83 Proposals: Marriage in the RIM

“So have you met that chief who you're going to have your 20 kids with?”

This question was sent to me by one of my best friends not too long ago. Indeed, it is one I have received many times over from friends and family members over the past few months. Obviously, this question and its cousins are flip in nature and are posed in jest. But inquiring minds want to know, and I am not one to withhold information from my adoring fan base. So, to all those desirous to know about my new hubby and how many babies I’ve popped out since my arrival, I am happy to report that I am still batting zero on the marriage and baby front. [Cue Mom/Dad: sigh of relief]. However, that is not to say I haven’t had the opportunity to change that reality. In fact, I have had at least 83 chances, approximately, to jump on the nuptial bandwagon (4 proposals/wk x 20.5 wks). Eat your heart out Jane Austen.

“Why,” you might ask, “have I received so many offers?” This is an excellent question which I ask myself every time I am faced with a fresh proposal. Of course, it has a very simple answer that is neither my Helen of Troy beauty nor my baffling intelligence and wit; p Quite simply, I’m an American; I have fair skin; I’m the walking, talking, breathing image of Beverly Hills compared to most Mauritanians; and, at 23 years of age, I am past due for marriage by most Mauritanian standards. Indeed, many women shake their heads in disbelief and pity upon discovering that I am still single at 23. “What? You’re 23, and you have no husband or children? Here, take my son.” I kindly deflect these offers and typically conjure up an imaginary financé working in the States. Usually, this satisfies the female interrogators though some will persist and urge me to take a Mauritanian husband in addition to my American beau. The men, however, are a bit more persistent. They adjust their starchy boubous, strike enigmatic poses, and try to woo me with proposals like the following:

“Fair Colleen, I beg your hand in marriage so that I can spirit you away to my wonderful desert palace. There, you will feel no want for anything that is in my
power to give you and we can raise our family and grow old together in peace.”

[Reality: Toubab, I want you marry me. I have big house with parents. You live us there. Boutique close to house. There you buy everything. I also want many children for to build first Mauritanian national soccer team. You like this, yes?]

Take note all you single men out there: this is no way to woo a lady.

Fortunately, it is more than acceptable to reject these “grandiose” offers with a simple, “No, you’re ugly” or “Psh, you’re way too old for me!” Though seemingly blunt and harsh to us, they seem to do the trick every time, humorously turning down the offer while producing a few chuckles among the surrounding Mauritanians. In any case, as an ambitious woman with only 23 years of age to her credit, I am not seeking marriage at this point in my life and have grown a bit tired of the constant inquiries and proposals. That said, it has been very interesting to learn about the Mauritanian rituals of courtship firsthand, turning down offers and attending the weddings of friends. From these experiences, I have been able to piece together a rough understanding of the marital norms and practices in this country. This is where the Women’s Studies major in me comes to the forefront.

It goes without saying that marriage occupies a predominant position in Mauritanian society. Basically, the family supersedes the atom as the basic building block of life here. As such, the connections formed to create a family assume the utmost importance. Depending on ethnic background and location, the practices and standards which surround marriage vary. For example, some ethnic groups practice polygamy; others do not. Some localities are more accepting of romantic notions of love; others resist its impending tide. In general though, marriage is not about love or romance, but about practicality and function. For this reason, some marriages are still arranged, matching extended family members and/or first or second cousins together. Though marriage between family members is universally disagreeable to us, Mauritanians reason that marriage between cousins ensures the background and moral character of the parties while keeping wealth within the family and continuing family lines.

As you can well imagine, there are times when such antiquated practices conflict with modern mentalities and the appeal of romantic love. One of my roommates, Aisha Ba, is a victim of this clash, having recently married one of her cousins. According to her family, it was a good match, but, to her mind, it was a decision which forced her to abandon the man she truly loves, Oumar. Oumar lives and works in Tidjikja, and he and Aisha Ba had been together for roughly four years before her marriage. She is the only individual I know of who has had such an experience. No doubt, there are others who share her fate, but I take heart in that, with the urbanization of society and greater exposure to media, a growing number of Mauritanians are making their own choices with regard to marriage partners. Ali, my facilitator during training, ended up marrying his wife after a bitter struggle with her family because they objected to his ethnicity. He is a black moor, and she is a white moor. They disregarded the family’s protestations, married, and, though they fell out of grace with her family for some time, they have now reunited and rekindled the relationship. Happy endings are possible, but, as with everything here, you have to fight for them.

I also see hope in the rising age of marriage for women. Previously, it would not be uncommon for a young Mauritanian girl to marry by the age of 15 or 16. Now, there is a greater variance in the age of marriage for young women. Indeed, I have some friends who are 25 or 26 and are content to still be single. “Raajel ijiib mushkila,” [men bring problems] they tell me as they crook their heads and give me knowing nods. “Haani schwey,” [wait a little] they advise me. I tell them they don’t have to worry about me; I’m not jumping off that cliff anytime soon. But they just pat my leg and repeat their advice. I guess it’s worth noting that most of these women work, many as teachers, and have thus benefited from more education than others. Though they are presently unmarried and happy to be so, I have faith that they will all eventually marry. It’s a stepping-stone of life here, whether you like it or not.

Unfortunately, there are some girls who discover this reality far too early. Unlike my Mauritanian spinster friends, young girls en brousse are not exposed to as much alternative culture and education as women in urban centers and still marry as young as 13 or 14. The mantle of wife and mother is foisted upon these young girls as soon as they are of child-bearing age, and their health definitely suffers as a result. For example, I have met several girls at Tidjikja’s maternal health center who came from the brousse for treatment. They looked like they were in their mid-30’s when, in actuality, they were only 17, 19, 22. They had already bore several children, many before their bodies were developed enough for that experience. They came from areas which would really benefit from outside influence; however, those areas are so geographically isolated that I wonder if, when, and how this will ever come to pass. I have hope, but I am also realistic. Ethnicity, location, economic status, and education will continue to function as critical factors in determining marital norms, and, for the time being, young girls en brousse will suffer as a result.