The Adventures of Keb-i and Colleen

Wisps of hair snuck out from underneath my hastily arranged head scarf, and my 80s style t-shirt hung dangerously low over my shoulders. No doubt, I was probably flashing some mad ankle too. No matter. I was in a battle of wills with a formidable opponent, and the chaste and modest appearances demanded by Islam would have to be sacrificed if I was to win. And I would win.

The sky was a dusky orange as the sun began its ascent in the Mauritanian sky, and its rays cast me and my opponent in a theatrical light. The crumbling ruins which were to be the stage for this showdown suddenly took on the feel of an Old Western shoot out. We had the sand, the tumbleweeds, and even the nervous onlookers played by a Mauritanian mother and her child. All that was lacking were firearms and my opponent’s opposable thumbs.

Yes, it’s true, my adversary was none other than an adorable 6-month old puppy, aptly named Toubab or Tua for short. But beware her searching brown eyes and brindled coat of fur. She may be cute, but she knows how to run (especially away from you), as I well discovered that morning. It was 6:30am, and, already, I had spent half an hour desperately chasing this dog I was looking after for another PCV. Her sleek, greyhound-like body was always just a hair beyond my reach as she bounded around the convergent piles of trash and cut stone. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the key to my success. Gingerly picking up the hoof of a newly slain goat, I called out to Tua in my sweetest voice. Being an innocent and sweet puppy, she failed to realize the Trojan horse which my bait presented and immediately galloped over. As she sunk her teeth into the chop of goat, I grabbed her collar. Yes! Victory was mine! The Mauritanian mother and child breathed sighs of relief and smiled encouragement as I heaved Tua away in my vice grip. To my mind, I had won the battle, but I have a sneaking suspicion Tua had the same thought. After all, she looked nothing but happy as she drooled over her tasty conquest.

This anecdote is just one of many in a collection from my two-week long stint babysitting Tua. While out and about in town, every experience, however mundane, automatically became ridiculous because of Tua. This is due in large part to Mauritanians unfounded fear of all dogs. Walking by with Tua straining at the leash, child and adult alike would always shy away, taking slow steps backwards lest she suddenly attack. As a result, I think I have acquired an interesting reputation about town - one which combines fear, respect, and probably a hint of amusement. It also seems my personhood has become synonymous with that of Tua. Though I was heralded as Zeina ("the Beautiful") in Rosso, now I am greeted more often with cries of "Zeina Kelb!" which translates literally as Zeina the Dog. Believe me, the irony of this transition is not lost on me. Haha.

Regardless I remain nothing but grateful for my time with Tua. Though she has been the source of many an awkward and inconvenient moment, she has also been the impetus for many amusing conversations. For example, while walking Tua with Kat one morning, a Mauritanian gendarme (policeman) approached our awkward posse. He asked if this was my dog, and after confirming that it was, he began speaking rapidly in Hassiniya. At first, neither Kat nor I were able to discern what he was asking; however, once he began to mime eating, the puzzle pieces fell into place. "Are you going to eat that dog?" he asked. "Of course not!" I said, bemused by his question; "I’m taking care of her for a friend." Then, for lack of anything better to say, I asked if he ate dog routinely. He replied in the negative, leaving Kat and I perplexed as to why he would ask such a question and curious as to what other misconceptions Mauritanians might have about us Americans.

Another amusing experience occurred while running with Tua early one morning. Towards the tail end of my run, I encountered a middle-aged woman sorting rice and singing by the side of the road. As I approached, she hastily flagged me down and shouted out, "Is there anything wrong? Are you okay?" I assured her I was fine and was simply exercising (a concept which is typically quite foreign to Moor women if you’ll remember). She shook her head and said, "Yes, I understand that, but you’re being followed by a dog!" Her eyes widened, and she pointed a trembling hand at Tua to convey the gravity of the situation. At this point, I became quite confused. I looked at the leash in my hand which held Tua in check and then back at the woman. It was one of those moments when all I could think was, "Ummm, did I miss something here?" Upon recovering my senses, I explained that I was running with the dog, not away from her, and pointed to the leash to demonstrate that it was I who was in control. At this, she shook her head, called me "Mejnuune," (crazy) and went back to sorting rice. I wanted to shout, "Who’s calling who ‘Mejnuune!’lady," but refrained.

In addition to the conversational benefits of Tua’s presence, she also has the advantage of increasing my personal security. Anyone who has ever had a dog will understand the absolute devotion with which dogs protect you from harm. Living alone for the first time and in a foreign country, no less, did not inspire much confidence and comfort in me. As such, I was happy to welcome to Tua to my new digs, even when she woke me up at 5am to inform me that the cat had just jumped over the rock wall. Good job keeping watch, Seargent Tua. Very valuable information.

There was one moment when I was genuinely grateful for her presence though. It happened as we were walking through Kat’s neighborhood in the late afternoon. We had just rounded the corner when we came face to face with Them. It was like a meeting of the Jets and Sharks but without the jean jackets and crescendo of West Side Story music. As they stared us down with their beady eyes, we began to freak, questioning whether we should turn back and cede the turf to them. Before we could act, they pawed the ground and began to advance in unison, led by the meanest sheep I have ever seen. I have no idea what kind of havoc a pack of goats and sheep can wreck on two women and a dog (probably very little…if any), but our common sense failed us at that point. Kat and I cowered while Tua leaped to the rescue, barking at the ringleader and chasing them away. Suffice to say, we were both embarrassed and relieved. Feel free to make fun of me as soon as you stare down a stubborn sheep and its pack of cronies.

In any case, Tua’s owner will be returning from her trip to Mali the day after tomorrow, and so I will soon be waving goodbye to my furry friend. As remiss as I will surely be without her, I am looking forward to getting a full night of sleep and having little children approach me again. Plus I’m kind of tired of being a Dog.