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I remember in junior high being shocked when I learned that in the Middle Ages the average person didn't travel more than 12 miles away from their birth place. Ever. In their whole lives. And now I'm living in such a place.

This is our front yard.

Just to get here-- to Kaedi, internet, electricity, American cooking, and you-- I have to travel an arduous, tiring, haggard, and nearly impossible whopping 65 kilometers! Thats all of about 40 miles, less than the commute for most Californians on their way to work.

To begin with I'm really not bitter about any of this at all, it is part of "learning patience." That being said, whenever I feel the remarkable mother-child powers calling me to a beloved package that has arrived at the Post Office or sense your need to know more about life in Mauritania, I have to plan on spending the day in transit:

Usually around 6:00am I will get up so that I have enough time to pick up my bed, get dressed (no bathing since it's still dark and thus not safe to go bathe, or its too cold now), walk to the neighbor's house to buy fresh bread, walk back home, eat it, grab my bag (only one outfit needed for 3 days, everyone does this), and walk out to the "road." The "road" is about 5 minutes walking from our house and is actually tire tracks embedded in the sand that drivers don't actually need to find Kaedi. No pavement, no trail, and no guidelines whatsoever. (During the rainy season most of it is flooded, so to pave would be pointless for a quarter of the year).

You can see the camels "following" the "road" on an early morning walk.

Ok, so I'm chilling on the side of the road, maybe sitting on my bag, maybe alone, maybe with some other traveling Tokomadjians, and I'm waiting. From about 7:00am or so, just waiting for the next passing truck. Once I had to wait only 5 minutes, but another time I waited 2 hours. As soon as one comes down the "road" going in the right direction, they see me, I stick my hand out to show that I DO want to get on the truck, and the driver and I will negotiate a price for my passage. Even though we all know it's 1,000 UM (ouguiya, say it: uuuu-GEE-ya) (about $4.00 USD)to go from Tokomadji to Kaedi, we all know we have to barter. Drivers may say it's up to 5,000UM, but as long as I just insist that I'm going to pay ONLY 1,000UM then after about 2 minutes of repeating myself, they agree that yeah, it really is just 1,000UM. Done. Unless I have really big bags, then that's extra.

Of course the simple 3 seater Toyota with no cab or bed extensions is already full inside the cab, and all kinds of 50 Kilo sacks of rice, sugar, luggage, and people have filled the bed, but this is not meant to discourage travelers! I just hike up my wrap skirt (I'm sure to wear underwear on travel days!) so no one sees above my knees but I can still hike up the wheel of the truck and climb onto the bed of goods in the back, wedging myself between a stinky shepherd, a student, an imam, and a nursing mother. Quickly I try to twist my fingers around anything semi-stable while not invading anyone's privacy and keeping in mind my own safety, anchor my butt (the bulk of my weight, I mean, the center of my gravity), and wedge my feet under luggage or dangle them over the edge. Sometimes everything is covered with netting like fishing nets, so theres an automatic handle right where you're sitting!

You can see the nets by my feet! I was lucky in this photo, no one to squish against!

Ok, my fellow travelers: the shepherd spends most of his days alone with his camels, cows, goats or sheep in the countryside away from any sort of civilization. He likes to wear a ridiculously long (like 3 yards) scarf on his head and mouth to protect it from the sun and dust. He usually has some billowy pants that are a cross between gaucho pants and sweat pants (super light, big, airy, and tight on the cuffs), and a poncho-shirt that looks like Great-Aunt Mabel's old curtains (big, colorful flowers, etc). He's nice, sometimes talkative.

The Student is the embodiment of the West meets Africa or Africa abducts America: jeans (that say really funny things on the leg in English like "Use only non-chlorine bleach. Tumble dry low. Warm iron if needed"), sunglasses (cost about 300UM, or $2 USD), back pack (jansport knock off), and shirt that must pay tribute to Bob Marley, 2Pac, or any national soccer team (usually Brazil, go figure!). These are the boys that you can just see walking down a street in LA and totally blending in...sort of.

The Imam, or other professional religious person is almost always very interesting in what I believe, willing to share what Muslims believe, and usually very friendly. I like him!

This is what we see sometimes: a random canoe (the only river-traversing method).

The nursing mother always worries me. We're on this ridiculous, non-existent, ravine-ridden road, and she has this 8-month old balanced in her arms, suckling as she's trying to keep him from sloshing around too much as we bounce down the say. Somehow I am always next to her so I always try to let her lean against me since both of her arms are on her baby, not holding either of them to the car. She's usually pretty quiet as she tends to the nursing child while trying to semi-hide her exposed body part.

As we go along we pass several waiting people, sometimes stopping to pick them up, sometimes not even slowing down, and sometimes letting people off. This ALL could potentially happen in a village--like my case-- or in the middle of nowhere, which I'm still piecing together. There is of course a strategy to getting the best seat: the closer to the cab the less bumpy the ride; the more in the center you are the more you can lean on others knowing you're not going to fall out (but really its not cool to touch the others, so no leaning on them). If you're on the side you really have the potential to be jostled out of the truck! Oh, and we've squished about 20+ people in the back of the truck, on top of the goods.

This is exciting, right?! Good! This trip lasts about 2.5 hours on a good day. Yup, just to go about 40 miles. And its all worth it: about 11 or 12 noon we make it to Kaedi! We're all dropped off at the market, I go to the Post office, get that package that was calling me, and head off balancing my bag or box on my head for the 15-20 minute walk to our "Regional House" and little slice of America.

Our front yard as you walk in the door. Sam on the doorstep, Kelby the dog on the mat on the floor.