Professional Hand-Shaker

I live in a country where most religiously conservative men don’t shake hands with women. Since many men are religiously conservative, many men won’t shake hands with me. At first, this was a difficult adjustment for me because every other country in Africa where I lived placed a high value on shaking hands at every encounter. After so many years of living and working with the African Diaspora, I became a professional hand-shaker.

My first months in Mauritania were filled with many awkward moments of holding out my hand and having it suspended there untouched, in mid-air. This movement is not easy to take back. It was always followed by an uncomfortable silence. 

Now, the first time I meet someone I try to remember to wait until he offers his hand to me. Yet even after more than two years here, I still find myself in awkward situations. Some Mauritanians do shake hands and feel offended by my failure to offer my hand right away. The delayed hand-shaking situation is tricky to navigate. Usually I try to pretend that I simply didn’t see the hand offered. I try to smile to make up for this perceived rudeness on my part and I try to remember to offer my hand to this man the next time I see him. In my head I have a running list of who shakes hands and who does not and every time I see someone I try to remember his status. I am always delighted to see a woman because thankfully all women shake hands with other women!

I have formed strong friendships with many of my students. For those who don’t shake hands, I am careful to never touch them. However, we have devised our own way of shaking hands without touching. My student will offer me one-half of his book, cell phone, or other object and I will grasp the other half. We “shake” the object and show our appreciation to the other person while still respecting the divide between us. This code has never been broken. I have never questioned it. I am happy to have a secret handshake with students and of course I want to respect their cultural values.

In December I organized a workshop for 155 teachers teaching throughout the country. The Ministry of Education selected the teachers to participate. I am not sure why, but they chose many of the newest teachers. This meant that I was reunited with many of my former students. It was a happy reunion and I was so proud to see my students enter into their professional roles. I was especially thrilled to see them take a leadership role when working with other more experienced teachers. 

Some of the students are teaching as far away as 1,500 kilometers from Nouakchott. Because many of them teach in the areas where their families also live, they don’t have a reason to travel all the way to the capitol city during breaks. That means that I may never see certain students again. This makes me sad because after spending two years together, often more than 20 hours per week, we have become close friends.

On the last day of the workshop, many of the students expressed their appreciation for everything we learned together over the previous two years. It was time for another goodbye. Another celebration. Another graduation. 

One of the most conservative students in my classes came to say goodbye to me. He was traveling the same day that the workshop ended, anxious to get back to his village. He had two full days of traveling ahead of him. We both knew that we probably would not see each other again. I told him to travel safely, greet his family for me, and stay in touch. He nodded and told me the same.

I held out a notebook, our usual tradition, and he grasped the other half. Then he pulled the notebook from my hands and offered me his hand in its place. Shocked, I stared at his hand, and he offered it again. I held his hand for just a moment and tears started streaming down my cheeks. I couldn’t explain why but I knew that I would never forget the encounter; my student’s willingness to break a cultural/religious boundary to show a genuine feeling of friendship.