Tinzah Walk

It was my second day in Tinzah, the village where I

was to spend the first three months of my Peace
Corps service in Mauritania. The heat was
unbearable and, like all of the rest of my
surroundings, utterly foreign to me. I was sitting
under a neem tree in my host familys compound,
relieved that for the moment everyones attention
was directed at a baby being taught to walk.
Fatimetou, my 16-year-old host sister, carried a
small log behind barefoot bare-bottomed baby Aisha,
who wobbled in the sand. After each step, Fatimetou
slammed the log into the ground behind her sisters
heels. I was horrified.
As I watched, I wrote: Finally I get why they call it
culture shock: Mauritanians apparently use massive
sticks to teach their children to walk. Sand is flying
and I have to say this seems borderline abusive.

Later that evening, alone under my mosquito net, I

reread the letter and had an epiphany. Why was I
basing my perception of an entire population on a
few minutes of observing a single persons actions
only a week after stepping off the plane from
Philadelphia? Moreover, who was Ineither a parent

nor an experienced teacherto deem anything

wrong with this method of teaching? It was
effective, and the stump had been used not as a
weapon but as encouragement. In fact, unlike every
other time Baby Aisha was near me, she hadnt been
screaming in fear at the sight of my unfamiliar,
utterly foreign face. She was focused and careful.
She was learning.