When the stick-like model, Twiggy, became vogue in the Sixties, I assumed, stupidly perhaps, that the rest of the world followed suit. And, indeed, the vast majority of the developped world did conform to this new ideal. Britain, France, Italy, the US - paragons of the fashion industry - kowtowed to the revolution, promoting thiness instead of largess. The volumptuous hour glass figure typified by Marilyn Munroe fell from its status as the ideal body image and soon attracted other associations, some none too favorable. We were thus propelled towards our current situation in which 10 million women and girls suffer from Anorexia and/or Bullimia in the United States alone. Krispy Kreme donuts are not savored, but counted towards a weekly amount; exercise is a means to an end; and every mirror becomes some version of carnival funhouse.Given my opposition to such regulation and to the singularity of this beauty ideal, I thought I would rejoice in the alternative I found here in the RIM - a society which values largess. Alas it is with mixed emotions that I report that the situation is not as wonderful as one would believe and contains many of the same flaws as the West.
As I reported in an earlier entry, I will be living for the next two months with a Moor family of rare means; they can comfortably support my extended family of 8-12 people. Unlike those Christian Children's Fund commercials, there are no distended bellies or emaciated babies to be found in my house nor, honestly, in the community at large. Rather, one discovers the exact opposite, especially among the Moor women. The Moor culture - both black and white - values largess among its women. How this came to pass, I do not know. I can only speculate and say that it stems from the expectation that women bear as many children as possible, thus necessitating a greater girth to support the increased frequency of births. As in Ancient Rome, wealth is also manifest in womens weight; the wealthier you are, the more likely you are to sit around all day, popping grapes in your mouth and having servants fan you with palms. In present day Mauritania, the Roman slaves are replaced with the children of the family; the entertainment takes the form of Tunisian soap operas; and, instead of grapes and wine, you pop dates and drink a milk and sugar libation called Zreg .
In any case, it is this culture into which I stepped nearly three weeks ago and which I have since observed as an active participant. A few notes on Mauritanian eating customs before I continue:
- Men and women typically eat seperately though there are occasions when they will share from the same bowl (i.e. among family members, special occasions, visitors)
- Meals typically consist of (1) a carbohydrate base of rice, cous-cous, or macaroni (2) some type of meat whether it be camel, goat, sheep, or fish (3) and, if you're lucky, some generic vegetables like potatos, carrots, and cabbage
- The family hierarchy is readily apparent within the first few minutes of a meal. The eldest male or female is the first to dig in, distributing the choicest portions appropriately among the guests and other members of the household. In my case, this means that all the carrots and potatos are pushed in my direction. The children may have their own seperate dish or they may eat with the adults. In the latter case, the children nearly always receive slim-pickings.
This last observation presents a paradox of sorts, for as much as society values largess, the nourishments of children is of secondary importance. The dietary satisfaction of women of marrying age takes precedence above all others. There is no situation like the one in A Christmas Story where Ralphie's mom is unable to eat a hot meal because she is overly concerned with the eating habits of her children. Rather, you find the exact opposite - skinny children and stretch marked-women.
Of course, I have seen some malnourished children, but more often than not, the malnourishment from which children suffer is not due to a lack of food. Instead, they often suffer from an absence of the necessary nutrients and dietary diversity required by growing bodies. The technical name for this for this malady is Kwashiorkor, and symptoms typically include a swollen abdomen, dermatitis, and decreased pigmentation of the skin.
I alluded earlier to the fact that I was an active participant in the above observations and, indeed, my American background does not grant me immunity at mealtime. Each day, I am urged again and again to cross over to this new Mauritanian ideal of beauty. No more than 2 minutes after sitting down to a meal with my family, I am hounded by chants of "Occule! Occule! Occule hecta, Zeina!" In francais, this translates as "Mange! Mange!" This verbal bombardment last until I finally throw my hands up in sated submission, sputtering rice and shouting "Shabat! Shokran!" I've learned that reciting this phrase three times over seems to do the trick. I have progressed to a point where I am now more bemused than annoyed by their persistant urgings. It's difficult not to laugh when your sixty-year-old grandmother, blue eyes staring you down, grabs her belly and shakes it in your face to convey the need to gain weight. She will also physically reposition me so that I can more easily each the plate. Though such invasions of personal space are a bit disconcerting, I have learnt to take a deep breath and to put things in perspective. Afterall, they are only concerned for my welfare and, more importantly, my state as a skinny, single woman.
Imagine their disbelief and discontent when week after week I continue to drop pounds rather than add them. Oddly enough, I share their disbelief because, in my mind, I have adopted their diet and sedentary lifestyle and, therefore, should be adding weight. I eat several times a day, beginning at 7am and sometimes concluding as late as 11pm with dinner. During the day, I attend class a 1/2 mile away, but the remainder of the day-to-day routine is spent lying on my matela, reading, or writing. Some members of my family likewise lie around like a pack of seals, watching Tunisian or Brazilian soap operas each day. And on the weekends, they hardly stir at all! Granted, this is partially a result of the heat which is so intense during midday as to cause no one to want to move from one place. Everyone slips into a mild coma between the hours of 12-4, myself included.
Obviously, such a static lifestyle has definite consequences. Diabetes is rampant throughout the country and, while few statistics are available, the disease is clearly beginning to challenge the health care system here in much the same way that it has in the US. Unfortunately, the increasing availability of imported food and thus refined sugars in some areas of the country promises to exacerbate this already dire problem. Fortunately, there are steps we can take to reverse this trend. Obesity remains a sensitive topic to broach and a difficult lifestyle to change; however, I hope to work with both Mauritanian men and women to shift perceptions of beauty towards a more healthy ideal. Convincing men of this health necessity is key since they help to determine beauty standards and support largess at present.
Please consider this post to be my first report on body image in the RIM. Once I actually begin to work and interact with individuals on this issue, I will be able to expand on some of the simplifications included in this entry and share them with you.
Aside from body image issues, life here continues in much the same pattern though sprinkled with a few more random experiences. A week ago, I returned home to a surprise backyard party hosted by family and proceeded to dance the night away with a bunch of Mauritanian children. You haven't lived until you have boogied with a random Moor boy while listening to Akon, haha. More amusing than my party experience though was the scene I witnessed as two Moor boys duked it out over the right to dance with my fellow stagiere, Brandon. In a country with such rigid gender norms and mores, I was surprised to see such blatant male affection; however, I soon discovered that such displays are the norm and do not signal any homosexual tendencies. Men routinely hold hands here while strolling through the streets and market. Chalk up another point for surprise. Mauritanian culture always has me peering around the bend, trying to discern what will come around the corner. And yet I am perpetually caught off-guard by what I see.
On another unrelated note, I was also able to attend mass today for a second time at a quaint chapel tucked away amidst the garbage strewn streets. Though the mass was conducted solely in French, I was able to piece together portions of the readings and found comfort in the serene atmosphere, our voices spiraling up through the heat towards the stained glass windows.
One week from today, I will return after a week-long adventure to my permanent site and future home. Hopefully, I will be able to post another update at that point. Till then, wish me "Bonne Chance!"
