10 Lessons I Learned As a PCV in Morocco

“If the heart of Africa still remained allusive, my search for it brought me closer to understanding myself and other human beings.” –Maya Angelou

Much like my Peace Corps experience, the readjustment process has proven to be a cyclical one. The euphoria and shock of being back in the States wore off by month number two. I started a new job focusing on the day to day, trying to reconnect with old friends and getting healthy. Things were going so well. Soon enough, though, I became disgruntled with the way things seem to work here and wanting nothing more than to escape back to the cafés of Morocco. That was the world I understood. Just let me sit on the terrace of Café Bilal shaded from the summer sun sipping fresh orange juice, chatting with other patrons and people-watching as the jellaba-wearing grandfather walks leisurely by next to the metrosexually-dressed teenager chatting away on his cell phone.

Discussing Morocco, Peace Corps and related adventures has helped me reflect on that significant part of my life. I want to develop a narrative that articulately describes the two-plus years I spent as a Peace Corps volunteer in Morocco. This will take years to do. I have made progress, though, by identifying and explaining lessons I learned.

Many months have passed since I returned to the States. I can clearly see the effects of my experience in Morocco—the broadening of my perspective, coming into my own as an adult, and my growth as I strive to become a better, more well-rounded person. I am now in another phase of my life but this period of my life is not over and never will be. I can never completely divorce myself from the experience, from the country of Morocco, and from Peace Corps. And I do not want to. I want to be able to look back in 25 years and see that the experiences of my early twenties are still very much a part of me.

This is a list of 10 life lessons I learned while living in Morocco. In no way is this list in order of importance nor is it exhaustive—many more lessons are still to be learned. Note: Two others—importance of networking and working in public service—were left off and will be written about at later date.


1. Think Global, Act Local
This reflects a shift in my perspective more than anything else. For me, this means having an understanding of the world but realizing that what you can do, with available or potentially available resources, what you have control over, is in one’s community (and we each define community differently). I need to always be aware of the macro environment trying to see the big picture but knowing what I can do to affect even the smallest thing. Working at the grassroots level taught me that systematic change and movements happen when, collectively, all those small things start to come together and build upon each other.

2. The Difference Between Illiteracy and Ignorance
Ten days into my arrival in Morocco, upon being placed with a host family during training, I had my first real experience with illiteracy upon realizing that the adult women were trying to read the Arabic script in my language textbook. EYEOPENER. This was the first step towards breaking down my ignorance and learning to appreciate and understand illiteracy. Here I was, this college educated, well-traveled female ready to impact and change this community for the better but not realizing that it was I who had more to learn than they. The illiterate women that took pity on me were my teachers, slowly but surely breaking down my ignorance and imparting their wisdom and worldview on me over copious amounts of tea.

Maya Angelou said it best with this passage from I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings:
“As she began the first of what we later called my ‘lessons in living,’ she said that I must always be intolerant of ignorance but understanding of illiteracy. That some people, unable to go to school, were more educated and even more intelligent than college professors. She encouraged me to listen carefully to what country people called mother-wit. That in those homely sayings was couched the collective wisdom of generations.”

On quite possibly my worst day in site—when I was convinced the world was conspiring against me—fighting with every fiber of my being not to breakdown in tears, not to retreat to the friendly confines of my house, where I could pick up To Kill A Mockingbird and mentally transport myself back to the South, I found my way to the host family’s. Naima took me into her arms, eventually pried me out of them, put Ali in my still-needing-a-hug-arms with instructions to sit down and wait while she made a pot of tea for us. Over tea, she asked what was wrong. Slowly and painfully, I went through the events of the day eventually resorting into a little tirade of hate while she listened intently and patiently. I finished and expected her to show me at least a little bit of sympathy. I got none. Naima simply shrugged and said, “Miskina (poor thing), this is Morocco not America.”

It was like she had hit me over the head with the decades-old cast iron skillet she uses to make fat bread. Instead of adding insult to injury, this was an epiphany for me. She was not willing to let me, this [then] 22-year-old white girl, sit at her table ignorantly cursing the stupidity of Moroccans (I’m sure my tirade included hateful words toward Moroccan men, soap operas and arranged marriages). Over many more cups of tea, I came to really know the women in my village, listening to them while trying to soak up as many “lessons in living” as I could.

To wrap up this concept, I turn to the wonderful Somali (and Canadian) rapper, K’naan. In the song “For Mohammed” on his Dusty Foot Philosopher album, he articulately defines “the dusty foot philosopher”: the one that’s poor, that lives in poverty but lives in a dignified manner, and philosophizes about the universe. They talk about things that read people do and they’ve never read. They’ve never been on a plane but they can tell you what is beyond the clouds.

3. Be Quick But Don’t Hurry
Or a longer title “Be quick [showing confidence with deliberate movements] but don’t hurry [showing a measured level of patience].

The single biggest teacher as it pertains to this was the Moroccan public transport system. I would hurry to the taxi stand only to have to wait—sometimes hours—for the taxi to fill. Two blizzards in a week dumped several meters of snow overwhelming the snow removal crew and I have a plane ticket to the US for the following week. Plus, PCV after PCV is inundating my phone with texts inquiring if the road is open. After about the 3rd day of approaching the taxi stand knowing the answer to my question, I finally succumbed to reality. No matter what I did nothing would advance the process. Day and day, I would approach the taxi stand knowing that somehow, there will always be time and I would, eventually, get to where I needed to go.

One of the most common phrases I heard in my two years was “There is still time”—their way of saying “be patient.” I found that if I was patient I was also displaying confidence. My voice was a good indicator of my confidence level. If I was wavering and not entirely certain, I had language troubles and language troubles led to problems in other areas. I HAD to be confident or else I could not bargain with store owners, work with the cooperative, or have daily interactions in my site.

4. You Have To Go To Know
Much travel is need before a raw man is ripened—Arab proverb

Books, newspapers, and magazines do their best to provide facts, anecdotes and stories about the world, its many cultures and religions but to gain an in-depth understanding of another place, one must go there. Spend time amongst the people, shop at their markets, observe their daily interactions, sincerely attempt to speak the local language, etc. I thought I knew this lesson before moving to Morocco. I came to realize just how much I did not understand this concept previously.

More importantly, by moving to a small town at the top of a mountain in a foreign country where I did not speak the local language or adhere to the same religious beliefs, I was away from almost everything I knew and thus, out of my comfort zone. I quickly realized that in order to perform my job to the best of my ability, I needed to make Morocco my comfort zone. It seems to me that no matter where you are, the early twenties are formative years of your life. I was blessed beyond words with the opportunity to move to Morocco, to live in the village I did, to meet the people who impacted my life for the better, to have the chance to grow into an adult where no one knew me as child, a teenager (heaven forbid) or my parents. For the rest of my life, I will have a different (or maybe, more complicated) view of the Muslim world and of Morocco with its rich culture and traditions.

5. Travel the World in Books
Yes, I know I just said being an armchair traveler is not enough but one still should read about the world. Before I left for Morocco, I read a couple of guidebooks and considered that sufficient. WRONG. I needed to read novels and travel memoirs about Morocco and the region. I did not even bother to read Paul Bowles, Paul Theroux or Peter Hessler. After reading their books, I got a much better glimpse into Morocco, grassroots development, and life in the Peace Corps than the guidebooks. It was not until I had access to the Peace Corps library and the brains of other PCVs that I became aware of writers like Fatima Mernissi and Tahir Shah. I did not know how much I was missing out!

During the World Cup, I found myself becoming increasingly nostalgic for Africa. I used the opportunity to listen to nothing but African music and read books featuring South Africa. Emotionally, I removed myself from my current location and transported myself to lands far away. Vice versa, while in Morocco I would read passages from To Kill A Mockingbird while in Morocco to mentally transport myself back to the South.

6. The Power of Fresh Socks
“When you are pretty sure an adventure is gonna happen, brush the honey off your nose and spruce yourself up as best you can, so as to look ready for anything.” -Winnie the Pooh

When in a funk, I would try to do something to ‘spruce’ myself up—going to the hammam, switching from yoga pants to jeans, and yes, changing my socks. That feeling one gets when they want to slightly change things up…you know, when you decide to wear the cute dress instead of your traditional jeans and T-shirt. The cute dress is out of the question in Morocco—I think my host family would disown me—so, I had settled for the seemingly simple task of changing my socks. For those used to the comforts of central heat, you may be puzzled with the phrase “seemingly simple.” My fellow PCVs know what I am talking about. Changing socks requires you to peel off multiple pairs of socks—usually 3, in my case—and expose your toes to the frigid mountain air. And that requires more than one mental pep talk. The feeling of clean socks on your feet is mighty refreshing, though.

7. Greetings
“Salaam wa-lekum”
“May-taa-nit?”
“Labas”
“Kulsi bixir?”
“Hamdullah”

These Arabic phrases are instantly recognizable to all who have the slightest understanding of Moroccan Arabic or Berber. No verbal exchange is ever conducted without first uttering these phrases. Before one can ask for directions, order food, negotiate a sale, etc; pleasantries must be exchanged.

Knowing how to converse with the locals in their own language opens doors. When a foreigner seems to infiltrate even the darkest depths of the Fez medina, the locals usually assume it is a tourist lost in the wondrous maze that defines the world’s largest car-free urban space. Sometimes, though, they find that the foreigner opens their mouth and out comes Darija (Moroccan dialect of Arabic) or better yet, one of the Berber languages. And that is how the locals can distinguish who belongs in their alleys, their secret spots, at their dinner table, and needs a delicious home-cooked Moroccan meal.

8. The Value of Communal Dishes
The act of breaking bread with others does wonders in promoting world peace and friendship. Communal dishes force communication and respect. When one is sharing the same loaf of bread and plate of food, it is not wise to disagree. In the States, we have our own plates. The separation is clear—mine is mine and yours is yours. You can go through a meal without talking, just shoveling utensils full of food into your mouth. Communal dishes force you to talk—who gets that carrot or the larger piece of meat—and when sharing the same plate of food, it is wise to respect and trust your neighbors.

9. More Unites Us Than Divides Us
“This may be the curse of the human race…not that we are so different from one another but that we are so alike.” –Salman Rushdie

In many conversations I have with people in America in regards to my readjustment, a constant theme has emerged. I find myself talking about how similar Panama City seems to Morocco. Sure, Panama City is much bigger than my site in terms of size and population. But the similarities are numerable. As another PCV said, we may look different, have different beliefs but underneath it all, we all have the same needs and desires. We want education for our children, safe communities, jobs, clean water, etc.

One day about two months after I returned, I went for a run in the downtown area. At the strike of 6, really close to sundown, the church bells from the First Baptist Church pierced the silence. I slowed up, paused, and thought to myself “what a beautiful call to prayer.” I was, momentarily, thinking this was the same call to prayer I heard five times a day in Morocco.

I was at Christmas party last year carrying on a conversation with someone who had also spent time in an Islamic country. One topic that quickly came up: the call to prayer. The other person made the comment to the effect “I hate it. It rings at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night.” I was stunned. I consider the Islamic call to prayer one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. I explained my position and mentioned that the two of us lived in the Muslim world in two different experiences—he was there involuntary as a member of the military. I CHOSE to move to Morocco, to live by myself in a small village where I knew no one, to learn the local language and work to improve the community. One of the perks of my job was that I could lounge on the roof of Café Clock in Fes at sunset and hear each muezzin sing the call to prayer, the echo of each minaret as the call is spread throughout the world’s most-intact medieval city. The other person in this conversation was hearing the call to prayer while on patrol wearing a bullet-proof vest and carrying a gun.

And sometimes the atmosphere feels the same. As one volunteer said to me while out and about in the beach resort town of Agadir, “Elizabeth, do you feel at home here?! This place is just like PCB!” In some ways, you never leave home.

10. Build a Relationship with Food
Morocco taught me the value of food. You want something—make it. Pizza, for example. Work for it—knead the dough, make the sauce from scratch, grate the cheese, and cut all those toppings. After putting in the work, you want to savor it, cherish it.

Oh, and meat—I love thee. More importantly, I appreciate meat. I think this hit home when, in site, I pointed to a turkey, said “I want that one,” and bought it—it was to be the Thanksgiving turkey. SiMo carried the kicking and screaming turkey to the butcher who put the poor animal out of his misery. I was handed a ready-to-be seasoned turkey. This entire process took a total of 30 minutes; I was traumatized for weeks. I recovered, eventually. The turkey was raised as humanely as possible, sold to me by the local turkey cooperative, butchered in a matter of seconds, cooked and eaten the next day—all in the same 24 hours.

If all meat was consumed this way, just imagine how much less meat we would eat! I sure eat a lot less meat than I did before Morocco. One reason is because the process I went through with my turkey cannot be duplicated with ease here. Another reason, meat does not taste as good. In Morocco, it is like I could taste the tender love and care that went into raising each animal, the anguish it took to kill the animal, and the time it took to properly cook the meat.


Disclaimer: Each Peace Corps volunteer has a unique experience, similar to other PCVs in many ways, different in just as many ways. While I am sure that several of my PCV colleagues learned many of these same lessons and hold similar views, I speak only for myself.

Travel news: I leave in two weeks for a month in Southeast Asia. My sister is currently studying in Bangkok. I plan to spend a week in Bangkok and its environs, visit Angkor Wat, experience a few of the islands, go to a yoga retreat, spend a few days in Singapore and a week in Malaysia before flying back to Panama City before Christmas. I’m stoked.