Retrospect

I stood underneath the night sky speckled with stars. A bright almost full moon glowed above me, shaded by slowly moving clouds. And I laughed. Amanda and I had just returned from having dinner with a favorite Pulaar family and as we reached our parting path we laughed into the quiet night. We weren’t laughing at a joke, nor at each-other (which we so often do), but rather, at ourselves. On our walk home that particular night we discussed how much we’ve changed, and what has stayed the same – and in retrospect, how ridiculous we feel at times. That night we took a step out of our bodies and looked down. There we were. Standing in draping mulafes lightly flapping in the wind, our feet dirty from walking through the rocky, dusty streets and our tongues automatically clicking in agreement with truthful statements. Donkeys, goats and cows meandered past, a broken stone house crumbled to our right, and soft-spoken Hassaniya floated from dark houses. We couldn’t help but think about what kind of lives our friends and families were having right now; studying, writing papers, working, getting married, having babies, interviewing and auditioning. We imagined them going to coffee shops and movie theaters, bars and restaurants, supermarkets and bookstores. In Mauritania, we backed away from scary-looking cows, ate grilled meat in tents from carcasses splayed before us, and took pride in choosing what “sheet” (a mulafe is a glorified sheet) to wear that day.
We laughed at how at home we felt in this strange land. We laughed at how our days are spent and the mistakes we make. Our rules and precautions were through the looking glass, and our habits continue to become more and more outlandish. Our tastes (including a new obsession with liver) have changed and our minds have opened to this culture we walk in every day. There are moments, when watching a movie on a computer or checking the internet that one can forget about the world outside the cracked wooden door. When the credits begin to roll or you click the sign out button reality comes rushing back. There are people to visit, there is tea to drink, projects to complete and languages to study. Sometimes it hits you at odd moments - the silliness of it all is countered by absolute realness. That reflection erupts in bubbling laughter. Especially when you think about situations you get in that would never happen in the states.
The other night I walked into my room and was greeted by the leftover African heat trapped in my room like a stove. Hell naw, I said to myself. I could not sleep in that oven. I had to switch my sleeping plans or I would wake up in the middle of the night sweat soaked and cranky. I walked outside where Fatou, Dedehi and their kids were sitting on a mat.
“My room is too hot.” I told them, “I’m sleeping up there.”
Their gazes followed my finger and landed on the roof.
“You want to sleep on the roof!” Fatou said.
“Yes! My room is sooo hot!” I responded.
“She is right, it is very hot inside now. The roof is a good place to sleep.” Dedehi commented.
“Well, let’s go look.” Fatou suggested.
We all (even the kids) climbed the horribly built uneven stairs to the roof to find it littered with rusty old tools, bent nails and homeless keys. We cleared a spot and discussed my mosquito net.
“Well, she doesn’t need a mosquito net up here – there are no mosquitoes up high.” Dedehi said.
“No, no… That’s ridiculous. She needs a net – Go get your net.” Fatou said.
I went and got my net and we began to search for things to help us set it up. I told Muneia, one of the girls, to help me look for nails. We found two and I connected one side of my net to the small wall around the roof. We then stood and looked around, how would we get the other side to stand up? I found a stick and stuck it in a metal contraption and tied the other side of my net to that. Examining the work, which was now in a triangle shape, there were clicks of disapproval.
“Here, do this.” Dedehi said as she took another stick, feed it through the loops of the net and then tied the two sticks together. Genius. Though a little wobbly, it was a nice rectangular net. Now we all stood and looked at the odd set up put together with scraps. Meriem, about 5-years-old, began a little jumping clapping dance, excited about the prospect of me sleeping in the roof.
“You won’t be scared?” Dedehi asked.
“Yeah – It will be scary. I would sleep up here, but Amadou is congested, maybe in a month I’ll come up here with you.” Fatou said.
“Nope. I won’t be scared. It will be peaceful AND cool.” I said.
We all stood around a little while longer, proudly observing out work. I went to sleep that night feeling grateful for the family I was living with - how concerned they were about me, and how willing to help. The wind blew and rustled the net, threatening the “very sturdy” set up, but it never fell.
It is situations like these that make me laugh into the night like the one with Amanda. I’ll take my unique experiences here and hold on to them forever. Sleeping on the roof in a wobbly net, the clothes I wear, the things I eat, learning and being taught – these are things I know I’ll look back upon with a smile.