Before I arrived in Africa I carried with me moral beliefs that were rock solid — one that being slavery is wrong regardless of the context. I would guess there are few Americans that would argue against this. A counter argument would go against the ingrained American assumption that all people are created equal.

It is from this assumption that our system of justice, government and culture are based on in their present forms. Every day in kindergarten we would all stand up with our hands over our hearts and say the Pledge of Allegiance to a flag and a country. And for those who have forgotten, this pledge ends with, "justice for all." Our Civil War history created heroes such as Harriet Tubman pitted against the unnamed evil slave owners.

After I found out about my Peace Corps assignment, there were very few things I could find about the Islamic Republic of Mauritania. One of the Web sites that I kept finding in my searches was for a non-government organization that's entire purpose was to free the slaves in Mauritania. Alarms and bells went off in my moral consciousness. I could not believe that such behavior still existed in 2001.

During training we had one session about slavery. The speakers talked about how it was not the way American slavery had been and that it did exist, but not like we thought. The Peace Corps trainees with all of our American ideals disqualified everything the speakers said as unenlightened.

With this arrogance I moved to my village. People were poor — some more than others — but all were generally happy people. Their laughter infected me. I started to eat at different families' houses. I saw everyone in the village get together for weddings and baptisms and eat piles of food. Slavery was something that I did not think about. I assumed after my first four months in my village that it probably happened in the other ethnic groups within Mauritania but not with my people.

This crashed down within two days. I was in my friend's village, and there was a problem with the taxi driver. He wanted to leave, but we had not eaten yet. He started to make a scene in some language I did not understand. Everything was solved after we gave him a little more money. As we walked back to my friend's house, her host mom said, "Don't worry about it. He used to be our slave. He shouldn't have acted like that."

Although again the denial set in as I told myself that even though both of our villages were the same ethnic group, mine was much more socially advanced. The next day this assumption also crashed. I sat with my sister as we talked about nothing in particular. I asked about the family that lived across the compound from us. They were one of the poorest families in my village. They lived in a stereotypical African mud house with a stick roof. My sister was a little more diplomatic than the woman the previous day as she said, "They used to work for us, but now they only cook at our weddings and baptisms."

Despite the subtlety, I understood the true meaning. I lived across the compound from former, or depending on definitions, current slaves. I belonged to a family that had slaves. I never talked about it with anyone. I did not know what to say. I did not know how to feel.

It is now a year later and I just read two documents about slavery in Mauritania. One was in a popular American magazine and the second was a 50-page report from an international human rights group. They outlined a culture embedded with slavery. They had lists of human rights violations within the society, government and legal system. One wrote about the daily life of three different "slaves."

A year ago, this would have been an easy moral case for me. Simply, slavery is wrong in any form, but now there are a lot of statements to qualify this. Many of the hardships both of these texts outlined are not only hardships for "slaves" but for everyone who lives in Mauritania. One talked about a "slave" living in one room with a small light. That is how I live here. I consider it luxury in the context of Africa that I have electricity and do not live in a tent like many of the nomads. Another "slave" had to cook at their family's weddings and baptisms like the family across the compound from me; that is all they do. They may even call it a social obligation.

In my moral bedrock slavery is still wrong. But different definitions and cultural situations create many cracks and fissures.

Maite Uranga graduated from Notre Dame in 2000 as an anthropology and government major. She is currently a Peace Corps volunteer in the Islamic Republic of Mauritania.

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

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