The Tidjikja Bismillah File

Greetings from my new home in Tidjikja! I write this entry while perched in my "bay window," looking out on my lakeside domain at the slick bodies of Mauritanian children escaping the heat in the nearby reservoir. At the risk of sounding like Michael Jackson, I really wish I could join them. The heat is punishing even today, on my birthday, and the prospect of jumping in those muddy brown waters (likely infested with fresh water parasites) is tempting nonetheless. Of course, such actions are wildly inappropriate for women in this culture and so, in order to evade retribution by stoning, I resign myself to reign in my impulses, cover my head, and peer at the world from behind my rock wall.

What I see from my encampment is a study in juxtaposition. Beyond the verdant growth crowding around the banks of the reservoir is the exact opposite – namely, vast expanses of sand interrupted here and there with the occasional palm tree and brush. A smattering of patron (expensive) houses and government buildings make up the rest of city before it cascades into yellow dunes and chocolate mountains in the far distance. As different as this landscape is from the coastal environment in which I was raised in Virginia Beach, I can’t help but find a stark beauty in the austere meeting of sky and terra cotta as far as the eye can see. It calls forth both a sense of isolation and a sense of adventure.

Perhaps I’m a little biased, but I also believe Tidjikja, the capital of the Tagant region and my home for the next two years, to be one of the more charming cities in the country. Though the city contains crumbling ruins and ancient palmeries, it is comparatively pretty young, established in the late Nineteenth century by a group of nomads. The nomads were led by a wizened, blind old man with a gift for discerning water sources. Upon reaching this area, he tapped his stick on the ground and proclaimed this land to be a prime place for development. He went on to do the same for four other cities, installing one of his sons as chief in each locality before leaving. Pretty convenient means of establishing a nepotistic dynasty, eh? Inshallah, I’ll be able to add more information on the history of the city and region over the course of the next two years; however, this must suffice for now.

More generally, the city is located smack dab in the middle of Mauritania, an 8-10 hour taxi brousse ride east from Nouakchott. Divided up into three quadrants by a series of batas (river beds which are, more often than not, sand beds), Tidjikja, like every other city in Mauritanian, eschews any real sense of urban planning save for the concentration of government buildings and the hospital on the central "island." Instead, it features a few paved streets and a mass of alleys through head-high rock walls and past half-constructed compounds. Despite its drawbacks, there is an innate charm in this crumbling urban atmosphere, and it certainly qualifies as one of the cleaner cities in the whole of the country. Moreover, though it is the capital of the region and thus has many of the advantages of "urban" life, the city has retained a small town feel both in its layout and in the mentality of its inhabitants. This isn’t entirely surprising given that only 8000-10,000 people live within its bounds, depending on the season. The population grows substantially during the Summer months when scores of families trade the noise of Nouakcott, Rosso, and other cities for the tranquility and blistering heat of Tidjikja. The region is also heralded for its abundant palmeries which produce dates during the late Spring and Summer months. We, myself and the other newly-initiated volunteers, arrived at the start of September, just as many families were leaving for the permanent residences, so it’ll be interesting to observe the transition next year.

Speaking of which, I am happy to report that I am now an official volunteer with the United States Peace Corps. Seventy-five of my fellow compadres and I were sworn-in on Thursday, August 28 in a short, but powerful ceremony attended by our invaluable facilitators, the RIM Peace Corps staff, and the US ambassador and his wife. Decked out in our most mushasha (bling bling) outfits –gauzy mulafas, starched boubous, bright wax print complis – we sat sweating bullets, a result of the indefatigable heat and our excitement. At last…after what seemed like an interminable two months at times, we would be able to begin the work, the experience of a lifetime for which we had all waited for so long. We were at the end and at the beginning – at the end of one phase of learning and cultural integration and on the brink of yet another. Perhaps it was a cathartic release of all the stress from the past two months or maybe it was the solemn oaths we swore to uphold and protect the values represented in the Constitution. Regardless, I found myself wiping tears away with my left hand as I raised my right, moved by the chords of patriotism and charity touched upon in the Oath. It was an unusually refreshing moment when all the cynicism which one might feel towards the American people, its political policies, and its controversial figureheads simply melted away and exposed the best elements of our country’s heritage and its future. Inshallah, I will leave this country in two years time imbued with the same hope of that moment as well as a good dose of realism.

Following the Swear-In Ceremony was an event which had teased us all with its prospect for the past two months…our party. After all, what initiation would be complete without a raucous hotel party in an Islamic country? Without going into too much detail, let me simply recount what I can remember from the night: chasing shots with Orange Fanta, racing around the entirety of the party with my running buddies (twice), dancing/bouncing, falling down (a lot), and lying down in an ant hill while waiting for the shuttle to the Peace Corps compound. Lessons learned among others are that Senegalese gin is simultaneously heavenly for its availability and evil for its toxicity and that ant bites take longer to heal than any other wound I’ve ever had. All said and done though, it was a wonderful last hurrah followed by a much-needed day of recuperation before our massive parting of ways. Fortunately, I was able to recover in time to visit my family in Rosso one last time before leaving, and, while there was sadness on both sides, I know and they know that this is not the end of our relationship. The colorful cast of characters which gradually morphed into my family over the past two months, who gave me so much without reservation, will always retain a special place in my thoughts and prayers. I can’t wait to visit them in a year’s time when I return to welcome the next class of volunteers. But first things first…let’s get through the first year…

Though many of you expected me to jump right into the thick of things, to begin work on day one, I must admit that I have yet to start nearly a week and a half after arriving. Our first few days in town were commandeered by our coordinator who guided us to government office after government office to do protocol (greasing the wheels of government figures). Alas even after this phase concluded, we had to commence our respective hunts for housing - an oddly challenging task given the recent exodus of Summer vacationers. I was fortunate enough to claim a room in a compound which is rented out by a Moor family next door. I am alone in the compound at the moment save for the dog I am currently babysitting for another PCV; however, three other women will join me in a months time when they are affectated (assigned) to the area to teach French.

I attribute my late start to a number of factors, chief among them the limitations resulting from the rigors of Ramadan, our inability to effectively communicate in Hassiniya, and, quite honestly, our own lassitude. As many of you already know, Ramadan falls during the ninth month of the Muslim year and commemorates the revelation of the Koran to Mohamad in 700 A.D. During the 29-30 days which compose this religious observance, men and woman fast from sunrise to sunset abstaining from food, water, and worldly pleasures. This practice is intended to encourage self-discipline and to recall the hunger of the poor. It is also believed that sins committed during the year are forgiven if one keeps fast during this holy month. As one can well imagine, fasting in the harsh heat of Mauritania is debilitating and, as such, little substantial work is accomplished throughout the month. As such, I have low and, therefore, realistic expectations for my first month at site. My primary objectives will be to work on my language skills and to establish a rudimentary work schedule at the PMI (maternity health center), CREN (nutrition center), and hospital. I’ll keep you posted on how I fair on both accounts.

Till next time…maa selaam.