sound because I could swear I heard a sonic boom, no wait that was my heart beating. "Am I supposed to speak here?" I kept thinking. During this man's oral thesis (which receives more applause and laughing, with not at) the other teacher, a friendly, popular man named Mohamed Vall, quietly saunters over to me and whispers something in my ear. "Je ne parle pas Arabique!" I stammer. So he switches to French, and all I think I hear is "introduce yourself...speak...5 minutes...donkey...easy...sports...hassaniya." Without hesitation I just nod and await my impending doom.
Next, Mohamed Vall speaks with more gusto which generates even more applause. Their first meeting of the year is getting off to a raucous albeit flawless start. Two, what must have been, great speeches and now a visitor from America! Let's pass the mic to the white guy, you know, Maykee! I stand up, grab the mic and speak. The mic is dead, almost as if it knew I had no chance of saying anything meaningful. Off the hook? No, they set up another mic, one of those small mics that clip on to your shirt. I of course just hold it and proceed to say, in French, "I'm not sure what this club is, can someone tell me?"
Mohamed Vall pipes up, "I just told you Maykee!"
Then, a student stands up and says, "Just talk about culture and sports!"
"Of course! Why hadn't I thought of that?" I thought.
I said, "En francais?"
To which the student says, "Non, en anglais!" ("let me interject here briefly: Maykee is completely STUNNED that they want him to talk in English," says Maykee's foreign language area of his brain, now with hurt pride)
So I spend the next 5 minutes talking about culture and sports from America in English. Longest 5 minutes of my life. I start ranting about my high school knowledge bowl for god's sake! I don't know what the hell I was saying and I guarantee they sure as hell didn't. Impromptu speeches, awesome. And that was it. A club of 100 students that meet and just listen to speeches of teachers about culture and sports.
After this bizarre experience (and yes I have been invited back to this club, and yes I did go, and yes pretty much the same thing happened again) I started to debate whether an after school group was the greatest idea or not. After receiving some great advice from other volunteers from around the country, I proceeded and am so glad I did. The English Club is just a great way to interact with the better students on a higher academic level and teaching a language makes that level more personal as well, I think.
We've met 4 times. Here's a quick overview of what we did:
Meeting 1: Critical thinking riddles (i.e. Fati is taller than Selma but shorter than Khadija, Sofia is taller than Fati but shorter than Noura...), advanced vocabulary, and nominations of club officers and names for the club (which included ECNDB, the Perfect Class, and Club Obama)
Meeting 2: Election of club officers and name, Adverbs/Adjectives, "build an interesting sentence" exercise
Meeting 3: Syllables, suffixes, lists of rhyming words, how to write poetry: limericks and haikus (thanks Rob for the haiku suggestions, they worked so well!)
Meeting 4: Practice Bac #1 (this is just a practice exam resembling their end-of-year test that determines if they go on to university or not.)
The club has run smoothly so far. All but 4 students showed up the first time and it has slowly ebbed to around 15 or 20 which is expected of any organized activity here.
Another interesting side effect, other students, not many, are trying to improve their performance in regular class to get an invitation to the club. The day I passed out the invitations, you'd have thought I was giving out visas. These kids went ape. It was actually kind of awkward since I had to turn down so many students and so many wanted to come. And most just wanted the slip of paper and nothing more.

 I guess that's about it. This club is keeping my sanity together through the regular classes, we're almost at the end of the 2nd trimester, and I'm counting down the Mondays (I hate Mondays)
Maykee out.

Our family,

7 children, 2 parents

excellent people

-E.C.NDB                                

WAIST 2009

Mike and I spent the past week visiting Dakar, Senegal for the West African Invitational Softball Tournament (WAIST). Neither Mike or I actually played softball this year, but we had a great time cheering on our teams from Peace Corps Mauritania and relaxing in this beautiful city.

Peace Corps Mauritania took three teams to the tournament this year. There are apparently two divisions: competitive and social. All three of our teams were in the social division, meaning that teams must be co-ed (and have to follow some other rules too, but I'm not sure what they are).

Our A-team was very impressive, especially considering that there are very few opportunities for them to practice together as a team throughout the year. Peace Corps Mauritania has won the WAIST social division frequently over the past few years, but were beat in 2008 by a local team from Senegal. This year, we played the same team in the final game and WON! Yeah! It was very exciting!

For pictures of our team playing (and winning), check out our pictures on Picasa. For many Mauritanian PCVs, WAIST is a time for crazy haircuts and outfits...so don't be surprised by the silliness you're about to see.