Wednesday, October 22, 2008

School days, school days...

...well, kind of. Yes, as some of you may have heard through the grapevine (aka my parents), I started school. This is kind of a long saga, so be prepared!

The word on the street was that school started October 12. I knew that school couldn't actually start then because no one had been there at all during the week leading up to it. Except for me. I poked my head in everyday and walked around the deserted grounds of the college/lycee (that's like middle school and high school, a total of 6 years which is changing to 7 soon). But just in case, on the 12th I got up early and took a shower ("shower" means bucket bath of course), put on my most professional looking Mauritanian clothes (which happen to be bright orange with a crazy pattern...I love this country) and headed off to school. Just like any new teacher in the US, I had to take off my shoes to walk through a few huge puddles on the way. I got there and, sure enough, the gate was open. I walked in, greeted a few people outside, and went to the director's office. He was sitting at his desk with 8 or 9 other men in the room, so I nervously peeked in and said good morning (the concept of "someone might be busy, I'll just wait" doesn't exist here). He looked up and stared blankly at me, so I introduced myself as the new PCV. He said, "you're Amanda's replacement?" and I said I was. He greeted me and offered me a chair, gave me the book to sign in (the teachers, administrators and students all come the same day, so there's a sign-in book to see which teachers actually came back this year), and after a few simple exchanges, ignored me.

So there I was, sitting awkwardly in the office, totally unsure of whether something was going on that day that I should be there for or not. I've never felt so obvious and yet so invisible before--obvious because I was the only woman and the only white person within...well, however many miles away Shelby was at the time, and invisible because in the nearly 2 hours I sat there, 5 or 6 people acknowledged me. Seriously. See, many people who hold administrative positions, as well as a number of teachers here in Selibaby, are Moors, and are therefor much less likely to greet women. It didn't surprise me that no one would shake my hand (3 or 4 did out of about 30 who passed through while I was there), but I wasn't prepared for being completely ignored. Many of them wouldn't even make eye contact, and the few that did looked away quickly. And these are my colleagues. I few times I wanted to shout, "I know you see me! My skin is practically GLOWING I'm so white! Hello!!!!" but I figured I should tone down the crazy on my first day. It's hard because on one hand, it's cultural and I'm in no position to judge. But on the other, people I work with and the parents of my future students won't acknowledge me. Deep breaths. I just have to get used to it because, as my sister put it when I asked if there were female teachers, "there's one and you make two."

OK, enough gender ranting for now. Really, the first day wasn't all bad. The director introduced me to a few people as their new co-worker, and finally one of the other English teachers sKane, my community counterpart's husband who is going to teach Shelby and me Pulaar. He shook my hand (sweet) and chatted for a while, then got up and said, "OK, I'm going downtown" and left. Until that point, I hadn't known which of the men coming and going were teachers, so I didn't know if I should stay. Shortly after, Sy Samba (who was a language teacher during stage and teaches English at the lycee as well) came in, said hi, stayed for about 45 seconds and left. By that point, I had been there for almost 2 hours, so I stood up. The director asked if I was leaving, and I said I guess so, and he said to come by every now and then, maybe in the next few days. So that was the first day of school.

You might be thinking, "alright, so that was almost 2 weeks ago, school must have started by now!" in which case you've clearly never been to Mauritania. I spent the first week going every morning, watching students register, sitting in the director's office for 1 minute-1 hour, and leaving. Occasionally when leaving I'd ask if classes were starting soon, and he would say "tomorrow, Inshallah." So by the end of the week, I figured I needed a little more information. I went on Thursday (weekends here are Friday and Saturday) determined to find out when school would maybe start and voice my preference for what classes I'd teach. The first day, the director mentioned putting me with the younger classes, which is what I wanted anyway. So after my usual sit and be ignored time, I got up to leave. He talked to me for a minute, but turned to someone else before I could ask him anything, so I stood there awkwardly waiting. Like I said, the "when can I jump in and interrupt without being rude" question is pretty open here, and I still haven't figured it out. So after about 5 minutes, he turned to me and said "yes Emily?" so I asked if classes were starting next week, and he said they'd finish the schedule over the weekend Inshallah. So I said, "if it's possible, I'd prefer to teach the younger classes," to which he responded, "that's what I already said." So I thanked him and ran away before my showing up everyday and asking questions could annoy him more.

So that was week one. This Sunday, I was a little more prepared. See, an important life lesson in Mauritania is don't worry about things you have no control over. It's important anywhere, but vital to your mental health here. I figured since not many teachers showed up on any given morning, I couldn't be the only one who didn't know what was going on. I also realized that the kids were still signing up, so until that was mostly finished it would be impossible to make a schedule (you kind of need to know how many students you have). So I got went to school every morning this week around 9 or 9:30, sat around in the director's office, talked to anyone who would look at me (maybe one or two people a day), and left after about 20 minutes. On Monday when I got up to leave, the director asked if I was going, and I said "I think so, unless there's anything I can do here." And he cracked up. He turned to Kane, who happened to be there for his occasional 1 minute visit, and said, "Emily just asked if there was something she could do here" and then they both laughed. He said no, there was nothing, so I said I'd be back the next day. Yesterday there were a lot less students registering, and the director said my schedule would be ready Wednesday Inshallah. Kane came by again, and when the director told him schedules weren't ready, he told me he was leaving. I said, "OK, see you later," and didn't get up to leave myself. He smiled at me and laughed, giving me a look that said "I can't believe you're actually spending time sitting here." Ce la vie.

When I got there today, I figured nothing would be ready. I found the director in a different office with the Director D'etudes (he does most of the organizational work), and believe it or not they gave me my schedule! I was shocked.

So for those of you with enough sense to skim through my babbling, here's the real news. I have a great schedule--I teach 4 classes of first year (that is, first year of middle school, when they start English) for a total of 8 hours, Tuesday and Thursday 8-12. That means from noon on Thursday to 8 on Tuesday I have nothing. It makes no sense to start classes tomorrow, so they're starting on Sunday. So maybe by the next time I post, I'll have actually started working. Maybe. Inshallah...

Thanks for all the comments, and I hope this post makes everyone feel like their place of employment is super organized!

Friday, October 10, 2008

Language

Anyone living in the US has heard the "well, they're in America now, why can't they just learn English?" argument made about immigrants. To anyone who's ever said that, thought it or even considered that it might have merit, I dare you to come to Mauritania. I double-dare you.

Don't get me wrong, I believe 100% that you should do everything you can to learn the language of whatever country you live in. The problem is, most Americans don't bother to learn other languages and have no idea how hard it is. Nor do they put themselves in situations which really make them feel foreign. This is why they should come to Mauritania. Most people here in Selibaby speak 3-5 languages. No joke. The kids in my family speak Pulaar, Soninke, French, some Hassaniya and some English they learn in school. The first question my brother asked me was, "so do you want to learn Pulaar and Soninke at the same time?" I stared at him blankly for a minute, then told him it would be best to just start with one. Now, I've only been in Selibaby for about a month and a half, and have had no official Pulaar lessons yet, but after studying with my brother I've picked up some basic words and greetings. This is a typical interaction on the street:

Emily: Umbalijamb (good morning)
Mauritanian: mumbles something in Pulaar
Emily: Noumbada? (how are you?)
Mauritanian: something else I don't understand
Emily: Mashallah (thanks to god)

I usually have no clue what just took place, but when I'm lucky, it works out. I just kind of insert what I know and hope for the best. Problem is, sometimes, people are just too darn friendly and actually want to talk to me. Bummer. They try to speak to me in Pulaar, and after I rattle of my few expressions and greetings, I bust out the blank, deer-in-headlights stare, followed by a meek apology for not being able to communicate. They usually laugh and slap my hand, thinking "oh silly toubab, you're not very bright." At least twice a week, someone launches into a speech about how important it is to learn the language, how I can't just speak French, how (insert local language of choice) is so easy. And all I can do is nod and sneak away. I tried telling them that I've only been here for a month, I really want to learn and I'm starting Pulaar lessons as soon as school gets going (Inshallah!), but that doesn't matter. The first few times this happened, I was frustrated. I would walk home thinking, "oh come on, give me a break, I speak more languages than the average American and I just learned French!" But then I realized two things 1) It doesn't matter to them because, no matter how valid my excuses are, I really don't speak a local language yet, and 2) no one in the US would listen to the excuses of a foreigner either. As obvious as this seems, it's one thing to know this and one thing to feel it. I want so badly to communicate with people in their language, and the insinuation that I'm just not trying is maddening. Life in a foreign country is overwhelming--wonderfully, excitingly overwhelming--and things like picking up a language are 27 times harder than they would be otherwise because your brain is on overload with new information and situations.

So next time you hear someone talk about those darn foreigners who make us put signs up in Spanish and never try to learn English, send them my way. I've got extra matelas waiting!

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Inshallah

Hi all (or my parents, who might be the only ones reading this!)

It’s been a little while since I’ve written because we’ve had major computer problems. We had to move our office here in Selibaby because of Peace Corps budget issues, and we’ve had trouble with the electricity at the new place. It might be figured out finally (Inshallah) but we’ll just have to wait and see!

Not too much has been going on here. I still haven’t started work. School is set to start on the 12th, which may or may not happen. When we heard the date, my sister said “well then it won’t really start until November! No one will go yet.” Most people don’t know when school starts, so students kind of trickle in and word spreads that classes have started. Sometime this week I’m going to go meet the director (if he’s there, Inshallah) and find out what I’ll be teaching (again, Inshallah)

So what do I do with my time? I sit. A lot. Mauritanians have an amazing talent for sitting around doing nothing, and I don’t mean the American sense of doing nothing by watching TV or reading or chatting. I really mean nothing. Sometimes they talk a little or put music on, but often they lounge around and drift in and out of sleep. I’m not being sarcastic when I call it a talent—try sitting doing nothing and see how long you last! I still get bored sometimes and I read a lot, but I’m getting better at the art of being a blob. I’ll be a little busier once school starts, Inshallah.

The only real news has been the fete. Ramadan ended this week, followed by three days of holiday/party/eating, emphasis on the eating. When I originally asked my host brother what we do for the fete, he looked at me like I was an idiot and said “we kill a sheep.” Duh, of course, what else would we do? Then I asked my father. He leaned forward and said very officially, “well, first we kill a sheep.” He then described other things we’d eat, and added that there would be music. When I asked my sister, she told me “we kill a sheep. Then we visit people. You need new clothes.” So I wasn’t terribly surprised when right after we finished our bread and coffee, my father and brother slaughtered one of our three sheep. After they finished dragging him out of the pen, I swear all the goats stood at the fence watching and the other sheep hid in the back. I found myself wondering, how do they know?? But then I remembered that they’re goats. Although they have figured out how to break through the wall of my hangar and escape their pen…I’ll have to keep my eye on them. Anyway, I left the deviously plotting goats and watched the men strip the sheep down, layer by layer. I figured we’d have some of it for lunch, so when my mother and sisters started cooking, I thought they were getting a head start. Not so. We ate our first plate of meat and potatoes around 9:30 AM. Now, as most people know, I’ve been a life-long vegetarian. I ate meat for the first time here in RIM, and I’ve been slowly trying to make myself eat more of it so I actually get some protein. During the first day of the fete, I probably quadrupled the amount of mean I’ve eaten, ever. After our first plate of meat and potatoes, we had another when my father got back home about an hour later, then had binaf (meat, potatoes and onion) for lunch and again for dinner. Whenever I tried to say I was full, my family would say “Hawa, this is the fete where we eat.” And that was that. Three days of being fed intense amounts of food everywhere I went.

OK, that’s all for now. More news on work soon Inshallah!