Garden brings a Mauritania frame of mind
Maite Uranga
Life in Africa
The cold season is here. Although this is all relative as the temperature reaches 95 degrees during the day. Nevertheless, now is also the planting season. In the United States I never liked gardening. It took so long to see any result and with my memory I would always forget to water the plants and seeds or even forget if I had actually planted anything. I preferred to lie by a pool or go on a summer road trip.
In Mauritania I avoided going to the village garden for these reasons. I saw the women and children walking out every morning for a week with their shovels, rakes and buckets. There are agro-forestry Peace Corps volunteers in this country who are supposed to do that type of work. I was supposed to help them with the business side. Eventually I forced myself to take the 20-minute walk to the garden. I told myself that I would make an appearance for about half an hour.
I trekked out there and was instantly energized. It was amazing. The garden is a little larger than an acre and about 40 women and children were clearing their plots of grass and bushes. There was an indescribable enthusiasm, as the women seemed to unite together behind a common goal. I walked through the gate and began talking to some of the women and children. Everyone wanted to show me her particular plot. They offered me a plot. I think I discovered the joy of gardening.
Now I go to the garden almost every morning and help the women. I get water for the older women. I learn the different ways to plant and take care of carrots, lettuce, tomatoes and some unknown African vegetables. They laugh at my ignorance but appreciate my effort. I have never held nuggets of gold in my hands, but when I held their carrot seeds in my hand and tried to delicately drop two in each hole I felt like I possessed the most valuable thing in the world. I felt like I held the livelihood of the village in my hands. When I finished this job I looked back on the plot and felt a sense of accomplishment.
After about two hours I need a rest each day. Some days I sit in the shade of a small building with the kids. The younger ones climb all over me and the older ones practice the only English they know, "Hello, How are you? Fine, thank you." Other days I sit under trees with various women and they eagerly try to marry me to their sons, nephews, friends or cousins. Some days exhaustion overcomes me and I sit by myself and stare off into the African horizons and slow down to think about what I am actually doing.
After working all morning everyone leaves the garden around noon because it is deathly hot and they want to sleep. So we pull the pump out of the well. They collect all their buckets and place them on their heads. One woman rigs up her donkey cart and they put some of the heavy things on it and some older people, tired children and, periodically, me. Other children who have been collecting wood for cooking while their mothers and grandmothers were in the garden join us, too, with big piles of wood on their heads. One day my 4-year-old neighbor was exhausted. He grabbed my hand and we started walking home. Some days the comedy of the scene hits me. Most days I am just as excited to get to water and a mat as anyone.
As I drift between sleep and consciousness in my afternoon nap I contemplate what I can do for the garden. They have big plans. I need to give them direction and access to resources. They need to teach me about gardening in Africa and more particularly the Sahara Desert. They currently have six acres, of which only one is under use. A dream is six acres of vegetable gardens, fruit trees and chicken farms enclosed by fencing with an easily accessible water source.
I have a little more than 18 months to study the feasibility of the project, teach the women how to save money for the garden, apply for a small loan or find some other source of funding, devise a plan to manage the garden and teach this plan to the women and ensure that everything is sustainable after I leave. Some days this overwhelms me when I operate in an American frame of mind. On these days I remind myself that here I must operate in a Mauritania frame of mind and I slow down and eagerly await the green shoots that will appear any day.
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, November 27, 2001
