Readjusting to the “Do-It-Yourself” Culture

The “Do-It-Yourself” culture—that would be America. Even more, all things D-I-Y are what America prides itself in, celebrates, and acts pompously about. Well, Morocco is not exactly like that. As I go about daily errands here, I realize how long it has been since I have had do something like pump gas, print photos, and bathe myself (yes, I am aware of how that sounds). No one pumps their own gas in Morocco; the gas stations have attendants to help you. You want me to print my photos using this machine? How do I work it? Will you do it for me? In Morocco, it was a fight to have the slightest bit of control over what photos got printed from the USB. I am yearning to go to the hammam; it has been 2 months since I last went. My body is still adjusting to multiple showers a week and the lack of a kis (the rough scrubbing glove).

I am keeping 2 running lists—one of things I find perplexing about America, another of things I LOVE about America. For example, toilet paper. There is so much tissue on one roll and it is available everywhere. While I decry public restrooms for not having Turkish toilets, I love walking into a gas station bathroom with the expectation that toilet paper will be there.

As January nears its end, I am slowly forcing myself to deal with the future. It is a struggle. I feel I should be traveling to Azrou once a week. I want to text Kathy, Anna and Colin to ask if they want to meet at Abdou’s or Bilal to play Piffle. Where did my daily routine of coffee, breakfast, post office, hanut, and checking in with the fam go? I want to hold onto as much of Morocco as I can while starting a life for myself below the Mason-Dixon line—some sort of Southern-Moroccan fusion.

I thought I would have more figured out by now. I feel lost or maybe it is a different form of wanderlust; I do not know. I signed up for the LSAT two weeks from now. The studying has given me something to do—anything to take my mind off from pondering just how weird America is.

Much of this month has been spent on the road. One thing I LOVE about being back is the ability to get behind the wheel of my car and go, just go. No grand taxis, no worries about being a single woman traveling, and no Peace Corps rules. Liberating is the right word. After all the Christmas mayhem (and my numerous rants about consumerism), I went on a much-needed road trip to North Carolina. I spent time with family I have not seen in several years reconnecting with them, for the first-time as an adult. A small RPCV reunion was arranged in Charlotte complete with great food, drinks and Anny’s cooking. I visited an old friend in Augusta, GA; our evening featured an art show—the medium was printmaking, the theme fused the South with humanitarian causes (really cool)—and wine tasting. Only to be followed with dinner, homemade sangria and the Augusta nightlife. Amazing.

Mentally, I feel like I am in 2007—not 2010 like everyone else around me. I find myself questioning why America is not the same as it was in summer 2007. I missed out on so much but had adventures that those around me cannot fathom. Compensating or reconciling these two realities is what I find challenging in the day to day. This is all a winding way to say that readjustment is much harder than I imagined. Maybe I was not quite as ready to leave Morocco as I thought I was.