Mauritanian grandmother offers example of a well-lived life
Maite Uranga
Life in Africa
My relationship with my Mauritanian grandmother is interesting. My American life and her Mauritanian life have almost no similarities. She speaks no French or English and I am just now starting to speak Pulaar. Despite this, our relationship over the last six months has developed through non-verbal communication.
She loves banana and egg, and I can afford them. Often she becomes my bodyguard. Kids follow me home on a fairly regular basis, but once they enter a certain space she tells them to leave. She is my Pulaar teacher. I have taught her to play Frisbee, listen to a walkman, hold a pen for the first time and develop a taste for candy canes.
She is around 83-years-old but does not know exactly. Her face shows every line of 83 years as her eyes nearly disappear. She wears a headscarf, a long robe and a wrap skirt underneath. Some days all of these match and some days they do not. Her remaining teeth are brown and can fall out at any moment.
Life here involves sitting, eating and sleeping on the ground. Getting up from any of these positions always verges on disaster for her. Despite this she is always shuffling around somewhere within our compound getting the food ready, which is an all-day activity. Whoever walks by greets her so she is always talking, and if no one is walking by she talks to herself. Or possibly to me — I am not quite sure. Despite this we have an affection for each other.
Every day since I arrived in my village she scuffles off to her older sister's house for lunch and dinner. Each time she tells me where she is going. After about four months she began inviting me to go with her. A week ago the guilt built up and I told her I would go with her. Her wrinkles smiled and her eyes glowed. Anyone she saw for the next few hours was told that I was going to eat with her that night.
At 9 p.m. she yelled at me from across the compound to tell me it was time to go. The normally two-minute walk took about 25. The whole time my grandmother talked to people passing by or to me. When we reached a certain section she warned me about a major dip so I would not fall. We finally got there and her sister and three of her friends were all asleep on a bed (a raised wooden platform).
The house that they were all sleeping in front of is a mansion in Mauritanian terms and is a fairly large house in American terms. There are high ceilings, marble floors, a refrigerator and furniture. Her son built the house for her and also as a place to come back to on vacation. Despite the relative luxury inside, all of these women are more comfortable sleeping, eating and living outside. The irony of the situation hits me as I join them on their bed.
We talk about normal things: food, weather and family. Their 60-year-old friend brings the food awhile later. We all start arranging ourselves around the food bowl. My grandmother's sister yells at her to hurry up and my grandmother yells back, "Slowly, slowly ... I'm old." They both tell me how crazy and old the other one is and continue to bicker until we are all arranged and start eating.
Despite living here for nearly a year, on some days eating with my hands still presents a major challenge. These 80-plus year-old women were my peers as we all periodically dropped food all over ourselves. Although I think I was the only one with vision good enough to notice. We finished eating and one of their grandsons from the next house came over, cleared the plates away and started making tea for them.
Everyone lay down, drifted into sleep and had rambling conversations during their moments of wakefulness. Their grandson woke them up one by one when their tea was ready. After my grandmother drank her three rounds of tea we slowly walked home.
I realize this is what I want when I am her age. She has no 401K retirement plan, health insurance or life insurance. She was not thinking at 28 if her stock portfolio would allow her to retire at 60. Yet everyday she lives the life she wants. She gets to eat lunch and dinner with her friends that she has known all her life. She lives in her own house. If something were to happen her family would mobilize around her in support and money would be found for medical care. She is not a burden for her family and instead is looked up to with much respect. I hope I will have that.
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 Tuesday, March 26, 2002
