03.12.05 - 14:55

My friend Maimouna lived just diagonally from me in Kankossa until last April, when she moved to Nouakchott. She had large brood of mischievous children, who eagerly befriended me and often took hold of my hands to drag me to their house and drink some tea. Maimouna was one of those women who are large in personality as well as body. (A more sappy Molly would also say she was large in heart.) She spoke good French and was always there to help me with language, culture, or loneliness.

Maimouna was hit by a car while I was still vacationing in the States. She died in the hospital two weeks later. I only found out a few days ago. Like so many people, I felt really busy in Nouakchott, so I kept postponing the time when I would call her up and visit for lunch. So now I'll never have that chance, and I'll never get to say goodbye. I know it's a common feeling to have when someone dies, but that knowledge never really ameliorates the pain and guilt, does it?

Anyway, I'd like to indulge myself by writing a list of some of my favorite memories of Maimouna.

My first Tabasky in Mauritania. Maimouna was one of only two people to give me a gift (others thinking that I was too rich to deserve one.) She accepted the 100um I gave her as though it was a fortune, then reciprocated with one of her rings. Later, she took me with her to Maryam Sall's house, where all the women of the quartier were gathered. She translated for me when it was necessary, and kept the women from making TOO much fun of me. It was nice and comfortable, and I really felt part of the community. That's where this photo was taken.

Having tea at her house. Maimouna taught me the names of all the animals in Pulaar, without once insulting me for how slow I was learning. (This is RARE. Ask anyone here.) Often, I would come over just for a few minutes on my way to or from the well, which was just by her house.

Her children. She not only had several of her own, but also took care of her husband's grandchildren (my sister-in-law Maryam's children from a first marriage), Mounas and Houleh. She would often interupt herself to shriek at the kids with a high, grating voice, but would always turn back with a mischievous smile. She loved her children, and took care of them. I once saw her spank her daughter Rougee, and was impressed with just how controlled and relatively gentle she was. So many other parents I've seen beat their children wildly and (to my eyes) brutally, as well as unpredictably. Don't get me wrong, I'm never a fan of physical violence against anyone, including kids, but at least Rougee wasn't really hurt. There was love.

Maimouna especially gave into her youngest child, the aggressively cute Soulemon, and her first grandbaby Yassine, who is now only about a year old.

Before she suddenly left to join her husband in Nouakchott, she told me she wanted to help me plan a big party for the arrival of my [American]dad. It was a surprise to come back with him and find her gone, with no warning.

I suppose that's foreshadowing, huh.

Anyhow, she was a good friend. And I'm endlessly tired of goodbyes. It seems that my life right now is full of them. Still, I'll call her family, see her kids, try to express my condolances. What else is there to do?

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