10 July 2005 - 12:36
On Friday, I got a call from my friend Ahmed, the regional commander of the National Guard for the Tagant, who asked if I could come over for lunch on Saturday. Sure, no problem – he always has good food, he's a nice guy, and he has air conditioning and television. Plus, he is leaving for a class in San Antonio, Texas, at the end of the month, and he’s going to stay in America for six months, so I wanted to spend some time with him before he left.
He showed up with his truck at 10:30 on Saturday morning. “You are ready to go now?” So I got dressed and got in the truck. I thought it was a little odd that he was picking me up in his truck so early just to go across town, but I was still partially asleep, so I didn’t think much of it. Then we drove past his house. Getting supplies for lunch maybe?
On our way out of town, I finally asked where he was going, to which he replied that we were going to have lunch in the countryside (err…desert), about 20 km out from Tidjikja. Ahmed is King of the Understatement. “Lunch” turned into a full-day affair with him insisting that we camp out for the night and come back on Sunday. That’s where I drew the line, and we ended up getting back around 11:30 that night.
Like most Mauritanians, Ahmed also can’t estimate at all. So, as “20 km” turned into 40 km down the road, and then an additional 20 km off the road, rambling out across the open desert in a manner reminiscent of my polio vaccination adventures, I realized I should just give up and go with the flow. I didn’t have anything else important to do, and the pool could be filled tomorrow.
It turns out that Ahmed didn’t actually have a destination in mind – we just drove through the desert until we found some tents, where we stopped, stepped in (or under, actually), greeted everyone, and took our seats. I think I may have explained this “going en brusse” business before, but as a refresher…Mauritanians speak of “going en brusse” (basically camping out in the desert like nomads for months on end) like it’s better than anything on earth. I guess it’s like getting back to their roots for them, but I completely fail to see how living in the middle of the desert with no neighbors or fans for several months (or even several days) and subsisting on plain rice, couscous, goat meat, and goat and camel milk can be satisfying or relaxing. These people literally sit under their tents all day and do nothing but stare at each other, except for the mother, who cooks meals, and young sons, who bring the herds in at night. Well, to each his own.
So anyways, we showed up at this tent that belonged to people we didn’t know, but who were obliged by Mauritanian social customs to do their best to host us and make us comfortable. So, of course, the first order of business (embarked upon before we even had the engine of the car turned off) was to mix up some zrig – a mixture of goat milk, water, sugar, and sometimes some other stuff, usually with some dirt and goat hair floating around it. Every family makes it different, but brusse zrig is definitely tops in my expert opinion. So I was excited to see that this family’s zrig had a little different yellowish color – a new flavor! After I finished my slurps from the communal bowl, I passed it on and was offered a cup of water, which was quite literally the dirtiest water I have ever seen people drink, and the reason the zrig was yellow. Well, here’s to my next case of diarrhea…bottoms up!
We laid around for several hours, talking to the family and each other, waiting on lunch. It turns out that this family actually lives in Nouakchott, and is just out on “vacation” for a few months, which helped alleviate my guilt for dropping in and demanding food and drink from a family that I had assumed was rather poor. What possesses these people to give up a semi-comfortable life in a not-very-hectic city with good food, clean water, and showers to come live out in the desert in these conditions in the heat, I will probably never understand.
Killing time before lunch topics included:
- Joys of Living En Brusse (completely over my head)
- Complexities of the Mauritanian Tent (two poles in the middle, tied at four corners)
- How to Pick Up American Women
- Dance Club Etiquette
- Today’s Weather is Nice (Relatively Speaking)
- You Should Pour Your Water Through a Clean Cloth and Boil It Before You Put It In Your Water Jugs and Drink It
- Americans Have Silly Ideas
- Finding a Good Job in America Without a Work Visa
- How America is Different From Mauritania
- The White Guy Speaks Hassaniye Well!
- I’m Going to Sleep Now
Thankfully, we the normal Mauritanian discussions of “You Should Marry My Sister” and “Why Aren’t You a Muslim” were not brought up for the first time in all the times I’ve spent in extended conversations with Mauritanians. How refreshing!
Lunch was served around 4 in two courses: first, a tajiin of succulent boiled free-range sheep in brusse sauce with baguettes, followed by gourmet white rice with sheep giblets and homemade fermented butter.
After lunch, we napped, then decided to take the truck to get more water. First, we had to change the flat tire, in which situation I appointed myself Director of Operations (I thought EVERYONE knew that you have to loosen the lugnuts before you jack the car up). After we finished, the men in the family guided us out through the desert, where out of nowhere, there appeared a long man-made earthen dam and a cement water pump. Weird. On the other side of the dam was a small pond, where one of the men made several unsuccessful attempts at shooting birds. On the ride back to the tent, I spotted some game. “SHUUV! NARAB!!” I didn’t even remember that I knew the word for rabbit in Hassaniya, so I was surprised as anyone when it came out of my mouth. Five minutes later, we had fresh meat.
We got back to the tent just before a dust storm, followed by light rain, rolled in from the north, at which point I realized that, thinking I’d be gone for a few hours, I had left all the doors and windows open in the house. Ooops. Then we sat around and talked some more, including:
- Shooting Things
- American and Mauritanian Good Luck Charms (prompted by my request for the rabbit’s feet)
- The Weather is Nice Tonight (Relatively Speaking)
- That’s a Nice LED Light You’ve Got There
- Hassaniye is a Beautiful Language (and Easy to Learn!)
- Comparative Religion: Christianity and Islam (Why Islam is Better)
- Can We Go Home Yet? (No, We’re Waiting for Dinner)
- The Importance of English in Today’s World Economy
- Eating Meat: The Difference Between Goat, Camel, Sheep, and Beef
- Where Did That Cow Come From, and Why Is He Staring At Me Like That?
Dinner was finally served at 9, and consisted of homebaked brusse bread in goat gravy with a leg of lamb, followed by an after-dinner assortment of milks – cow, sheep, and camel. Mmmm.
We packed up to leave, and Ahmed decided that we needed to shoot more rabbits on the way home, so we took the family’s gun and one of their sons (to drop off at the next town so he could return the gun someday). Getting home took twice as long as it took getting out there because it involved driving around while chasing and shooting at rabbits from the truck in true redneck style and a course in “Matt’s Guide to Getting Home in the Dark When There is no Moon or Tracks to Help You Get Back to the Road” (apparently, stellar navigation isn’t taught in Mauritanian schools) after we drove around in circles for half an hour, following our own tracks.
Sure enough, when I finally got home, there was a fine layer of dust over everything in my room and things had been blown around our compound, but nothing was wet. All in all, I was pleasantly surprised about how genial and nice this random tent-dwelling family was, and how relaxing the day had been. Not exactly my idea of a great time, but it was nice, and I’d probably do it again. Preferably in a forest next time, or maybe an oasis at least.
