These Are The Times You Wish For Global Warming

Time stamp: Monday evening

As I write this entry, it is snowing outside. More accurately, there is a f****** blizzard outside.

I never thought I would say this but I am tired of snow. In just the last 6 weeks, over 6 feet of snow has fallen. In a country that has no heating mechanism other than to build a small fire, I am bitterly cold. At the moment, I am wearing 3 pairs of pants, 3 pairs of socks, and 6 top layers. I am too cold to type or write much of anything. I haven't posted a new blog entry because I haven't done anything recently except watch it snow.

The snow makes the mountain roads dangerous; transportation in this part of the country has virtually been shut down. I got stuck in Azrou for 4 days a couple of weeks ago. The short 30 km mountain pass to my site was closed. It took 4 days before it was open again. Last week, all the stores in my town ran out of milk because the supply trucks couldn't get through the snow. This morning, I was literally snowed in my house. My door was frozen shut.

It is hard to describe just how cold I am. I shouldn't be complaining though. This time next week, I will be in Panama City, Florida where yesterday's high was a balmy 73 degrees!

It’s the little things in life

 

In honor of Thanksgiving (or the holiday of turkey as it is known here), here is a list of what has made me smile during all the ups and downs of the past year:

-all the family visits! First Twinkle came, then Katherine spent a month experiencing bled (country) life, Mom and Dad came for 10 days, and just this month, Ellen visited!

-letters and postcards in the mail! Without fail, I receive a piece of mail every week from someone in the States. Seeing a card, letter, postcard, and what not in my box, makes me bounce right out of the post office.

-the pictures on my walls! It is fact that I have more pictures of my walls than any other volunteer in the province. I recently counted and the total was over 200!

-my host family! When I have a bad day, I go sit in their house. When I tell them about my frustrations, they just shrug their shoulders and say "poor thing, this is morocco. Not America" And every time I hear this, it makes me realize how lucky I am to be an American.

-a new president! I have already written a lot about this so I don't think I need to write anything more.

-Humor! Usually it is David Sedaris but occasionally it is other people. When I see something I disagree with, when something bad happens, I turn to things designed to make me laugh.

-the other volunteers! There are not enough words to describe my fellow Peace Corps volunteers. They are optimistic in the toughest of times; idealistic when they shouldn't be; gracious to everyone; inspiring to me; and all around some of the most amazing people I have ever met.

-podcasts, books and magazines! NPR is now my favorite (I never thought I would say that). I spend more than ever reading books. Another volunteer passes along The New Yorker, which is quickly becoming my favorite magazine. Each week, The Economist shows up in my mail box and I quickly read it to get caught up on the news of the world.

-Finding the best Moroccan version of a cozy little coffee shop—one in my site and one in Fez!

None of these things seem like big things but here, the little things become the big things. I have always been told that it's the little things in life that matter; that is so true.

 

 

Still Living That Election High

Oh so much as happened since my last post…

First and foremost was the election. This post is not political but I want to say that I have been holding my head just a little higher. Moroccans come up to me and offer congratulations. They say it with this bewilderment; like they are still processing everything Americans were able to do with a simple checkmark on a flimsy piece of paper.

Right after all this glory, Ellen came to visit! We spent most of our time in Essaouira because we both needed a beach fix. Essaouira is this really chill beach town that made us feel a little bit at home. After relaxing there for a couple of days, we were a little overwhelmed with the hustle and bustle of Marrakech. Soon thereafter, we parted ways. Ellen went to the Casa airport to fly back to London and her city environment; I headed back to the mountains and the simplicity of village life.

I didn't get to stay in the village long. My annual physical was in Rabat so I packed my bags once again and hit the road. The rest of the SBD volunteers I arrived with were all in Rabat; it was great to see everyone and enjoy Rabat.

Some more good news: Work opportunities have increased exponentially! I am now involved in a women's computer literacy class. This opportunity is huge and has the potential to keep me busy until the end of my service, lhamdullah.

Time seems to be flying. In September, I posted that it felt like I had been in Morocco a year. Now, 2 months later, I can't believe that November is half-over. I am now considered a second-year volunteer (prestige comes with the title); I am in a little bit of disbelief. Thanksgiving is right around the corner, Leid Kbir is 3 weeks away, and my arrival in Panama City is 5 weeks away. I feel like I am going to wake up in January and ask myself 'where did the time go?'

Obama’s Newest (and Youngest) Fan

In previous posts, I have alluded to the fact that it has been raining a lot in Morocco for the past couple of months. This has led to lots of flooding and entire villages have been wiped out. Some volunteers have seen people lose all their possessions and occasionally death. Lots of rain (and snow) have fallen upon my town but nothing major has happened.

Yesterday, it started snowing heavily. So I did what I usually do when I don't want to be in my house along; I went to my host family's. I sat around the fire and read a book. After a couple of hours, I turned on the TV. To my surprise and pleasure, the Daily Show came on. Ali, the now 15-month old, started pointing to the TV when the guest, Barack Obama, appeared. I wish my camera had been with me.

Just this week, Ali said his first word, 'Baba,' which is oh-so-close to 'Obama.' For about an hour, I practiced the word 'Obama' with Ali. But there was no luck. Maybe with more time, it will become his second word.

you know…

So much of my life has become routine. The day-to-day is no longer exciting; it is hard to find interesting things to write about. But, you know, there are some things that stop me in my tracks:

-Walking into a Hshuma shack (code name for the L***** Store) and not only being the only woman but also the only white person among 100 Moroccan men
-Lounging on cozy couches with a cup of good coffee and using the free wireless (what I am doing at this exact minute)
-Hearing that the GRE is in the hands of Allah (will the grad schools think that is an acceptable answer on my application?)

I been bad about updating; I apologize. I promise to be better.

Snow Falling On Cedars

Let me say this and nothing else: It is snowing outside.

A New Month, A New Season

Ramadan is over! And fall is here. Or some season between a brutal summer and an unbearable winter. Whatever the season is, I am enjoying it.

I started October off when a great hike in the mountains outside Azrou. 2 other volunteers and I hiked all day yesterday. It was a beautiful, enjoyable day. Pictures are updated to Flickr.

Last month was eventful. I traveled to a couple of new places; read some great books, and enjoyed the Ramadan food with my host family. It took a year but chickpeas have slowly grown on me. Now I have a couple of great chickpea recipes. Thanks to wonders of technology and friendly volunteers, I got to watch the Alabama-Arkansas live on the Internet, with video and everything. It was almost like a dream. Oh, and I can't forget, Roll Tide!

Sorry for the relative lack of blog entries last month. I wrote a lot in my journal but I just didn't have much to say in the blog. So much of last month seemed to drag by because of the daylight fasting but I can't believe October is already here. It is like I blink and time passes me by.

The rest of October looks promising. I am excited.

Red Dots

I have this map, hanging on the wall. It is a large one, 5x3, of just Morocco. All over the map are red dots; dots that mark all the places I have visited. Well-known places like Fez, Marrakech, and Casablanca, lesser-known places like Azrou, Sefrou, and Chefchaouen, and places like Tounfite, Imilchil, and Moulay Bousselham that lie well off the beaten path.

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved maps. My Dad and I would spin the globe; it would stop by the force of my finger. Whatever country it landed on, I would say its name and others around it. It was our own version of geography Olympics.

When I find myself in a reflecting mood—which is often these days—I subconsciously walk towards the map and stare at the towns and roads depicted. Sometimes I think about how many red dots there are; sometimes I think about where to put new red dots and the travels that would thus ensue; sometimes I reflect on other maps—ones of Northwest Florida and the South; and sometimes I reflect on how many Moroccan children could look at my map and not know that this is their country.

Years from now, I will bring out my map and reflect on all my Moroccan adventures—good ones and bad ones. But when I look at the many red dots, I will also think—like I think now—about how lucky I am to be able to see all those places.

How Do You Measure A Year

"525,600 minutes,
525,600 moments so dear
525,600 minutes
How do you measure, measure a year
On daylight, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In 525,600 minutes
How do you measure a year in the life"
-opening verse of Seasons of Love from Rent

One year ago, I landed in Casablanca and was quickly rushed off to Rabat and the Peace Corps office. Today, I write this from a town of 4,000 people high atop a mountain. Only figuratively am I far from Rabat. Recently, a newer (than me) volunteer asked me if it felt like I had been in Morocco a year. The answer: yes.

9 months ago, the answer would have been no but this summer has been a tough one. Then again, Peace Corps warned that I would have my share of tough moments. And truthfully, I needed them. They made me appreciate all the good moments. For the foreseeable future, I will continue to this vicious up and down cycle.

Over the past 366 days, I have learned a lot about myself. My life has more direction than it did year ago. I am more conscious of my actions and their effects. Simple things I took for granted in the States, I no longer do. I am surrounded and supported by some of the greatest people in the world…my family and friends in America, my fellow volunteers, and my host family. I know what is necessary in life: my family and friends (duh), running water (but not 24/7), good coffee, quality reading material, and meaningful work.

Recently, I had a conversation with a former volunteer currently living in Morocco. I mentioned that never in my wildest dreams did I think it was possible to go from an extreme high to an extreme low in the same 24 hours. He laughed and said that he had the same experience.

I am here to help others but in all honesty, I have learned more from the locals than they have learned from me. Of course, this isn't without battle wounds. Ringworm, multiple instances of hair on fire, and the multiple intestinal parasites are all scares I carry.

Do I have much to show for the last year? Not as much I would like. Do I feel productive? No. But the knowledge I have gained about Morocco, its people, and their culture is something special and I like that.

On Politics, Hope and Idealism

It goes without saying that the presidential election has the countries of the world captivated. Morocco is no exception.

I am often asked about US politics: do you like Obama, what is it like to vote, etc. But the most curious question I get asked: Will Americans let Barack Obama win? Using the verb “to let” sends my academic-minded brain into spins. Reflecting on their wordage and I realize I have:
-lived through 4 soon-to-be 5 country leaders while all but the young children here have known 2
-participated in more elections than the people in my community
-the opportunity to be involved in my American community through voice and action

I watched much of the Democratic primary coverage at my host family’s. Like most other people here, they assumed that Barack Obama was already president by virtue of winning the Democratic primary for the simple fact that the Republican primaries got very little coverage, if at all. As the current race between Obama and McCain heats up, they realize that the battle is not yet won.

While watching some of this coverage, 8 year-old Si Mohammed looked at me and said, “Barack Obama looks like me and that is good for America and for Morocco.” I stared back, speechless.

Yes, I am one of those young people inspired by Obama’s message of hope. Sometimes my idealism seems a little foolish but to live here, it is required. Recently, cynicism, bitterness, and frustration have won the battle with idealism. But yesterday, idealism won, in a big way.

Si Mohammed and I went to the little store by my house. While trying to buy a couple of eggs, I felt a tugging on my shirt. Investigating, I saw SiMo jumping up and down trying to have a better look at the TV a few yards away. Staring at us from the TV was Barack Obama. Unable to understand the Arabic voice-over, all I heard was SiMo’s voice: “Ilham, look. LOOK!” Well, I did look, from SiMo’s smiling face to the TV and back again. And I did it with tears in my eyes.

Dawn to Dusk

Living here—in a culture so different yet so similar from my Southern culture—the metaphors are abundant.

One morning while drinking Starbucks coffee in a UA alumni mug, I inadvertently started staring at my sunset collage. My thoughts drifted to why I am not happy and a little miserable. Looking at picture-perfect sunset over beautiful St. Andrew Bay, it hit me.

It's because for the first nine months, I was operating in dawn mode. From September to January, I was seeing everything in first light. Embracing the new chapter in my life, soaking it all in. By February, it was time to start preparing for the future, making plans, and such. May was my morning rush hour, in a hurry to tackle what lies ahead.

Now—the sun is at high noon. Times are tough and in this heat, I am struggling. 100 degree days may not be exact but they feel that way to me, thanks to sleazy men, no work, and my current love/hate relationship with certain cultural norms. The sun bears down on me and I do what must be done, submit.

A siesta, literally and figuratively, is in my future.

I look forward to evening and the sunset.

A Barbeque of Sorts

Yesterday, I attended a summer outdoor gathering at the host family's. It was the closest thing to a barbeque that I am going to experience here. More importantly, it was one of the happiest moments of the previous 6 weeks.

America/Morocco

Guests: 20 (max)/stopped counting at 50 adults and 10 children
Food: Ribs, chicken and burgers/21 whole chickens and 20 kilos of beef
Drink: Cold beer/tea
Time to Eat: 7ish/12ish
Time to Leave: 9ish/1 (and I left early)
Grownups: Talking amongst each other and watching the kids/Men chatting, Women cooking and chatting, me watching the kids
Dessert: Really yummy Bluebell Ice Cream/Fresh fruit
Conversation Topics: Kids, Politics, Gossip/US Politics, Food, the House

Happy Birthday, Ellen!

21 years ago today, I lost my only child status. Ellen Renee came into this world as the newest member of the Whitton clan. And today, she turns the big 2-1.

The last 21 years have seen new additions and difficult losses. Through it all, she was there—whether I liked it or not.

She is currently putting the finishing touches on one phase of her life because a new and exciting phase waits in the wings. Today is for celebrating, though. Enjoy it [responsibility].

As your big sister, I wish you a very happy birthday!

We Are What We Read

"We're all what we read to a very considerable degree."
-David McCullough, Boston College commencement address 2008

Through the powers of amazing other volunteers who forward articles as much as I do, I came across this quote a few days ago. I read it and then reflected on it.

The books I read this month:
When Engulfed In Flames by David Sedaris (humor)
Short Stories by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (Southern gothic/cracker)
The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch (inspirational/motivational)
Pathologies of Power by Paul Farmer (medical anthropology)
Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (classic)

That is quite an eclectic group.

David Sedaris' humor is something every volunteer needs in their life. Dad shares my love of Southern literature, especially early Florida stuff. He graciously passed the Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings along. Mom left me The Last Lecture giving me a little insight into its phenomenon. Pathologies of Power and Invisible Man were both passed on from other volunteers with must-read recommendations. Oh, and I can't forget, all the old New Yorkers I have read this month.

This has been the most difficult month. Combination of no family after so much family, the heat with its negative side effects, and all the community issues.

To deal, I have turned inward. This month has been all about personal development; trying to get back in shape and expanding my mind. Browsing news websites and downloading anything that looks interesting. Writing up my opinions and forwarding them along to my Dad (whether he likes it or not). Discussing current events with another volunteer and even a Moroccan. Researching grad schools. Learning about website development. And reading an eclectic mix of books.

Happy Things

As I mentioned in the below post, it has been a frustrating week. For most of the week, I was mad/angry/pissed off and all the other adjectives that fit into that category. I turned inward to make myself happy again. Happy Volunteer = Successful Volunteer. So here is a list of what has made me happy this week:

• A playlist full of newly-acquired music. Stevie Wonder, Amos Lee, and Ben Harper make beautiful music.
  
• Discovering NBC Nightly News and Meet The Press (in their entirety) and the Today show (first hour only) via podcast. This marked the first time I seen a clip of President Bush speaking. It was like I had forgotten how [insert own adjective here] he can sound. On Al Jazeera International, CNN International, and the local Moroccan channel, they just talk over his voice.
  
• Watching the Daily Show. I really think this made my week. Doing some errands around town yesterday, I ran into my host brother who told me to come to the house later. I did but Naima was just leaving for the hammam. She told me stay anyway, watch TV, and just close the door when I left. And as I started to flip channels, I hear "Welcome to the Daily Show with Jon Stewart." It was amazing. Beyond amazing. The only funny news commentary I get is from other volunteers.
  
• Running, crutches, and yoga stretches
  
• Finding a great reading/studying place in Timahdite. The auberge where Mom and Dad stayed is run by two of the friendliest men here. I went last week and asked if I could just sit here and read for a few hours. They said I was welcome anytime. I went again yesterday. Upon walking in, the guy told me that he knew I had a not-good week and just to sit, relax, and read. And I did just that.

The Way To A Moroccan’s Heart

…is sugar cookies, inshallah. This week has been one of the most frustrating of my time here. Due to circumstances out of my control, my reputation here took a big hit. I can't go into why on this blog (but if you want to know, send me an email and I would be happy to vent). So I needed to in some way try to repair it. Damage control. Taking the advice of another volunteer, I decided to bake cookies for people in the community. I baked 5 dozen sugar cookies and passed them out to my neighbors, little girls, and others in the community who have been helpful to me recently. Inshallah, this works. If not, I am prepared for backup—brownies, chocolate chuck cookies, and snickerdoodles.

 

Summer Season

I know I begged for summer. I begged for its warmth, its sunshine, and its familiarity. I take it back. I take it all back. I don’t like summer here.

In summer, I must deal with an increase in shady Moroccan men. This warm weather encourages them to be more “friendly.” I have come to some sort of acceptance with the verbal harassment. It was always present in the winter but compared to now, winter harassment season is mild. In summer harassment season, I must deal with explicit French and English phrases; being touched (re: grabbed, which has now reached into the double digits); and the obvious staring (and staring).

Sooner or later, the harassment (or I) is going to reach a tipping point. But for now, I have accepted that it is going to get worse before it gets better.

Friday Morning :)

I went running today!

Up at 6:15.
Out my door at 6:30.
Back in my house at 7.
Drinking my coffee by 7:15.

I doubt I can keep this 6:15 business up too long but I am going to try.

Running With Dad

I went running. With my Dad. In Morocco.
And it was one of the best things I have done here. It was my first run in 10 months. A month or so ago, I sent Dad an email telling him to pack his running shoes; we were going to try to run in Fez. We were all set to do it but with like everything else here, there was a little hiccup to our plan…Mom and Dad’s luggage arrived a day after they did.
We finally got the opportunity to run in the last few days of their stay. In a chill beach town on the Atlantic coast, we strapped on our shoes and set out to explore the town. One foot in front of the other. Sweat dripping down my forehead. Raising my heart rate. It was a glorious feeling. And sharing the experience with my Dad was even better.
While here, I have been lazy in working out. Partly because it has been easy to be that way and partly because no one in my village does any sort of outside exercise especially women. Women work in their homes and take no delight in doing anything outside.
After dropping the family off in Casablanca, I returned to my house with a new resolution. I am going to go for a run.

Katherine In Morocco

In a few previous posts, I have mentioned the fact that my younger sister Katherine is visiting me for a month. She is currently halfway through her stay in my little Berber village. I offered her the option to write a post here and I am glad she took it up. Here is what she has to say:

The words of Katherine Whitton:

To start with: I have not quite decided if I like Morocco yet. Obviously, I don’t love it, or I would be able to look past its faults. I knew coming here that everything I was comfortable with at home probably was not going to be within reach. I knew it was a whole new culture; unique from any I have ever experienced. Yet I still was….uncomfortable.

I don’t use that word because I was having problems with the lack of hygiene or because the beds were lumpy. I will admit I needed some time to adjust to the Turkish toilet, which I knew was coming, but that came with practice and out of necessity. Uncomfortable is how I felt the first week or so in Morocco. I think what struck me was that I felt helpless. I stood idly by and let my sister speak to people because I don’t know the language. Often I do not know what they are saying, but I am sometimes able to pick up the gist of it. Luckily, Moroccans like to talk with their hands.

Though I did know Liz would be dealing with the locals, I didn’t think about the impact it would have on me. It’s not something you can prepare yourself for because it’s almost a feeling of isolation, yet, there are tons of people around. I also didn’t think about eating or what I was going to do to occupy my days in my sister’s house. For some one who usually over thinks everything I did not seem to think about anything. I won’t lie, this thought socked me. So it has taken me longer to adjust to Morocco than I would have liked. I have had headaches and have been annoyed and been lazy, but I am getting the hang of things. It is a practice of character and courage that I needed and still need to put myself through. So my decision is that I am undecided. Maybe when I write again I will have a better answer.

Travels With Katherine

Katherine and I have just returned from a little vacation in Tangier and Spain. Now, we are chilling in my town until my parents’ arrive next week.

Our travels were full of adventures:
-shady characters on the train: the guy with one arm; the stoner who was in his own little world but liked to impediate in ours; and the Moroccan woman of questionable morals
-coffee in a real Starbucks store
-ATM angst in Spain
-pubs where people interact and women are not stared at
-standing in Africa, looking out over the Straits of Gibraltar and staring at Spain

Flickr is finally updated but for a quick snapshot:


With Starbucks coffee and the International Herald Tribune


Katherine staring at the water

Shock

After 2 solid weeks of travel, I am back in town. I spent nights in both Marrakech and Essaouira on my way to Agadir for an in-service training. From Agadir, I flew to Edinburgh where I met up with Katherine. Traveling in Morocco is one thing, but as I learned, traveling abroad is something else altogether.

In the last few weeks before I left, my attitude had turned a little cynical and bitter so I was eager to get out and experience the western world. I just had no idea how difficult that would be. I think the best world would be “shock.” I experienced cultural shock, people shock, and conversation shock.

Culture shock: Not being stared at; Not being heckled by men; and the multitude of food, clothes, books options available

People shock: Being with non-Peace Corps Americans and Being in social settings again

Conversation shock: With the exception of Twinkle, I have not had a face-to-face conversation with a non-Peace Corps English-speaking native in 9 months. Trying to hold a normal conversation was difficult. I kept wanting to interject Arabic/Tamazight words into the conversation. And who knew speaking in complete sentences would be so hard.

Just as I started to adjust, it was time to leave. Next time, I am going to have to stay out of country a few days longer. Leaving the country taught me that I need to leave more often. How exactly, I am not sure but I know that it is needed. In my little Moroccan bubble, I tend to get too comfortable and shut off from the outside world. In the first part of the year, I probably would have considered this a good thing but now I realize, this is bad thing and it will be an internal struggle that I am going to face for the next 18 months.

On The Road, On The Road Agin

"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high"
-John Denver, "Sunshine on my Shoulders"

Most of my summer will be spent on the road. As much as I enjoy being in my town, I need to see more of this country. So now, I am hitting the road:
-Marrakech (for craft fair)
-Essaouira
-Agadir (for In-Service Training)
-Scotland (for a much-needed fix of Western life)

And this is all in the next 2 weeks. When I return to my town, Katherine will be with me and I will be introducing her to my Moroccan life. That will be an adventure, one I am looking forward to.

But for now, I am visiting beach towns. My toes will, once again, feel sad in between them; my eyes will, once again, see a sunset over water; and my shoulders will, once again, feel the sunshine.

Mental Health Over Personal Hygiene

During pre-service training, the medical staff at Peace Corps repeatedly stressed that it was important that we take care of ourselves. If one wanted to stay healthy and be a successful volunteer, practicing personal hygiene and keeping a good mental health was crucial.

Well, I have been an official volunteer for almost 6 months now. I feel I can safely say that mental health is way more important than personal hygiene. Having a good mental health makes you leave your house; keeps you happy; and helps you to integrate.

All volunteers find some way to keep a good mental health. For some, it is having internet in their homes. Others less picky prefer something has simple as running water. For me, it is quality coffee of the Starbucks and/or organic variety. I bought a drip coffeemaker. None of the instant stuff Moroccans seem to prefer. My mornings start with good ole cup of joe (okay, maybe 2 or 3).

In the States, it is easy to get your nails done and your hair cut for a good pick-me-up. Besides the coffee everyday, I will occasionally splurge on a hotel bathtub while traveling or a bottle of non-Moroccan wine or as I have done twice this last month, split an entire chocolate cake with 2 other people.

Personal hygiene, on the other hand, is a whole other story. It is rare that I change my clothes more than once a week. My hands look like they belong to an 80-year old; my skin looks diseased; a bird craps on my head and it take me 3 days to wash my hair. If I really want to dream big, I face my face twice a day. The medical staff was right; personal hygiene is important to staying healthy, something I haven’t really been since I arrived. I don’t think this is keeping me from doing my job and being a successful volunteer, though. I will say that this week, my personal hygiene has been pretty good. I showered this week, as opposed to last week, when I, uh, didn’t.

Change

The change that is taking place and will still for a long time be taking place in Morocco, must be gradual. The deep conservatism of the people—the spirit that kept the country closed for century after century to Europe—has not yet disappeared. It is, except in the case of the more remote tribes, less an open opposition to reform than an unceasing disinclination to any alteration in their status. In many ways it is better it should be so—old bottles cannot stand too much wine—and little by little the Moor and the tribesman are imbibing the new state of things without appreciating, or at least without fully realizing the great change that is already coming about.
-Walter Harris, Morocco That Was 1890s

Let’s take two steps forward. Woah, that’s too far. We’re getting ahead of ourselves. How about taking a step backward?

This seems to be the attitude of the locals.

Something big happens. A potential buyer is found; a building is available; more money is received than expected; and so on. Like the young, idealistic person that I am, when something big happens, I get this high. This euphoric, ecstasy-like high.

And then it goes away. Here, it is not about jumping in headfirst; it is about tiptoeing to the water’s edge.

The informal Moroccan motto shiwya b shiwya translates to mean little by little. Opportunities come and opportunities go. When the ball is in your court, it’s yours to take. So why not take it and run?

Because that goes against tradition, millenniums of tradition. Because it is just not done. Because time here does not include a “New York minute.”

An accomplishment is made. I shout it from the rooftops, only to find out the next day that well, maybe it didn’t get accomplished. A problem has appeared or someone has changed their mind. My high turns into a slightly-depressed state of being. I kick myself for getting so excited/worked up when I should have known/expected a baby step not a giant leap.

Change, like Harris said, must be gradual.

This Moroccan Life

In this blog, I have already mentioned by love for podcasts. Back in the states, I occasionally listened to This American Life. In Morocco, I have developed a slight addiction to the podcast version. For those unfamiliar with the program, it tells stories of the lives and events of your every-day American. I recently traveled to my friend Lindsey’s site of Azilal. On the way, I had some interesting encounters with your everyday Moroccans:

-Taking a taxi to Khenifra, the person sitting next to me was an off-duty gendarme. The gendarmes are the military police and since most of them are young, suppressed Moroccan men, I prefer to avoid them as much as possible. This guy, though, was a genuinely interested in the fact that I was speaking Tamazight and what my job was. He surprised me a little when he said the name of my town. Turns out, he was on the king’s police detail 2 weeks ago when the king came through. When I got to Khenifra, there were bus issues but this guy helped me get on the right bus to Beni Mellal so I could meet Lindsey in time.

-Once on the bus to Beni Mellal, the person sitting next to me and I began talking. Turns out, she has a PhD in linguistics with a focus in English. For most of the 2 hour ride we talked about all sorts of Moroccan things.

When I finally made it to Azilal and reflected on these two encounters, I felt refreshed. The day had started early but I was rejuvenated and excited about my new Moroccan experience.

Royal Pageantry

The biggest news to come out of the town this week…The king came to town. That’s right. King Mohammed VI graced this little mountain town with his presence and it was one of the most exciting things to hit this town in a long time.

When I returned from Fez last weekend, the town had a different look to it. My town has always looked pretty to me but now, it looked cleaned and polished. Flagpoles had gone up; the streets and sidewalks had been painted; and the trash fields had been bull dozed. These are all tall tale signs that the king was coming.

Thursday was the big day. The electricity and excitement in the air were unmistakable. Everybody had their Sunday best on (except for me; I was in the warmest clothes I could wear) and were eagerly awaiting the king’s arrival. Once again, I was awed and amazed at what I saw from my bystander point of view.

Members of my host family and the women in the cooperative were in the receiving tent. I was fortunate to be able to sit with them and take pictures. Unfortunately, the king ran a few hours late and was unable to stay here for long so very people got to actually meet him. This royal event is another one of the unforgettable moments I have had here in this magnificent country.

Yesterday, the women in the cooperative went to Ifrane where the king was to be and where he was planning to recognize all the social development projects in this province. One of those projects…the COOPERATIVE! Mohammed VI recognized the cooperative and shook the president’s hand. I was unable to attend but I watched the festivities on the news later. Watching Fatima shake the king’s hand was an incredible, emotional, enriching experience. That my friends are what dreams are made of.

April Showers Bring May Flowers

“Snow in mid-April makes you desperate”

These well-spoken words were uttered by the one and only Garrison Keillor in his Lake Wobegan monologue in last Saturday. The little town where I lay my head has seen snow showers twice this past week. In the previous two weeks, the sun shined brightly and the weather showed signs of warmth. People in the town were making their summer plans; busy with their spring cleaning; and excited about the beauty that spring will bring. This new burst of winter weather is frustrating us all and desperation is setting in.

I am desperate to put the inferno away for a few months.
I am desperate to shed the winter layers.
I am desperate for winter to end and spring to arrive.

As winter drags on, things seem stuck in the “same-old.” All around me, other volunteers are talking about how pretty their sites look with the spring flowers and how enjoyable they are finding the weather. At a much higher altitude than they, I am losing patience with this seemingly endless cycle of winter but also know that winter will eventually turn into spring. Before I know it, spring will have become summer, and then harvest season and autumn will arrive in no time; and then it is time for winter again. In my 23rd year on Earth, the cycle will continue, just as it has for the past 22. But I am in a new place and can’t help but harbor doubts. It is in the well-intentioned metaphors/quotes/proverbs that I find comfort…the gold that awaits at the end of the rainbow; it is the journey not the destination that counts; and perhaps, the most important, April showers bring May flowers.

Life As Usual

Things in April have been life as usual. I have updated Flickr to include pictures from the last month. This past week, a natural-dye workshop was held in my town by Amina Yabis, one of the most incredible women I have every met. She is a true force of nature. It was great for the women in the cooperative to talk with her and learn from her.

I am writing this entry from Fez where I am sitting an expats cafe drinking organic coffee and a chocolate milkshake, using free Wifi, and eating a chocolate muffin. These are so amazing that I am getting emotional just sitting here.

Enriched

A few weeks ago while in Rabat, I spoke to a group of American study abroad students. One of the questions they asked was “what has been the most enriching experience I have had in Morocco.” I answered what I think is the typical volunteer response…when I walk around town and people call my name; when children come running to give me hugs; and when children talk to me about the newest thing they learned especially the newest English word.

Yesterday, the sun shined brightly and the wind was just a light breeze. Taking advantage of this, I took my chair outside and under the sun’s rays, I read The Audacity of Hope. One of the teenage girls who lives across the street came up to me to see what I was reading. She read the cover and proclaimed “Oh, he is the guy we like for president!” After laughing a little, I returned to the page I was reading while she started to read over my shoulder. She read an entire page with very good pronunciation and by the time she was done, I was smiling from ear to ear. This is what enriches me.

Wind Reflections

As I sit here listening to the wind howl outside my bedroom window grasping my American-sized coffee cup for dear life, my mind drifts. There is a sense of peace outside; that peace is inside me, in my body, in my actions.

As the heat from freshly-brewed coffee warms my body, I think about:

--the night sky and how with one glance, it can make someone drop their jaw with its beauty, solitude, and sparkle
--my sister’s visit in June
--my parent’s visit in July
--the rugs made by the cooperative and the love and pride that is woven into each thread
--the Democratic presidential race and the high level of knowledge of the elections displayed by locals
--the respect and the hospitability shown to me but also the resentment I have felt
--how much Ali has grown and wonder if I have aged as much as he has
--my next shower
--the fact that the coffee is gone and it is time for a refill

In The Name Of Jesus Christ, Take Me To Paradise

For the last few days, I have been in Rabat, the capital of Morocco. While I love my town, I needed to get away for a little bit. The cold winter air was starting to affect my mental health. Rabat is located on the Atlantic Ocean and has a warm, beachy climate. And I needed warmth and especially water. I went 6 months without seeing ocean, by far the longest time in my life, which is just too long. Never again.

Some highlights:
--Smelling the salt air. Oh me, oh my. One of the best smells in the world.
--Visiting the Peace Corps office and picking up more books from the library
--Talking with some American college students studying abroad in Spain.
--Going to a bar and drinking draft beer. It was amazing! When the waiter found out I spoke Tamazight, he got really excited. From then on, I was in charge of my group’s communication. Good thing too because when we got the bill, it had the largest discount I have ever gotten at a bar and all because I speak this wonderful oral language that many Moroccans do not speak. I love this country…
--Drinking Guinness at the American club. It was St. Patrick’s Day weekend so it was really nice to drink an Irish beer.
--not a highlight but an explanation. For the name of this blog post…While walking down the street some guy stopped his car, stuck his head out the window, and shouted, “In the name of Jesus Christ, take me to paradise.” I have gotten used to the heckling; the stopping of the cars and the touching bothers me a little but not too much. In fact, after receiving this “compliment” I couldn’t help but laugh. This is by far the most original thing that has been said to me.

Changing subjects, tomorrow is a big holiday. It is Aid Mouloud which literally stands for birthday. Tomorrow is the Prophet Mohammed’s birthday. I’ll see what kind of celebrations we have for this one…

Home Cookin'

Inspired by the fact that it is March and still 50 below outside and by an article in the NY Times about Apalachicola and the Forgotten Coast of Florida , I made myself a little southern feast the other day. Consisting of cornbread, cheese grits, and boiled peanuts, it was the most wonderful thing I have tasted in a long while. When I tasted the first boiled peanut, tears of joy appeared in my eyes.

And I am going to toot my horn a little, I made the cornbread from scratch—no self-rising cornmeal in Morocco—and the boiled peanut were not made using the green peanuts like back home—I had to soak regular peanuts for a day.

Switching subjects…Tuesday was my 6 month anniversary of arriving in Morocco. The time really does fly. I didn’t even realize it had been 6 months until Bri told me. On Tuesday, I did what I do every day. I walked around town and had tea. Yesterday, I went to the hammam which is one of the most Moroccan experiences there is. And I have learned my lesson…I pay for protection. The women who works in the hammam now watches out for me and makes sure people don’t stare or get mad at me for committing a faux pax. The extra security is much appreciated.

2 Entries For The Price of 1

It is Christmas morning for you guys. Here are 2 new entries:

Entry #1: Mrhba I taddartinu zwein

Welcome to my beautiful/amazing house!

I have finally set up my house the way I want it. I will be making some improvements but they will come later. So for now, here is what my house looks like:


Front door


Entry way looking at my desk area


My desk area


The entryway…the maps on the wall are a large one of Morocco, a small one of the States, the amazing satellite image of Econfina Creek that Dad sent me and one that everybody awes over when they visit, and a topographical map of the Azrou area


One angle of the kitchen


Another angle


The door to my living room with my sunset collage :)


Living room…That is 2 layers of books there :)


One of the walls that whoever visits will get to put their mark on…SiMo had fun with paint has you can see


Another wall of living room. That window overlooks the family courtyard


My bedroom…it is tucked into a corner in the house so I don’t like to spend much time in there except to sleep. I prefer to be out in the open parts of my house.


And my bathroom…disgusting, yes.

And I know my family is waiting for this picture:

My storage/I-swear-it-is-not-junk room



Entry #2:
I am continuing work on a project at Katie started in a little village 9K away from my town. The sun was shining yesterday so Chris (my sitemate) and I strapped on our helmets and jumped on our bikes and headed out there. Here is a little picture slideshow:


The little village


River and the main water source for the many fields the village harvests every year


Random cow


These storks are everywhere!


Walking through the fields

And I will end on this: As I got back into my town, I stopped on the side of the road to talk to someone and 3 very-outfitted SUVs with Mountain Travel Sobek logos all over them drove on by. I started to stare and my mouth began to water. I so badly wanted to shout “Take me with you.” Before I could recover, they were already out of town.

Odes to...

Various souk experiences have given me a true appreciation for Publix, Whole Foods, and Target. Oh, how I miss and love thee. These are 3 of the most wonderful places on Earth. The next time you walk into one of these places I would like you to think about what your life would be like without them. (I am only slightly kidding). At souk, I sometimes feel like I am at an auction (there are lots of wanna be auctioneers here). Moroccans bargain so they pay the very minimum but the sellers target me to be their bread and butter. I don’t want to be that.

One great thing about souk is the fresh vegetable. All the produce comes from Morocco and as close to my town as possible. I can forget about eating anything organic (unless it is sent to me or another volunteer, wink wink). Nevertheless, I sleep easier at night knowing most of my food was grown not very far from me.

Thanks to the wonders of Twinkle, the other morning I ate one of the most fabulous breakfasts on the planet…cheese grits and ________ (it’s major harem here but oh so yummy). It was like I had died and gone to heaven.

While I may be yearning for Western conveniences, I do love it here. Besides all the stuff I have mentioned in previous posts (my family, the people, the food, etc.), I have not mentioned this…black market DVDs. They are everywhere in the big cities and the selection is amazing. Sometimes I have to work a little to find ones in English, but that is no big deal. So far, I have been seen American Gangster, Juno, Charlie Wilson’s War, and a few others.

Twinkle’s Glimpse Into My Moroccan Life

Twinkle came to visit me in Morocco! For those who don’t know, my aunt Twinkle lives in Germany so she is the closest family member to me. She was here for a few days and it marked the first time I have seen family in more than 5 months. If my grandmothers were alive, that would have been major hshuma (Moroccan/Islamic concept).

So I met Twinkle at the airport in Fez and we spent Saturday night and Sunday in Fez. Following our trip back in time in the Fez medina, we traveled to my little town so she could meet my host family and see where I live. I am fairly confident that my town and how I live was a little different than what she was expecting. By the way, big shout out to Twink for bringing me basically an entire suitcase of goodies. I am indebted to you for it!

I have spent most of this month traveling around so I haven’t been able to write as much as I would like. And for your viewing pleasure, I have finally updated Flickr with pictures from the last 6 weeks. Quick update on Ali’s life (see a Dec. post about him): I swear that every time I go away for a few days; he grows an inch. I attended a Peace Corps training for 5 days and when I came back, he had gotten his first 2 teeth. I can’t believe I missed that milestone in his life.

And before I end, I would like to mention my friend Kathleen. I grew up a few houses down from her and she is now a student at Loyola New Orleans. She is running the Mardi Gras Marathon on Sunday in support of the St. Bernard Project. Check out her blog: runningfordaparish.blogspot.com and check out www.stbernardproject.org to find out more information about the cause and the rebuilding of New Orleans. Good luck Kathleen!

Sounds of Morocco

The Call To Prayer, 5 times a day—This is one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. When I first found out I would be moving to Morocco, I wondered how I would react to the loud prayer calls. Well, I love them. They are also a great way to tell time. Most of my day is planned around them. And as most people know, I am a heavy sleeper so I don’t wake up during the early morning call.
Greetings—“Salaam, Labas, May T3nit, t3na”—A central part of Moroccan life is the greeting. It is not the normal “Hi, how are you doing?” passing greeting like in the United States.
Roosters Crowing—Unlike what you are led to believe in kindergarten, roosters do not crow early in the morning. I have only heard a few crow before I plan to wake up. But they will crow all other times of the day.
The sheep’s ‘baa’—My town is famous for its sheep. One reason is because the cold is hospitable to the sheep. The excessive cold allows makes them store more fat and lamb fat is a delicacy here. There are bzzaf amounts of sheep in my town and surrounding ones.
Berber music—This is constantly being played. I am not that big of a fan of it but it is starting to grow on me. It needs too because I hear it everywhere I go.
My Family’s laughter—My family laughs a lot; which is a very good thing. Hearing them laugh brings a smile to my face and I start to laugh with them. And I increasingly know what they are laughing at which is even better.
Ali’s Crying and Laughter—In my opinion, this child can do no wrong. When he cries, my heart aches. In the past month or so, he has grown sooo much. And he has started to laugh more :)

Life In My Moroccan Home

I have spent the last week or so settling into my house. My stuff is unpacked but I still have lots of things to do with it before I post pictures. Things are different now that I am in my own house. Yeah, I love the privacy it affords but I miss the constant activity of my family. And I say this even though I spend at least a couple hours a day with them.

I guess I am settling down into normal Moroccan life. As a foreigner though, things are a little different. I was in the hammam the other day. The hammam lady sent me up in a station that was already occupied but the person wasn’t there. So I started to bathe; just minding my own business until a large Moroccan woman came over and started yelling at me. I quickly found the hammam lady who helped me resolve the situation. For the rest of my time though, people just stared at me. Staring is normal but this was above and beyond normal. I couldn’t help but think that this is what it must be like for Larry Craig when he walks into a men’s restroom.

With this new privacy I have gained comes more loneliness. I am not lonely but with less family activities, I have time to catch up on news in the world. I wasn’t aware of how much I missed reading the New York Times, other various newspapers that I read while in college, and listening to news podcasts. I listen to “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” and read The Economist religiously (Thanks Grandpa) but needed to branch out a little.

Setting up a house takes lots of trips to souk. Souk is great but tiresome. I was fortunate to inherit lots of things from my predecessor so I haven’t had to buy as much as others. Here in Morocco, few things have fixed prices. Even food can be bargained for. I am a child who grew up shopping at fixed-priced Target. Bargaining does not interest me in the least; I find it very exhausting.

I have previously mentioned that I have a different cultural experience every day. Here is one that left me laughing and I wanted to share it:
I was in the cibir the other day and ran into a teacher at the primary school here in my town. He used to teach Tamazight to PCVs several years ago so his English is pretty good. This was the first time I had met it and was enjoying talking to him. Conversation turned to the presidential elections. I had to inform him that I actually did not know a lot about what was going on because I haven’t been able to read newspapers or watch TV. He said that it was “moshi moshkil” (means no problem) but he wanted to hear my opinion on Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Surprisingly, I have been asked very few political questions. Even though my political views are not in the least bit neutral, I try to give that impression here in Morocco. I trip over my mouth enough when trying to talk in Tamazight; the last thing I need to do here is get involved in politics. When I was asked my opinion on these two candidates, I quickly turned the question around and asked why he was interested in only the Democratic side. To which he replied, “Well no one cares about the other side.” Cue my laughing.

Funeral Confidence?

Saturday was a big day for me…I moved into my house. This is usually one of the big moments of a volunteer’s service. For the past 5 months, I have been living with families and in a hotel. It is really exciting to finally be able to unpack my suitcases. A big part of my job is to integrate into the community. Living with my host family has done a lot to help me with this. My family is amazing; I am excited that I was able to stay in the family compound. As I was moving my stuff, I began to get a little panicky and nervous about being alone. I began to think that maybe I should spend another night with my family.

This past week, someone somehow related to my family died. It took a 30 minute conversation for me to understand who he was and how he was related. The funeral/wake was Saturday night. By the way, funerals are just another reason to entertain here. It was by far, the most interesting wake/funeral I have been too. And coming from a big Southern family, that is saying something. One of the people there was a member of my family that goes to high school in Azrou. We were talking about Timahdite and I told her that I was a little scared about staying the night in my house. She told me that I would be okay and to remember that family was right next door.

After talking with her, some of my confidence began to come back. Walking back to the house, there was a little spring in my step. I made it through the first night and the second and the third… In the interest of full disclosure though, I did shed a few tears when I told my family good night and returned for breakfast on Sunday morning.

While it seems a little odd to me to say that I found confidence at a funeral but then again, something odd/interesting happens to me everyday. This is life in Morocco…

Ignorance

I should start by saying that this entry was a hard one to write. I struggled to find the right words (which I may not have done) and I am afraid that it may sound culturally insensitive, which is not what I intended. At one point, I told myself to just forget it; people don’t need to know this. But then I talked with another volunteer who said the people who read this would be interested because this is what is going on in my life and could potentially have something to gain from my experiences. So here you go…

Last week was a difficult one for me. It started off all well and good by meeting Moroccan royalty (see previous post) but when it ended, I said “Lhamdullah, let’s not have a repeat performance of this.” While nothing happened to me personally, I was a bystander in two in-depth cultural experiences. It would be culturally insensitive for me to repost what happened but in both situations things happened that coming from a Western, shiwya feminist perspective makes me against them in principle. I haven’t been here long enough to develop a ‘Moroccan mindset,’ something more experienced volunteers tell me will come.

When these things happened, it made me curse the other cultural nuisances I don’t like:
 the occasional rock (or snow) thrown by a bored little kid
 constantly hearing ‘bonjour’ and ‘cava’ screamed at me by people who know that I do not speak French
 the intense staring occupied occasionally with pointing and whispering; like that is not obvious
 sure PDA may be illegal here but if you need to pee, just whip it out and go right wherever you want

I can’t say that this wasn’t expected. Peace Corps warned me that this would happen. They said there would be moments when I would hate it here. For me, this would be taking it too far; but there are some moments when I do not like it here. As long as the good moments outweigh the bad ones, I will be all right. I posted last week that other volunteers were having some bad moments and that I couldn’t empathize with them. Now I can a little bit (did I jinx myself?). But I have been reading blogs from other volunteers in my training group and everyone is experiencing things like this. The first 3 months in site are the hardest.

I know moments like these can happen anywhere; I had them growing up in Panama City and in Tuscaloosa during college. I took massive amounts of culture-related classes in school; but I don’t think anything could have accurately prepared me for the culture and life I am living here. I woke up on Monday with a positive attitude; eager to start the new week. Accomplishment #1 of the week; inshallah, there will be more to come.

In one of my first posts from Morocco, I mentioned that I “smile because I have no idea what is going on.” That was 4 months ago. Shiwya b shiwya, I learn what is going on and some things here make it hard to smile. With integration comes comprehension and understanding. For the sake of my job and for Peace Corps, I know that I NEED to know but it is hard not think that maybe I am better off not knowing. After all, isn’t the saying, “Ignorance is bliss?” It may be but it is also one of the reasons why I am here…

I Am Never Washing My Hand Again...

Monday start out like all my other Mondays. I got up early, drank a little bit of coffee, and hurried to catch a taxi to Azrou. By the end of the day, it was anything but ordinary. What made it unordinary? Meeting one of the princesses of Morocco, that is what.

I was in the artisana, where my ministry delegate is, along with another SBD volunteer. I had noticed that there were a bunch of people in camo outfits with some mean-looking dogs. I just assumed that they were military. The fact that the group included women should have struck me as odd because I have never seen a woman in military uniform here. Well, it turned out not to be military but a hunting expedition(there is a lot of wild boar in this area) and one of the people involved was Princess Layla Amina, the aunt of the king Mohammed VI.

My boss introduced me to her and we got to have a quick conversation. She knew I was a Peace Corp volunteer and asked me questions about my work, my hometown in the States, and what I liked about Morocco. We even exchanged a few words of Tam, which is really exciting!

It was defintely a surreal experience...

Small Town Gal

First order of business…Thank you everyone for the great care packages! They were seriously amazing.

I have just returned from a long weekend in Meknes. Because Thursday and Friday were religious holidays here, I got the opportunity to travel more than on a normal weekend. So me and 2 other volunteers from my training group traveled to Meknes to see more of Morocco. We had a great time and enjoyed catching up with each other. It was nice to eat McDonalds (hey, you take what you can get), shop at Marjane, and take a hot shower in a TUB. But I can’t see myself having a Western experience like that again anytime soon. As we walked around the big city, pretty much all I could think about was how I didn’t seem to fit in here. I was like, “Let me just return to my little village.” And when I returned to my town, SiMo saw me walking up to the house and ran to meet me. He gave me a big hug and escorted me to the house :)

There was a language issue as well. The language I speak is Tamazight and no one I met in Meknes spoke it. They would get this disgusted look on their face like “why do you speak ShlHa (the Arabic word for the Berber languages)”. I was able to communicate fairly well with English and my shiwa Arabic so there wasn’t too much of a language barrier. I have always kind of known though that I am not a big city girl but rather a small town gal.

I have been told by a lot of people back home that they are amazed at how much I have changed. But the thing is, I don’t really feel like I have changed. The best way I can describe it is that yes, my life has changed because now I pee in a glorified hole, shower once a week at best, and eat with my hands. But I have not changed; I am still the same person. My life just has this another dimension to it. In my 22 years, I have many dimensions to my life from Panama City to Tuscaloosa to various traveling experience and now to Morocco and each one just enhances my life.

The two volunteers I traveled with to Meknes are not having the same experience I am having here. I know there is that well-known saying that says no two experiences are alike. While I agree with it, I hoped my friends would be enjoying Morocco and getting the same out of this amazing country as I am. And they are not. Their tone was more pessimistic than optimistic. Hearing them talk made me a little depressed. I want to be able to empathize with them because volunteers are each others support network in country but I cannot. But I realize that I can only listen and hope things start to turn around for them. Inshallah, they will.

Most Memorable Quote from Meknes:
(while eating at McDonalds)
Me: Do yall feel a little out of place here?
(as a stream of sophisticated people dressed to the nines walk by)
Other PCV: Well yeah, we are dressed like homeless people.

My Arabic name ‘Ilham’ means inspiration. Between that and the beautiful scenery that surrounds me, this place inspires me. I have been writing a lot and have lots of thoughts I want to share but until I find the proper wording to express them, they will stay with me on paper. Eventually, they will end up here for yall to see.

Until then…

Never Have I Ever...Had A Snow Day

Naturally growing up in Florida,hurricane days are built into school schedules. Snow days are not. My town in Morocco is a little different. People have been predicting snow for the last 2 weeks. Well it finally came; over 2 feet to be exact. It snowed for 22 straight hours. We may have lost electricity for 36 hours but I enjoyed every minute of the experience.

It started snowing Thursday afternoon and by Friday morning, at least a foot had fallen. Not everyone in my family was excited but me and SiMo (8 years old today…Happy Birthday!) were looking forward to playing in it. So SiMo came into my room at 9:30 yelling “Ilham, Nkr! Nkr!” (my Arabic name, Wake Up! Wake Up!) After patiently waiting for me to inject coffee into my system, SiMo showed me how to build a snowman (we made 2). And then we spent the rest of the enjoying the snow. It was still falling but we walked around town, visited with people, had a snowball fight, made snow angels, etc. I was experiencing something for the very first time and I wanted to soak it all in.

It is warming up outside and the snow has started to melt but I am loving it all. I love my family; I love my town; and I love Morocco.

And now for your viewing pleasure:

Ali indifferent to all this snow; Keeping with the metaphor of his and mine lives…I was way more excited about this new thing in our lives than he was. Then again, I am 22 and he is 5 months.


It is like the frozen tundra


Odd photo but I like it




One of the many times I fell/was pushed in the snow


Town’s Crown, showing that us Berbers support the King


My town is beautiful!




My family’s front door


SiMo with one of the snowmen. Notice the hat, Roll Tide. Probably the only snowman of its kind in Morocco


SiMo making a snow angel


Sunset with evergreen trees full of melting snow


Black and white of trees by the creek


Mosque in black and white