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Published: January 29th 2006
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main room
A picture of my main room, which I like to call the great room, from my kitchen Upon returning to my site in Atar after a 2 week stay in Nouakchott for Christmas and training, I was thrilled to get into my new house. I got a tour of the place, complete with its neat little rooms, real toilet and shower, and AC, and was told to wait for the patron to return before I could move in. Finally, after a week, she did. I took my good friend Mustapha with me to see the patron, in case she tried to pull any tricks and raise the price. Mustapha is a very helpful fellow, because he is a Mauritanian man who has married a fellow volunteer who is stationed in Atar. He serves as a liaison between us and the Mauritanians, being fluent in both cultures, and speaks French as well as hasania (the local dialect), along with a little English.
When we arrived at the house, we took off our sandals and removed our hats while entering the house, Mustapha began talking with her and immediately I could tell something was off. Mustapha did not have on his determined bargaining face, but instead a surprised and confused look on his face. He later explained
goat pen
A picture of my me in front of my goat pen, with my bedroom to the right to me that the patron had decided to change the way she was managing the apartment, and rent it furnished, by the week rather than by the month. Thus the price had soared out of my range, my plans of moving in were sunk, and I was back to searching for a new house.
After spending a day or two in a funk, I asked Mustapha for help one more time, and we hit the road looking for homes. In Atar in our economic bracket, there are no organized real estate firms, you just wander around town and ask people if there’s an open house nearby, so that’s what we did for 3 hours. It seemed that every house we looked at lead back to the same 4 families, who must have owned most of the houses in Atar. Finally, we walked into the house of one such family, who had painted their mansion-like house all green. We walked into the front yard, and took off our sandals and hats as we stepped into the tent of the lady of the house. She was a large woman, the only type fit for a wealthy Mauritanian man, sprawled in a Jaba-the-hutt fashion on a mattress in front of her satellite TV, with children around her making tea and doing homework. She had a button and a lightbulb next to her hand which was no doubt put there so that she could call for a servant without going to the trouble of sitting up. Mustapha asked if she had any houses, and she said she had one, and it was going for 20,000 u.m, which was way too much for me to afford. She asked how much I could afford, and I said around 14,000, which was true. She said 15,000, and I said I could look at it. Then Mustapha turned to me and said, in English, “Tyler, I would like if you please would not talk about, the price.” He used the same tone one uses when asking a small child to stop ringing his toy bell after the bell has already been ringing for a full 2 hours. I realized in that moment 20,000 not the actual price at all, but an opening offer, to which I was meant to offer half or less, and the negation would begin. But, because I opened my mouth, the deed had been done, and she knew I would go as high as 15,000.
When we saw the house and I must say I fell in love with it, The house had two large rooms, positioned across from each other in a large courtyard complete with a lovely little tree to provide shade in the hot seasons. In addition, the complex had a complete kitchen and shower room, and the two large rooms had working ceiling fans. Most importantly, the house was clean and well maintained, where all other houses we had seen had been overrun by goats for several years, this house was filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs. Even the rustic outhouse structure was sanitary. All in all I was sold. So, after thinking about it for a few days to be certain, I asked Mustapha to go back with me to accept the offer. We decided to write a contract which would lease the house to me until the June of 2007, we both signed it, and that was that. Now I have a more space than I know what to do with, and, lacking Air Conditioning, at least now I have a goat pen.
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Spud
non-member comment
Chevre, quelqu'un?
Your timing is impeccable. I had just started to wonder, last night, why I hadn't heard from you, and if you were alright. I see, now, that you are beginning to resemble a wealthy land owner! You make it sound wonderfully exotic, and joyful. Come to think of it, that is also how I would describe your expression in the photo. Glad to see you are well. I wonder what sort of news you get, of America? Here it is a bad dream of propaganda, lies, and corruption, while the current regime loots the treasury, sells off our public lands, drives us into economic depression and makes us the object of world hate, while making themselves and their cronies extremely wealthy. I am still shocked at how many people remain misled as to the origins of the war. I feel the populace is highly polarized, and words like "civil war" come to mind. Fundamentalism hangs like a weight on the world, and I fear the pendulum will not swing back toward 'global community' in my lifetime. That makes what you are doing, all the more important, and you have my deeepest respect. But other than that, we are fine.