Life in the Peace War
It's hot.
I just need to get that out of the way, I decided to limit myself to two descriptions of the weather in this e-mail. Sometimes Nicole's mom, when she calls, asks if we know how hot it is right now. We don't. Deliberately. Someday, when I am back in the states wearing shorts and a tanktop and drinking a frozen strawberry limeade while simultaneously watching HBO and surfing the net on a high speed connection, I fully intend to look up the temperature data for what will by then have become a distant period of my life. But right now, ignorance is bliss.
Not much has changed in the litterbox that is my home in the past few weeks. We have been out visiting villages for the stove project this past week. It has its highs and lows. On good days they buy stoves and we dance all night. On good days we get there in time for a nap. On good days the village has water and bathrooms. On bad days they steal our fish and we end up cooking dinner for ourselves and the guys after a full days work. On one of the stoves we failed to sell. In the dark. With very dull knives. My little jar of liquid bandages has never come in so handy. Although, I still feel bad giving it to Mauritanians. Americans understand that the better the antiseptic is for you, the more painful it is to apply. The burning means it's working, no pain, no gain. This is not a concept Mauritanians understand. Our driver, Iba Low, scraped his foot while unloading a stove in Fass, Amy asked me for my liquid band aids. Iba has the sweetest nature of any Mauritanian man I have ever met, he takes care of us, he's like a dad. So I was really, really loathe to apply liquid fire to his foot. I tried to explain to him, "Haathe lahi yewga hatte" aka "This is really going to hurt." He smiled, "Manni khayiv" "I'm not scared." I think I protested and told him that, no, really, this was going to hurt a lot, hatte hatte. I was up to four "hatte's" befoer I finally caved in and painted the fingernail polish like substance on his scrape. Iba didn't flinch or make a face, but I was shaking and had to run off, after apologizing profusely.
Besides perfecting my Florence Nightingale impression, I developed other skills over the past four trips. I have always had the ability to fall asleep in strange places. I credit my theatre experience where I had long rehearsals and, never being the lead, lengthy pauses between when I was required to be on stage; pauses in which I could catch a quick nap in the fourth row or on a convenient piece of discarded scenery. In Mauritania, I have parlayed that ability into a knack for falling asleep on all kinds of transport, from Peace Corps cars to taxi brouse. My favorite place to ride, on top of the cab, however, was usually unavailable on stove trips. On our second trip, the ill fated drive to the ocean, Nicole, Crista and I were able to ride on top of the cab of the truck, only because we had to take two cars and the sound equipment, which has always traveled strapped to the top of the cab so as to ensure nothing is packed on top of it, was on the other truck. On all animations since, the top of the cab has been covered with the generator and sound boards. But, after its failure to work in Jigena resulted in Abdu having to rent a car and drive out after dark from Rosso to fix it, things have moved around a bit, and now those three mysterious black boxes with all the shiny silver plugs have been moved to the passenger seat, leaving my favorite spot open again. And I consider it a proud achievement that on Thursday morning, as we headed out to Gani, still drowsy from Wednesday night's Breun dance party that lasted till past one in the morning, I found myself once again napping- on top of the cab of a pick up, on hand on the bar,while bouncing over an unpaved road. I may consider a career on the rodeo circuit if that whole higher education thing doesn't pan out.
Other amusing moments include me trying to help cook dinner in Jigena. I had lost my beloved Pretzl headlamp in Atar, so when I needed light to see what I was cutting, I had to clamp my cell phone between my teeth and unzip the case enough for the little lightbulb on the end to be exposed. This could not go on for long because a) holding the cell phone in my teeth makes me drool, not a plus in food preparation, and b) I was helping Amy cut meat, and after a while I thought it would be better for my appetite NOT to see what I was going to be eating. Ignorance can really be bliss.
Highlight of the week, however, has to go to the package I recieved from Aunt Maggie. It seems that cousin Megan Wade's class had written letters to me. Imagine my surprise when I opened the first letter, which had an American flag drawn on the front, fifty stars clearly painstakingly drawn in, and the words "Thank you!" in purple marker. There was also a piece of the right side mising, which, when you opened the card, made a hole in the shape of a heart in the middle of the letter, which read: Dear soldier, thank you for keeping our country safe! From, Indian Grove School."
I then found the note from Aunt Maggie, explaining that the class had been writing cards for me and two other cousins in the armed forces, and the kids apparantly got confused. In the end I ended up with 5 letters addressed "Dear soldier" and SIX addressed "Dear Amy." So if you know any Marines that end up with cool construction paper cards from Mt. Prospect, IL, tell them bismillah for now but I want those back when they come home.
The children were very creative. Here are some selections from my favorites:
"Dear Amy, I am happy that you help farmers and make medicine I like what you do it is really helpful. From Amina"
"Thanks for helping evry one, keep it up. Your a good porson." From Jake Capute
But the Grand Prize goes to Jaclyn Stassen, who not only wrote the most, and wrote her letter to me, but who changed marker colors every single line. That's dedication.
"[Green]Dear Amy, I think you are very brave [Blue]! How are you in the Peace War [Red] You are doing somthing good, teaching and helping farmers in [Orange] Mauritania! Love, Jaclyn Stassen"
And of courseI loved the personal message from my cousin Megan, who misses me and wants me to come visit soon. Even though I think she was a baby the last time I saw her. What can I say, people get attached to me.
Anyway, clearly these children are discerning, insightful, and brilliant beyond brilliant. I think we can expect great things from the following: Megan Wade, Jaclyn Stassen, Elyse Baptiste, Jake Capute, Rapolas (don't know if that is a first or last name), Amina, Patryisa, Michaela (who kindly included a phonetical spelling of her name undeneath her signature so I would know how to say it after thanking me, the soldier, for "representing us in the war"), Maggie (who wishes a soldier somewhere Happy Holidays), and to Adam Hauser,who actually wanted to talk to our cousin Brian about what his job is and why he is learning Korean, he even included a return address. I may write to him anyway.
That was awesome Aunt Maggie, thank the whole darn school for me. The letters are going up on the wall in our office.
It's still hot.
love, your little soldier
amy
I just need to get that out of the way, I decided to limit myself to two descriptions of the weather in this e-mail. Sometimes Nicole's mom, when she calls, asks if we know how hot it is right now. We don't. Deliberately. Someday, when I am back in the states wearing shorts and a tanktop and drinking a frozen strawberry limeade while simultaneously watching HBO and surfing the net on a high speed connection, I fully intend to look up the temperature data for what will by then have become a distant period of my life. But right now, ignorance is bliss.
Not much has changed in the litterbox that is my home in the past few weeks. We have been out visiting villages for the stove project this past week. It has its highs and lows. On good days they buy stoves and we dance all night. On good days we get there in time for a nap. On good days the village has water and bathrooms. On bad days they steal our fish and we end up cooking dinner for ourselves and the guys after a full days work. On one of the stoves we failed to sell. In the dark. With very dull knives. My little jar of liquid bandages has never come in so handy. Although, I still feel bad giving it to Mauritanians. Americans understand that the better the antiseptic is for you, the more painful it is to apply. The burning means it's working, no pain, no gain. This is not a concept Mauritanians understand. Our driver, Iba Low, scraped his foot while unloading a stove in Fass, Amy asked me for my liquid band aids. Iba has the sweetest nature of any Mauritanian man I have ever met, he takes care of us, he's like a dad. So I was really, really loathe to apply liquid fire to his foot. I tried to explain to him, "Haathe lahi yewga hatte" aka "This is really going to hurt." He smiled, "Manni khayiv" "I'm not scared." I think I protested and told him that, no, really, this was going to hurt a lot, hatte hatte. I was up to four "hatte's" befoer I finally caved in and painted the fingernail polish like substance on his scrape. Iba didn't flinch or make a face, but I was shaking and had to run off, after apologizing profusely.
Besides perfecting my Florence Nightingale impression, I developed other skills over the past four trips. I have always had the ability to fall asleep in strange places. I credit my theatre experience where I had long rehearsals and, never being the lead, lengthy pauses between when I was required to be on stage; pauses in which I could catch a quick nap in the fourth row or on a convenient piece of discarded scenery. In Mauritania, I have parlayed that ability into a knack for falling asleep on all kinds of transport, from Peace Corps cars to taxi brouse. My favorite place to ride, on top of the cab, however, was usually unavailable on stove trips. On our second trip, the ill fated drive to the ocean, Nicole, Crista and I were able to ride on top of the cab of the truck, only because we had to take two cars and the sound equipment, which has always traveled strapped to the top of the cab so as to ensure nothing is packed on top of it, was on the other truck. On all animations since, the top of the cab has been covered with the generator and sound boards. But, after its failure to work in Jigena resulted in Abdu having to rent a car and drive out after dark from Rosso to fix it, things have moved around a bit, and now those three mysterious black boxes with all the shiny silver plugs have been moved to the passenger seat, leaving my favorite spot open again. And I consider it a proud achievement that on Thursday morning, as we headed out to Gani, still drowsy from Wednesday night's Breun dance party that lasted till past one in the morning, I found myself once again napping- on top of the cab of a pick up, on hand on the bar,while bouncing over an unpaved road. I may consider a career on the rodeo circuit if that whole higher education thing doesn't pan out.
Other amusing moments include me trying to help cook dinner in Jigena. I had lost my beloved Pretzl headlamp in Atar, so when I needed light to see what I was cutting, I had to clamp my cell phone between my teeth and unzip the case enough for the little lightbulb on the end to be exposed. This could not go on for long because a) holding the cell phone in my teeth makes me drool, not a plus in food preparation, and b) I was helping Amy cut meat, and after a while I thought it would be better for my appetite NOT to see what I was going to be eating. Ignorance can really be bliss.
Highlight of the week, however, has to go to the package I recieved from Aunt Maggie. It seems that cousin Megan Wade's class had written letters to me. Imagine my surprise when I opened the first letter, which had an American flag drawn on the front, fifty stars clearly painstakingly drawn in, and the words "Thank you!" in purple marker. There was also a piece of the right side mising, which, when you opened the card, made a hole in the shape of a heart in the middle of the letter, which read: Dear soldier, thank you for keeping our country safe! From, Indian Grove School."
I then found the note from Aunt Maggie, explaining that the class had been writing cards for me and two other cousins in the armed forces, and the kids apparantly got confused. In the end I ended up with 5 letters addressed "Dear soldier" and SIX addressed "Dear Amy." So if you know any Marines that end up with cool construction paper cards from Mt. Prospect, IL, tell them bismillah for now but I want those back when they come home.
The children were very creative. Here are some selections from my favorites:
"Dear Amy, I am happy that you help farmers and make medicine I like what you do it is really helpful. From Amina"
"Thanks for helping evry one, keep it up. Your a good porson." From Jake Capute
But the Grand Prize goes to Jaclyn Stassen, who not only wrote the most, and wrote her letter to me, but who changed marker colors every single line. That's dedication.
"[Green]Dear Amy, I think you are very brave [Blue]! How are you in the Peace War [Red] You are doing somthing good, teaching and helping farmers in [Orange] Mauritania! Love, Jaclyn Stassen"
And of courseI loved the personal message from my cousin Megan, who misses me and wants me to come visit soon. Even though I think she was a baby the last time I saw her. What can I say, people get attached to me.
Anyway, clearly these children are discerning, insightful, and brilliant beyond brilliant. I think we can expect great things from the following: Megan Wade, Jaclyn Stassen, Elyse Baptiste, Jake Capute, Rapolas (don't know if that is a first or last name), Amina, Patryisa, Michaela (who kindly included a phonetical spelling of her name undeneath her signature so I would know how to say it after thanking me, the soldier, for "representing us in the war"), Maggie (who wishes a soldier somewhere Happy Holidays), and to Adam Hauser,who actually wanted to talk to our cousin Brian about what his job is and why he is learning Korean, he even included a return address. I may write to him anyway.
That was awesome Aunt Maggie, thank the whole darn school for me. The letters are going up on the wall in our office.
It's still hot.
love, your little soldier
amy
posted by amy at 5:40 PM
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