If the shoe fits, buy it in every color?

Two years in Morocco can significantly affect on one’s view of materialism. As I spend the next few months (maybe years) trying to describe my experience here, the lessons learned, the insights gained, etc., I can say with ease that one of the best and maybe earliest lesson learned is an in-depth understanding of the difference between needs and wants. Of course, my parents were great teachers during my childhood and still are. “Daddy, I need a reliable car that looks nice.” “No, Liz, what you need is a car that gets you from Point A to B (in my case, a 1987 Chevy Nova—may it rest in peace). What you want is another car.” This is an example with an easy distinction but living here—where one learns the value of basic needs that so many of us take for granted—has taught me about the sometimes fuzzy line between needs and wants. Example: I want running water on a constant basis. Furthermore, I want the tap to flow with hot water (ha!). All I need, though, is running water. (I have not been able to see running water as a want yet—as opposed to the basic need for clean water. I’m not sure I want to get to that point.)

Soon, when I am back in America—land of abundance and aisles full of cereal—comes the real test on how Morocco has changed my view of materialism. Just last weekend while Skyping with Mom and Dad (Mom-Sorry to leave you out on the last post! Love you!), talk turned to cell phones and what will be the proper plan for me. Dad made the comment jokingly (I think) that maybe I should look at getting a Blackberry or an Iphone. It seems many young people are getting them nowadays. I asked why I would need such a thing and Dad said, that maybe, I will want to stay connected all the time. No thank you. But I digress…

I must now do mundane housekeeping things including going through my house and deciding what items stay here and what gets shipped home. For most things, I am happy to leave them here for others to enjoy. But other things are trickier. Which books are shipped home? Do I have clothes with lots more wear left? (yes but am I tired of looking at them and will they ever be worn again?) How much more shopping do I have? (By the way, if anyone wants Moroccan goodies, get your orders in soon.) What is considered the acceptable amount of olive oil, argan oil, jellaba jewelry, rugs, etc. to ship home? At the moment, though, my biggest debate is about a pair of shoes.



Nothing too special but simplicity is one of their qualities. Why should I put into words what the eloquent Garrison Keillor already has? But these boots are special to me. One of the best things—if not the best—I brought back from the States during my visit last Christmas. Without these boots, who knows, I may not still be in Morocco. I have serious doubts I could have survived winter without them. Winter was so long, so cold, and too snowy (6 meters total!). Before the boots’ arrival in Morocco, it was hard to leave my house—one day I literally could not because the door was frozen shut.

The logical, soon-to-be RPCV in me says “Boots with leather uppers and rubber bottoms are widely available in America at a price less than what it would cost you to ship these bad boys home.” The other voice says “these boots are one-of-a-kind for how they helped you get through winter; they are caked in Moroccan dirt—dirt that has taught you so much; and will be a physical reminder for how you survived the harsh winter and persevered when you thought you could not.”

Lacing up those boots and walking around town, feeling the snow crunch under my feet, was magical. The town was in distress as helicopters dropped emergency supplies in a nearby village—necessary because the roads were impassable—and people worried about the alarmingly low wood supply but in my head I was calm, happy, and feeling invincible. My basic needs were being met. I was not hungry, I was warm (as warm as one can be under meters of snow with no heat), and I had people eager to host me for tea. Memories like these are why I want to keep them. Logic will win this battle, I know, and the boots will be passed to another volunteer in the hopes that the boots will be magical to them too. But the materialistic hoarder in me tells me that the “I wants” need to win one, just one.