Effects of war felt in an Islamic republic
Maite Uranga
Life in Africa
The last few days have been long. I am mentally exhausted. The United States and Britain started the war in Iraq. I have lived in a village in an Islamic Republic for 22 months. I finally felt comfortable, certain about my place and comfortable in the relationships that I established.
Work was easy. The volunteers in Mauritania prepared for this since early September. We all knew exactly what we were supposed to do and when. From what I see and hear, everything went exactly as planned. Really, in many ways it has so far been anti-climatic and I hope it continues to be.
Despite all this my ability to form complete thoughts is weak right now, let alone an 800-word column. I was also here through Sept. 11. I thought I knew how this time would go. But, this time feels different. The threat of violence or direct harassment against me is very, very unlikely. But, there was a coldness in the weeks leading up to war and especially the last two days. Or perhaps there is the lack of complete support (that most people did show after the Sept. 11 attacks) to offset the cold reactions.
Today is Friday and my region choose to stay close to home on the advice of our host families. This war is so real to me. They let all the schools out a week early for spring break to cut down on protests. The police made all the European and American expatriates check in at their local police station. The day before this all started we went to the police station and learned about safety and security. They gave us multiple cell phone numbers, including a direct line to the police chief and promise of police protection whenever and wherever we needed it. After that, we went to the mayor's office and then the prefect's office. Both were in meetings. When they saw four American kids walk in, they cleared out the room.
Suddenly many of the shop keepers who I saw nearly every day in the market make me nervous. Many have turbans and beards. Even after living here for two years, I realize how deeply rooted some of my biases are — perhaps largely as a result of the American media using turbans and beards as the stereotypical symbol of violence. I see pictures of American tanks rolling across the desert and it looks like it could all be about a half a mile from my house here.
I listen to the BBC on my radio. I heard about protests and riots in Islamic countries that started after the Friday prayer. At the same time, the Call to the Mosque went off in my village. About half an hour later I heard the sounds of a crowd. My heart dropped. I asked my Mom across the compound what it was and she said it was the soccer game. Every time my cell phone rings, I expect something to have happened on the other end. Usually they are as neurotic as I am as we play the waiting game.
Tonight I went to another family's house for dinner. Al-Jazeera, the CNN of the Arabic world, was on, and I saw pictures of downtown Baghdad under attack and the Arab version of events. Western media shows Iraqi soldiers with their hands in the air. Arabic television shows close-ups of the destruction in downtown Baghdad. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. It is a big roller-coaster ride with hundreds of unknowns and a very uncertain outcome. I have heard no predictions of time frame and every day seems so long.
Even today, when I stayed close to home people talked about it and asked me what I thought. The woman to whose house I go to fill up my water bucket seemed to think that I had an inside track and asked, "Did you get him yet?" It is unnerving to have to explain my beliefs and my country to people — especially to family and friends whom I thought I knew well a couple of days ago.
Again the question arises as to why I continue to be here. Nothing threatens me, but there is so much to be cautious about. I am supposed to call the police whenever I leave my house. I am in contact with the main office in Nouakchott twice a day and still worry what will be said each time. I wake up after nine hours of hours of sleep with my body still exhausted. This country is still recovering from the last Gulf War. I stay because if I leave I feel like that is a symptom of the country going backwards. I stay because this is now my home.
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.
All Viewpoint Stories for Monday, March 24, 2003
