Adventures of a Twentysomething

10 Lessons I Learned As a PCV in Morocco

2010-11-07T20:56:00.006-06:00

“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.

Readjusting to the “Do-It-Yourself” Culture

2010-01-21T21:30:00.002-06:00

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.

Home. There's No Place Like Home.

2009-12-17T20:42:00.005-06:00

Well…I am home. Home as in America. Home as in Florida. Home as in Panama City—in the house I grew up in and will be stationed for an indeterminate amount of time.

It has been a month since I left site. While emotional, the goodbyes were not overwhelmingly sad. In fact, they went much better than I was expecting. I know (and my host family knows) that I will be back someday. Just when that day will be is anyone’s guess—well, on second thought, it is MY guess as to when I will return so all I can say is inshallah. When saying goodbye to Naima—what I anticipated to be the second-hardest goodbye, she told me to go to America, go back to school, learn as much as I can since I have the opportunity to do just that, and tell people about Morocco. When I do all that, it will be time to return to the little mountain village that arguably was a better teaching tool than any formal learning environment could have offered.

Amazingly enough, I held it together during Naima's little speech. Even more amazing considering that just 2 days before, I found out that she was attending the first ever (written Arabic) literacy classes for women to be held in town. Of all the wonderful women I had the pleasure of getting to know in the last 2 and half years, she was, by far, the most wonderful.

The two times I came close to breaking down during the goodbyes was when my host family presented me with a pair of beautiful earrings after throwing a large neighborhood party in my honor; and on my final morning, when Ali woke up, ran up to me, kissed me and said “Sbah Lxir, Ilham” (translation: good morning, my Arabic name).

The last few days in country were a whirlwind as I tried to wrap up all sorts of Peace Corps administrative items in Rabat. The mix of feelings surrounding COS is hard to convey but it seemed like the 40 other soon-to-be RPCVs were (and currently are) going through the same thing. Maybe this is why it is difficult to talk about the last 2 years now that I am home and moving about town.

In the intervening 4 weeks between finishing Peace Corps and returning home, I spent a week in London with my sisters. They were the first to experience my awkwardness in the Western world. I’m sure they will attest to my struggles with English and being on “African time”.

Just in time, I flew to Barcelona and was back in a semi-comfort zone as I joined 16 other RPCVs from Morocco, 2 from Peace Corps Cameroon, and (a completely coincidence) 2 from Peace Corps Niger. We boarded a boat sailing around the Mediterranean and across the Atlantic. This was the best way (for me) to return to the US and finish off my Peace Corps time. 21 of us, all in the same situations, having a carefree time, enjoying each other’s company and while we all know each very well, growing just a little bit closer. Not too mention, the practice of talking with other passengers about our experiences these last 2 years and our plans going forward was invaluable.

Now, the carefree, no-hassles travel is over. No longer can I delay re-adjustment or hide from reverse culture shock. The life I have led for the last 2 and half years is over (maybe the more I say it, the more I will start to feel it). I must deal with reality (in America), assess the job situation, and do all the little housekeeping items—like getting car insurance.

I am trying to reconcile the parts of Moroccan life I loved with the parts of America I love. Inshallah, I will arrive at a place I have carved for myself and a life with a healthy balance. It helps to know that I have opportunities available, that I have a great network of family and friends in Panama City, and that I can pick up the phone and call one of the 40 other RPCVs going through the same process I am.

saying goodbye, travel plans and updates

2009-11-10T07:54:00.004-06:00

Unless I can find the words to describe all the emotions and feelings running rampant at this moment, this will be the last blog post from Morocco. There is just too much going on right now to write but if the Internet cooperates, the Flickr page will be updated today. I have every intention to continue blogging after my return to the good ole USA. So in a month, look for more posts featuring more reflection, more wrap-up, and possibly my COS travels.

In a week, I leave site. How do I say goodbye to a village that has fed me, cared for me, and taught me what a textbook cannot? For so long, I have considered myself “ready” to leave. And I am ready to leave Peace Corps and to move on from Morocco. But actually packing to leave and saying goodbye is another story. This is painful.

November 20th is the day I “stamp out” and become a RPCV—stands for Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. On the 21st, I am on a plane to London where I will spend a week with Ellen and Katherine. This will be the first time my sisters and I have been together since September 2007 when I embarked on this adventure.

Just how will I get to Amerikah? I will be sailing the ocean blue, like Columbus, sharing the voyage with 19 other RPCVs!. Instead of the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria, the ship is named the Norwegian Gem—part of the Norwegian Cruise Line. I will arrive in the “New World”, after sailing past the Statue of Liberty, on December 12th and fly home on the 13th. For those of you in Panama City and surrounding areas, let’s set up some coffee dates or chats at Hofbrau. Please.

Moving forward, my vision for this blog is to continue to write and post updates about the re-adjustment process and future (and as yet unplanned) travel adventures—why I gave the blog a more general title than a Moroccan-themed title. Re-adjustment is going to be difficult. With each word I write about re-adjusting, the more scared I get. I have trouble with English—what words need to be used when, pronunciation, not slipping in random God phrases and Arabic words, etc. I am not used to being around Americans. I have forgotten how to act in social situations.

This year, Thanksgiving falls in the middle of the hectic COS travel period for my stage and is the same day as Leid Kbir for all those PCVs with time left in their service. Well, Halloween just happened to fall on a Saturday. So, Anna, a PCV close to me, decided to celebrate Thanksgiving at Halloween. Best. Idea. Ever. It was wonderful to talk about COS’ing with my fellow stagemates, share experiences with other PCVs, eat delightful food, and attend my last PCV party.

A friend of mine from UA came to visit last weekend and I used the opportunity to see Marrakech and Casablanca for the last time and Imlil for the first time. Adam is currently a Mitchell scholar in Belfast, Ireland studying rural development. (For the record, he can attest to my lack of social skills, pitiful knowledge of pop culture, and vocabulary/pronunciation issues.) We had a great visit seeing the sites of Marrakech; getting hushed because we screamed “Roll Tide” several times during the Bama-LSU game; discussing rural issues as we hiked around Imlil; talking politics, grad school, and law school; and just how do we get to where we want to go.

Trainges and Changes

2009-10-29T13:04:00.005-06:00

To those of you who did not have the pleasure of traveling with me to the Mediterranean beach town of Ras la Ma, trainges is the act of changing trains (as defined by Urban Dictionary) and in PCV-speak, usually caused by a train derailment.

Much like that journey to the Mediterranean, a long train journey can describe these last two years. For any journey, one hopes for smooth passage but expects a few bumps along the road. Travel to my wonderful site did not involve an actual train so just metaphorically speaking, two years ago, I jumped on a train and began this crazy journey of being a Peace Corps volunteer.

So often, the journey seems to moving along just fine. The train moves at a methodical pace until all of a sudden, it does not. My Peace Corps journey seems to progress at a steady, albeit slow, pace until all of a sudden a “trainge” happens. I can point to specific examples where a “trainge” has been required: adjusting to my CBT site; the failure of the cooperative and switching work assignments to the computer literacy classes; and the most current, no new PCV in my area--what was supposed to happen. This latest halt on the tracks is forcing me to change how I deal with the last three weeks in site. I need to prepare the women starting an association to have no PCV support as they continue, figure out how to break the news to people I have grown to love, and come to terms with leaving and letting go.

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find ways in which you yourself have altered.
Nelson Mandela

The quote above is apt to what I have experienced the last few months and what is about to happen as I begin the difficult task of re-adjusting to America and Panama City. The first time this hit me was at COS conference in the Hotel Chellah—the same hotel we stayed at upon first arriving in country. Two years ago, it was “what do you think the next two years are going to be like” and the typical getting to know you/Peace Corps stuff. This time around, it was “what an amazing two years,” “can you believe it is over” and “this hotel is so much nicer than I remember.” (Oh what two years of budget, bug-infested hotels will do to you.)

It is a weird feeling knowing while everything seems the same, it is not. My host family has an old black and white photo of our town. Comparing that picture to the scene today, one sees schools where none previously existed; beautiful government buildings, power lines, and overall, a more prosperous-looking town. Unseen to the naked eye is the knowledge that laundry is still washed the same way; the food is the same, eaten and cooked the same way; and the daily routines and gender roles are still in force. I tend to focus on the bigger picture instead of looking at the little but important details. I am fairly certain that I can return here in 20 years and think everything is the same. All that I will need to do is look around and see how that 20-year gap has affected my perspective and look beyond to see ways in which this amazing place, my version of the simple life, has changed.

And for Panama City...I will be returning to live in my hometown after 3 years of college and 2 ½ years abroad. Panama City is not an unchanged place but I am afraid it will seem that way to me after the initial excitement of coming home wears off. That said, how nice will it be to walk down the beach, stare at the empty condo buildings, look out at the ocean and see “ways in which I have altered?”

In six weeks, I return to America. This current journey ends and another begins. I will see the alterations I have made to myself, learn the ways my perspective has changed, and just how the re-adjustment process will go. I am sure “trainges” will occur; bring them on.

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

2009-10-22T11:42:00.003-06:00

The many times I dreamed about COS’ing, I envisioned being very Zen. Life here would approach its natural conclusion and all I would need to do was enjoy the moment. Well, less than a month to go and I am filled with anxiety, disbelief, and doing everything possible to not be wack-evac’d.

Anxious about the next volunteer in my area…Will she like it? What if she thinks the site is too rough (bone-chillingly cold in the winter and no running water)? Her site—it’s 10K away from me—will be tough. The community is wonderful. Something could happen, though, and a deserving community will be without a PCV. I am nervous and a little bit scared about that possibility.

Writing the required description of service, finishing the site journals for future volunteers in the area and going through my old journals has me looking in the rearview mirror. At the beginning of this journey, the best adjective to describe me would be ‘naïve.’ I was SO naïve that it is hard to believe such a high level of naivety exists. All my bold, long-term visions? Ha. Absolutely laughable. Still, I have retained most of my idealism (I think) but it is more of a hardened idealism if there is such a thing. I was 9 months into service when the bottom dropped out, my ignorance was painfully gone, and it became clear: I had no idea how HARD Peace Corps would be.

The fact that I have almost completed the 27-month service committment is surreal. In my dark, depressive periods I was ready to call programming staff and say “I cannot take it anymore. I want to go home” My long-term visions turned into a focus on short, immediate results. The women’s computer literacy project took off and has been wildly successful. The women graduated and started their own business—a bakery for the traditional Ramadan sweets!!! And now they are trying to start two more ventures.

Compared to all the days behind me in site, it seems like the few remaining days should be a piece of cake. Wrong. Last week at the post office, I had the nerve to ask my postman to look the mailroom for a package that should have arrived awhile ago. He was not happy with my request and said so, loudly and rudely. All I could do was mutter--to myself--the number of days left in site.

Looking back at the aspiration statement I was required to write shortly before arriving in Morocco, these were the first 2 lines: “During my Peace Corps service, I hope to affect the lives of those in my host community and leave a mark on those around me. Also, I know that everyone I meet will leave their mark on me.” That second sentence…I am a better person today because of all those around me. Yes, I have gained professional experience and invaluable grassroots/community development knowledge but what has helped me mature and grow into an adult are the friendships I have made with women in the weaving cooperative, the women in the computer classes, various families in town, my wonderful host family, and easily, the most inspirational, best group of people I have ever met, my fellow PCVs.

Ahhh, Fall

2009-10-11T16:53:00.004-06:00

I love fall. Gone is the oppressiveness of summer, Ramadan, and nights full of noisy celebrations. In style, currently: sunny days with a slight chill in the air, busy days and leisurely nights, and my favorite fruit season—pomegranates and apples.

Walking around town is such a pleasure these days. I see stacks of wood and say “lhamdullah” to myself, because I will do not have to endure another Middle Atlas winter. But on the chillier nights, I see smoke rising from forno pipes, smell the roasting wood and think about how much I will miss the simplicity of this place.

The time has come for me to sit down and try to put the last 2 years in perspective. So a couple hours a day, I sit on a park bench here,

going through my old journals, from the first page of journal #1 to the last page of journal #4 (currently writing in #5); developing site journals for the new volunteer and future volunteers, and reading.

Occasionally, I pause to stare at the hills and wonder if snow will fall before I leave—in just 36 days. My thoughts go from excitement regarding my COS travel plans to anxious about the re-adjustment process. Of course, since it is college football season, the fact that Alabama is now ranked #2 is never far away. Roll Tide!

The Coolest Thing

2009-09-29T13:22:00.004-06:00

What’s the coolest thing you have done in Morocco?

Ummmm, how exactly does one answer this question? I have lived in this country for 750 days, give or take a day, learning the language, traveling extensively, living with the locals. My time here has been filled with experiences I could not have imagined when I applied for Peace Corps.

Some background on the question: The volunteers who will be replacing my group arrived in country a few weeks ago. Several of them are training in Azrou. On Saturday, the PCV in Azrou organized a hike for the trainees and the volunteers in the region. Close to the summit of our favorite hike in Azrou, one of the new arrivals asked me, “what’s the coolest thing you have done in Morocco?”

I was quick to say that I could not pick “the coolest thing” because I have done so many “cool things” the last two years. I ended up describing my 50-foot cliff jump into the Mediterranean Sea as the coolest thing I had done in the last 4 months.

Now that I have had a couple of days to sit on the question, I have compiled a list of my “coolest things”:

(in order of occurrence)
• Building a snowman with SiMo, complete with a Bama hat on its’ head
• Shaking the hand of a princess and exchanging small talk with her
• Seeing King Mohammed VI live and in the flesh
• Watching hard-working, illiterate women meet the king and receive a large grant
• Being asked if I “speak kayak” before being allowed to paddle in the Atlantic Ocean
• Showing my host family my election ballot
• Riding a camel through the Merzouga dunes
• Running in 2 organized 5Ks
• Watching women graduate from literacy classes
• And most recent, visiting the chill beach town of Ras La Ma near Saidia. If you want a beach town comparison, think Grayton Beach. Ras La Ma is home to the aforementioned cliffs. Jumping off the 50-footer was terrifying but morphed into exhilaration about halfway down. And surfacing, shaking my head trying to get my bearings was a thrill like none other.

Summer Hikes

2009-09-22T14:20:00.009-06:00

Summer is officially over! What did I do when not traveling in the UK and around the Mediterranean? I went hiking around the Azrou area! Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here is a photo montage of the beautiful Middle Atlas landscape (plus a few Lake District hikes just 'cause):

As you can see, summer = brown. Sadly, the lush green of spring has faded away.

The cedar forest

Ah, the sunset

I am watching the sunset and thinking about how the sun is starting to set on my service

Mom, Dad and I at the top of Castlehead in the Lake District

Parents, Twink and I at Latrigg with the town of Keswick and Derwentwater behind us—FYI, I highly recommend a trip to the Lake District of England. Spectacular scenery, LOTS of outdoor adventures, and great pubs. What more could you want?

Site Updates

2009-09-11T08:53:00.003-06:00

'Tis been awhile since I have updated y'all on the comings and goings in my site. So, here you go.

In terms of importance, this is number one. Well, not really when you consider the other news I have to share but its my favorite. Ali (he's 2 now!) has finally said my name. Back in November, a PCV who writes poetry asked my stage (training group) to finish the follow sentence: Before I Leave. One of the things I mentioned was Ali saying my name. 10 months later, it has finally occurred. A couple of weeks ago, I was impatiently watching the seconds' hand on the clock tick before lftur at the host family's. Ali ran up to me, pulled on my shirt and said "E-ham." While this is not exactly how to pronounce my Arabic name (Ilham) but its close enough. I looked at Naima, Ali's mom, and she confirmed that he was saying "Ilham" the best way a 2-year-old can.
Its been a long time comin' (I use this phrase merely because its one of my favorite) but trash cans have finally arrived. Yep, that is right. I can now dispose of my trash in a respectable manner 2 blocks from my front door. When I arrived so long ago, there were a couple of plastic buckets nailed to lamp posts but after a few months, they disappeared. For the last 18 months or so, I have been carrying my trash to the nearest dumpster, 30 k away. Not anymore!

A piece of land that was covered in trash, rocks, and feces was bulldozed when the king came. Then a haphazard fence went up and just in the last few months, work was been underway to make it into a small promenade complete with park benches and trashcans. A public land beautification project—something I would not have expected two years ago and something to lessen my cynicism and increase my optimism.
Another trash-related item: I watched Ali throw away his trash. In a place where trash is just thrown out the window or dropped on the ground, Ali's action is important to me. He finished his yogurt, walked over to the trash can, lifted the lid, and threw away the empty carton. I jumped up and engulfed him in a big hug, startling him and making the others laugh.

Upon settling in, I quickly realized that one of the best things I could do as a Peace Corps volunteer was to be a good influence, especially for Ali and SiMo (he is now 9). This sounds smug and portrays me as a bit of a high horse but honestly, I do not care. Part of my job description is to act as a cross-cultural ambassador. Those boys need better influences than the boys who throw rocks at me, than the men who whistle, honk and shout sexually-explicit phrases at me, than the ones who disdain education. For the record, they do have great male role models in their family. Side Note: The new school year started yesterday. For a week now, it is all SiMo can talk about. His enthusiasm is contagious and makes me excited about the next 2 months.
A bakery has opened, operated by the women who graduated from the computer classes! They wrote up the business proposal in Microsoft Word, a budget in Excel, and presented it to the commune president who donated the use of a building and storefront until the end of Ramadan. Using skills they learned in class, they have started to bring supplemental income to the community.

Little by little, goals are accomplished in this mountain village. It is hard to think about education, marketing options, and the environment when wood is scarce but crucial to surviving the harsh winter and food prices increase due to higher transport costs. But in 4 years (as far back as my information goes), the Internet has arrived, literacy classes have begun, women are forming associations and starting businesses, an inn has opened, INDH (the Moroccan version of UNDP) has built an office, and a large project is underway to bring water to every home. Yes, little by little or as we say here, "shiwya b shiwya."

my last Ramadan

2009-09-09T13:51:00.005-06:00

19 days down, 11 to go.

My third and final Ramadan began during my vacation to the Mediterranean so these 19 days have had me on the move. Between vacation and COS conference, I returned to site a week into Ramadan. Traveling during fasting is no fun. Fights break out. For those not fasting, it is inappropriate to drink water, much less eat. The best place to be is in site—although without travel, the time seems to go slower.

My favorite part of Ramadan: the food. Many of the dishes are only cooked during Ramadan—mostly because they are expensive—and the third time around, I have learned to cherish the savory treats.

Just what exactly is the Ramadan food? Here is a montage of pictures I took while breaking the fast with my host family.

The table with hard-boiled eggs, shebekia, zmita, dates, regular bread, and tea

Shebekia: dough mainly consisting of sugar, fried and soaked in honey

Zmita: mixture of sugar, dates, sesame seeds and a few other things I do not know

The main breads

In the foreground is melawi (a bready-type thick pancake) drizzled with melted butter and honey. By far, my favorite Ramadan food.

In the background is what volunteers have termed fat bread. It is melawi with a mixture of sheep fat (so literally, fat bread), onions, and cilantro in the middle.

Not pictured: harira, a minestrone-like soup with chickpeas. Super yummy.

While at lftur (means ‘breakfast’) last week, my host brother talked about President Obama’s short message to Muslims on the eve of Ramadan. I asked if he knew that Obama hosted a Lftur at the White House. Everyone at the table’s eyes got big and started asking questions. Did he fast? Did his wife (for the record, she has many fans here) fast? Who went? What foods did they eat? My answers: I do not know; I think Michelle did not go; lots of people in government, Muslims, non-Muslims, etc; I don’t know foods were served, respectively. When I mentioned the Lftur to a PCV last weekend, the first thing out of her mouth, “Did President Obama eat fat bread?!” Obviously, you can tell what we care about most. We want to know if our young, energetic president ate fried bread stuffed with animal fat. If it was on the menu, I am sure he passed on the opportunity. Not that I blame him. I only eat Xalti Helima’s.

If the shoe fits, buy it in every color?

2009-09-02T17:57:00.008-06:00

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.

From Us to You

2009-08-28T06:40:00.001-06:00

The majority of my time this week was spent in Rabat to attend "Close of Service" conference. The sessions were full of reflection and the subject of "Moving On"—more to come on the event as I resettle into village life and Ramadan. First though, I want to share a list compiled by my stagemates (training group) and I. Maybe my loyal readers (thanks Dad!) will enjoy or find it useful. We were asked to complete the following sentence: something I've learned from this experience that I really want friends and family back home to understand…

Here are some of the answers:

--that a mud house in the mountains with a well and no bathroom does not mean a bad life

--appreciation for all the free and beautiful gifts we receive each day

--the best way to learn is through first-hand discovery

--the importance of family above all

--a sense of community is important for the well-being of an individual

--we are all connected and we cannot afford to be close-minded about our differences

--the turk is not gross-it's awesome

--how much energy is needed to make hot water

--that I experience the world differently, uniquely

--the similarities between Moroccan and American worldviews—we both preach peace, universalism, and acceptance/respect for people who are different from us. Unfortunately, we too often frown upon each other because we tend to focus on when the other is not following those ideals

--we may look different, have different beliefs but underneath it all, we all have the same needs and desires

--it's not savage and uncivilized to eat with your hands

--Reduce, Reuse, Recycle (mine)

I'm lucky that my family and friends back home already understand many of these concepts. It's the others who make hateful and false statements that scare me about returning home. Sounds like there is lots of third goal work ahead for me.

A Lesson in Patience

2009-08-02T11:32:00.002-06:00

These long summer days give me a lot of time to wonder and, lately, I have been wondering if my new-found high level of patience (usually) will continue in America's work culture. Will I stay calm and collected when a deadline is missed, placing trust in my fellow man to do his job, or given a seemingly impossible deadline, believing I can meet it? When something unforeseen happens, will I accept it, handle it, and move on? I sure hope so despite a recent event and my reaction.

The patience I sorely lacked growing up has slowly come to me during my long stay here. The last 23 months have taught me more about frustration and patience than any other experience. Sure, I have fought battles I should not have. They were losing battles before I arrived and they will be losing battles well into the future, decades after I have left. I have fought the occasional winnable battles, triumphing in some and not in others. Trying to set a firm meeting time can be the week's biggest frustration. While negotiating and trying to narrow down a meeting's start time to a 2-hour time frame, internally, I just want to cry out "set a firm start time like Western, civilized countries do" thinking this little outburst comparing cultures will help me. For the sake of all those involved and my relationship with community counterparts, I am able to refrain from these ruinous remarks. It is these times that teach me how to be patient, to stay calm and collected, and to smile like everything is going to be okay—I may not believe it to be at that moment but eventually, things will be okay.

Patience does prevail and more often than not, I find things that would have bothered me or gotten under my skin in the States do not do so here. When ants crawl near my head while I sleep, I calmly pick up my mattress, mop the floor, and fill in the holes in the wall with an ant-killing blue powder. And I silently endure all the harassment—the catcalls, the rocks, etc. I just go about my daily business no matter how degraded I feel. And when salsa spills ruining a $50 polo shirt, I just shrug and move on. This is the attitude and approach I want to take back to America.

So what happens during one of my ponderings about patience, and flight or fight: I see a rat sneak through the cracked door, a confident swagger into my bedroom.

Do I react rationally and calmly by trying to corner the rat or gently push it out the door? No, I hurriedly closed the door and ran to my host family's. No one was available so I timidly returned to my house and notice that I had not fully closed the bedroom door. Realizing the rat could be anywhere in my house, I curled into the fetal position on the couch and sent SOS emails. Responding to nature's call, I got the courage to leave the couch. As I am about to flush water down my Turkish toilet, I see the rat—I sure as hell hope it was the same rat—stick its' head out of the toilet. I screamed, threw an entire bucket of water down the hole and plugged it with a spare water bottle.

My scream brought Naima running to the window. She asked what was wrong and unable to hold it in any longer, I broke down. Between sobs, I tried to explain that there was rat in my bathroom. Without knowing the word for rat, I started to describe it and got as far as "there was a thing in my bathroom that was small like a kitten but it was not a kitten." Naima immediately understood and tried to reassure me that it was gone and would not come back. Not convinced and still terrified there could a rat in the house, I unsuccessfully tried to sleep and headed to Azrou the first chance I could. I can honestly say I have never been more scared in my house than the next morning when I had to pee.

During an 18KM hike yesterday, I mentioned the rat scare to other volunteers. One asked if I immediately ran to my host family's and when I replied "of course" she said that was exactly what she would have done. If she said that purely to give me a little comfort, it worked. Still wondering how I was going to go to the bathroom in peace, I got very valuable advice from a local. I returned to my house later in the day and poured a half-liter of hydrochloric acid down the toilet.

Thanks to the mental health break in Azrou, the hike with other volunteers, and a strong chemical, I woke feeling refreshed and eager for coffee and the Sunday papers. My flight or fight response failed me this time but I still have 100 days to ponder, reflect, and work on patience and the ability to stay calm and collected when problems arise.

Today I Say...

2009-07-29T12:31:00.004-06:00

Lhamdullah for NPR, its' podcasts and free Newport Folk playlist. And to Wana for ability to download all these in the comfort of my own home without which none would have been possible.

In the Here and Now

2009-07-21T09:35:00.000-06:00

With less than four months to go in Morocco, it is a constant struggle to stay present in my life here. Work is coming to an end. Summer is brutal. Ramadan is looming.

I have recently returned from a long vacation in England and Ireland. It was blissful walking through the streets of London, reading in the parks, soaking up the great outdoors in the Lake District, and drinking Guinness while listening to Irish folk in the pubs. Towards the end of the trip, I had the realization that no one had whistled at me, or honked, or said inappropriate phrases. A sad realization, really, because I knew I had to return to Morocco where verbal harassment is commonplace especially in the summer. This was confirmed when I didn’t even make it out of the train station in Meknes before inappropriate phrases came my way.

I so much want to enjoy my last 121 days here. I really do. I want to live in the present soaking up early evening tea dates, taking advantage of summer’s stillness to read, and finishing up the PCPP reporting. But all I can do is think about what happens 122 days from now…

the loooong summer days

2009-06-23T04:58:00.003-06:00

Summer is here and so far so good. In these long hours of daylight, I have found many ways to keep myself busy. And in just 5 short days I will be with Mom and Ellen in London!

But before I leave for London, one big thing needs to be accomplished. My PCPP grant needs to be filled. I am $288 away from my goal! Any amount of money you are willing to contribute to this worthwhile and deserving project is greatly appreciated!!! The link to donate: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=378-112

More information about the project and the Peace Corps Partnership Program:

For much of the past year, I have been working towards the implementation of computer literacy classes in my village. I wrote a Peace Corps Partnership Proposal to fund the first 6 months of classes. How does the PCPP program work? Volunteers write proposals and once they are approved, the projects are posted online. Friends and family back home can go online, donate to the project, and receive a tax-deduction. The volunteer's project is funded and those who donate receive a tax-deduction. Its a win-win situation for everyone.

The first computer class was held in March. Throughout, the project has had its fits and starts but to see the women go to class 4 days a week, several hours a day and work hard, makes everything worthwhile. The women have learned the ins and outs of the entire Microsoft Office package, blogging, as well as other personal and professional development activities.

If you would like more information, please send me an email and I would be happy to supply you with the full proposal!

Edit: The PCPP has been fully funded!!! Thank you to all those who donated. It means a lot to me and the women!

My Trail Runs!

2009-06-01T14:11:00.009-06:00

Without a doubt, the best thing I did this past month was start running on the trails behind my house. And I want to share them with you! Now these are not the rocky, root-laden single track trails the hard-core prefer but they work for me. So without further ado, here is a little picture tour of my running route:

The start of the trail about 5 minutes from my house

Turn right onto this trail

And follow it as it winds around town (total mileage out: between 1.5 and 1.6 miles)

I am running a few times a week, including a long run to build distance and endurance (I got to be able to stay up with Dad in the UK). After neglecting my fitness for the last 21 months, I am slowly starting to get back in shape. My hope is to reach a manageable fitness level, maintain it, and then when I get back to Panama City, build on it. No more excuses!

On Graduation

2009-05-20T07:45:00.002-06:00

Before I delve into my thoughts about life and current events, let me first say congratulations to Katherine. My little sister graduates from high school today—congratulations! Last year, she came to Morocco and spent a month with me. Not many 17 year olds would have done that. She adjusted to the turk, lack of reliable running water, and the harassment remarkably well. Not afraid to reach outside the box, she handled Morocco’s ups and downs with grace. Now, she heads off to college for more adventures, more ups and downs, and more exploring.

Since it is graduation season, there is so much talk about public service whether it is from congressmen, celebrities, or our President himself. The writer Paul Theroux recently wrote an article about how his Peace Corps experience has affected the rest of his life. Not too long ago, I read Dark Star Safari, a great travel writing memoir about Theroux’s adventures traveling from Cairo to Cape Town. This was his first return to Africa in more than 30 years and throughout the book, he reminiscences and reflects on Africa, Peace Corps, and development in general. Several of the points he made struck home with me and this article hits even closer: http://www.concierge.com/cntraveler/articles/500616 I do take issue with one point though. Today’s PCVs cannot call home whenever they want. It still does not work like that. And for what it is worth, I have met several returned PCVs who say it is harder to be a PCV now because we grew up in a world of increased communication and to suddenly be away from that is more of a challenge than disappearing for 2 years like back in the 60s.

And, finally, today starts the 6-month countdown. In 6 months, I bid Morocco goodbye. I have come so far and yet not far enough. Just in the last couple of weeks did I get the courage to attempt running in broad daylight in my conservative Berber village. With the local government’s permission, I have begun to conquer the trails behind my house. And it feels so good. With 6 months to go, the work projects are winding down and the travel is about to start up again. I am feeling increasing pressure to cross items off my “Morocco To Do” list. I have done a lot but there is still more to do.

Summer Is Just A Part Of The Cycle

2009-05-09T16:39:00.003-06:00

Well, folks, it seems like summer is quickly approaching and I am trying really hard to not have a repeat of last summer. Those months were the worst part of my time here. They should have been great because my parents and sister came for an extended amount of time but the harassment and lack of work was almost unbearable. This time around, I am determined not to let summer's evils get me down.

I have such conflicting notions about summer. On one hand, I like that each passing day means I am closer to seeing my family. On the other hand, I am not excited about the steadily-increasing harassment.

On one hand, I am closer and closer to my fabulous European vacation with my previously-mentioned family. On the other hand, it's hard to stay positive during wedding season.

On one hand, I inch closer to my COS date (November 20, 2009). On the other hand, I am nearer to the day that I must say goodbye to the place I have called home and the people who have taught me so much the last almost-2 years.

Yes, time is bittersweet.

Right now, though, there is so much to enjoy. The ground is soooo green. So green, in fact that at times, it looks fake. The computer literacy classes that have been my main focus the last 5 months are going extremely well. The women are enjoying themselves and going beyond their pre-defined limits. In my entire time here, this is the one work project that has given me the most excitement. It is what sustains me and will continue to sustain me for the next 6 months. Without the classes and these incredible women, I seriously doubt I would still be here.

Last year at this time was when I started to have my first feelings of cynicism and bitterness towards Peace Corps and Morocco. Since then, these feelings have followed an up and down cycle. Truthfully, it is good for me to show a bit of cynicism and speak with a hint of bitterness. This means I have truly lived in another culture: the experience of the honeymoon phase with all its ignorance, the gradual loss of that ignorance and the internal conflicts it creates, the sloooow acceptance of the cultural norms and customs, and the difficult job of achieving the balancing act necessary to solve the internal conflicts. Some days, I find the perfect balance and some days, I do not.

On the surface and in books, it seems like all these cultural ups and downs are parts of a cycle and eventually, everything will come full circle. In reality, there is so much more to the circle. You cannot go back to the beginning. That would be like forgetting all the trials and tribulations, the triumphs and disappoints of my service. This is the thinking I take into summer while continuously trying to remind myself that summer is just another part of the cycle so take the good with the bad and smile along the way.

FOOD! FOOD! FOOD!

2009-04-23T08:10:00.003-06:00

I love food. Yeah yeah yeah, I know that is no shocker to my family and friends but this may be: I am increasingly eating healthy foods like fruits and vegetables. Actually, more vegetables than fruits but it sounds better when I group them together.

A large reason for this is all the fresh food available to me. This is, in addition, to the high cost of meat. A kilo of kefta is 80 dirhams vs. a kilo of chickpeas at 12 dirhams or a kilo of potatoes at no more than 5 dirhams. Since the majority of my food comes from souk, its fresh, local, and I like to think, organic. And what a difference freshness makes!

I have always enjoyed cooking but, here, because there is no such thing as sauce mixes, microwavable food, or take-out Thai :(, I have to cook almost everything I eat. Shortly after arrival in-country, Peace Corps gave each volunteer a cookbook. Of all the manuals I was handed, this is the only one I have devoted a significant amount of time too. While several of the recipes require tweaking, it has a significant repertoire of yummy food recipes—alfredo, lentil soup, hummus, fajitas, falafel, quiche, and so much more!

As Peace Corps countries go, Morocco is tops in food. I am not being smug or presumptuous. Marrakech was rated as the number one food destination of 2009 by The New York Times. One of my favorite things about this country is the plentiful spices. Let’s face it, I live in spice heaven.

The longer I live here, the more my palette increases. The more I like, the more options I have to cook. As a result, my cooking skills have improved significantly. And it is easier to cook when dealing with fresh garlic, peppers, and onions.

This is all a roundabout way to talk about my recent food adventures. I spent last weekend in Bri’s site. Bri is a great cook and, recently, started a food blog. Well, Bri found some spinach (!) and cooked a delicious spinach lasagna, focaccia bread, scones, and cake. So much of my excitement here revolves around food--for good reason. Food has such a healing power. It is amazing how rejuvenating a good mac and cheese or homemade pizza can be.

The Numbers Game

2009-04-09T14:00:00.001-06:00

In Peace Corps Morocco, it’s all about numbers. At one time or another, we have counted down until our COS date, days in site, dates until special occasions, etc. The simple act of counting gives me a little bounce. So here are some of the numbers rumbling around in my head at the moment:

Days until I Become an RPCV: 226
Days I have Been in Country: 576
Cost of a kilo of chickpeas yesterday: 10D
Number of shampoo bottles I have finished in country: 1 (just last week and if this doesn't say something about my hygiene habits here, I don't know what does)
Number of times I showered last week: 4!
Unlistened-too podcasts: 40 (I got lots of catch up to do)
Days until I see my family in London: 80

Put On Your Running Shoes

2009-04-06T12:53:00.001-06:00

"So do you all want to run in the 5K race for women tomorrow?"

This proposition was given to me and other volunteers when we arrived in Meknes two weekends ago for spring camp. We looked at each other and exclaimed, "yeah!"

So on Sunday morning, we woke up and headed to the registration area at the appropriate time. In true Moroccan fashion, the run did not start until 2 hours later. No matter though, we moved around trying to stay warm and dry as it had started to drizzle. Soon enough, the banner was waved and off we went. Some of the girls were hard-core runners. I was impressed but most were like me—just happy to be out exercising.

The opportunity to participate was a pleasant surprise and running through Meknes with other women and girls was a great feeling.

A 5K run is one of the big city pleasures that I enjoy and was the best way to kickoff a very successful English camp!

Note: Even though, my camera battery is out of commission—it froze—other volunteers have been kind enough to take photos for me. I have lots and am in the process of uploading them to Flickr. Happy viewing!

The Desert Sky

2009-03-19T11:58:00.003-06:00

“In North Africa, the earth becomes the less important part of the landscape because you find yourself constantly raising your eyes to look at the sky. In the arid landscape, the sky is the final arbiter. When you have understood that, not intellectually but emotionally, you have also understood why it is that the great trinity of monotheistic religions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—which removed the source of power from the earth itself to the spaces outside the earth—were evolved in desert regions. And of the three, Islam, perhaps because it is the most recently evolved, operates the most directly and with the greatest strength upon the daily actions of those who embrace it. For a person born into a culture where religion has long ago become a thing quite separate from daily life, it is a startling experience to find himself suddenly in the midst of a culture where there is a minimum of discrepancy between dogma and natural behavior, and this is one of the great fascinations of being in North Africa.” –Paul Bowles, Their Heads Are Green and Their Hands Are Blue

Well, I finally journeyed to the Sahara. Almost every volunteer I know says that a camel ride among the Saharan dunes--the base town is named Merzouga--is a must-do thing. It only took me 18 months (wow, have I really been here that long) but over the recent long holiday weekend, I finally set foot in the Sahara sand. And it felt so good.

One of the best parts of my training outside Ouarzazate was being able to sit in my host family’s courtyard and stare at all the stars in the night sky. There, on the cusp of the Sahara, they were a sight to see. My mountains’ stars just do not hold that same beauty. So it was a pleasure to be back under the desert sky.

I had such a wonderful time. After arriving in the heat of the day (temps in the 90s!), sitting back to enjoy a cup of tea and soak up the warmth, the camels were loaded and the 2 hour camel trek began. Eventually (the camel trek was just a few minutes too long) we came to our evening accommodations—a large tent surrounded by dunes.

Enjoying not sitting on the camel’s hump—in case you are wondering, they just have one—we tried to go for a little hike. I was practically raised on sand but living in the mountains has made me weak. Walking in the soft Saharan sand was difficult. We struggled. I have so much admiration for the camel guys (ours was awesome), walking out and back all day long. Whew.

Settling into our tent, reading, and writing, dark came quickly. The stars came out but unfortunately, the almost-full moon took away some of their brightness. But still, sitting outside staring up at the sky, 2 hours away from electricity and running water, it was nice to be away from it all.

Rain, Rain, Beautiful Rain

2009-03-19T08:50:00.003-06:00

"Rain.
Rain, rain, rain, rain
Beautiful rain
rain, rain, rain, rain
Beautiful rain
Oh come, never come, oh come, never come
Oh come to me beautiful rain"
-chorus to Rain, Rain, Beautiful Rain by Ladysmith Black Mambazo

Today, March 19^th is the first day my little town has experienced a thunderstorm since September. That’s right. The last 6 months, it’s been nothing but snow.

While I would much rather prefer sunshine for the next 3 months—it can rain in the summer—it is a little bit comforting to know that the long, cold mountain winter is nearing an end. I am sure that there is more snow ahead but right now, it is nice to be able to enjoy the rain and the beginnings of spring. The fields are starting to bloom with wildflowers, cherry trees are starting to blossom and everything is bright green. Oh, beautiful spring.

daydreamin' with a cup of chamomile tea

2009-03-03T11:05:00.006-06:00

Oh, crazy Moroccan winter and the joys of living at 6000 ft. Sunshine and warmth (you know, relatively) were plentiful the last two weeks. I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and got a little too comfortable and complacent with the early signs of spring. Well, the gods of winter decided to throw me a little curveball. My little town that sits on the top of a mountain has experienced intermittent snow showers and heavy winds since Friday night and this nasty weather is expected to continue through the rest of the week.

February was, by far, the busiest month of my Peace Corps career--working to get the computer literacy classes started, attending trainings, and repairing my relationship with the weaving cooperative. After sort-of sitting on my hands the second half of 2008, all my work projects seem to be coming together at just the right time. I am happy, motivated, and enthused about the next couple of months.

As I grow older, I am having more and more of those "oh-my-god-I-swore-I-would-never-do-this" moments. Some are in the abstract--like realizing that I am slowly but surely turning into my parents. That I am okay with. However, two events at souk today have me shaking my head in a little bit of disbelief:

1) The sellers at souk were in a bargaining mode. After my very first souk experience, I promised myself that I would never bargain for food. It was a lot of work for only a couple of dirhams difference. While some volunteers say that it is the merit of the issue, I know when someone is taking advantage of the fact that I am a foreigner. If it bothers me, I will do something but this does not usually happen at souk. Today however, I bargained just for the hell of it. I have more vegetables than I will ever eat but the red peppers looked beautiful and they are usually scarce around my town. The seller said 8 dirhams. I said 5. He said 7. I said 6 or I was going away. He quickly accepted and after handing him the equivalent of 75 cents, I walked away with a kilo of red peppers.

2) I bargained some more, this time for olive oil. Accepting my new liter of scrupulous Berber olive oil, I made a mental note that my current liter was bought less than less 2 weeks ago. With the exception of one dinner, I have not been entertaining. Its been just me; I went through a entire liter of olive oil in less than 2 weeks. My diet has been overtaken by the Mediterranean diet. But that diet is supposed to be good for you, right?

Today's adventures have ended and at this moment, I sip my cup of chamomile tea, trying to figure out a way to use my kilo of red peppers, and daydreamin' about my upcoming trip to the Sahara.

Cous Cous Fridays

2009-02-25T13:59:00.013-06:00

During today's World Wise Schools conference, one of the students asked what my favorite Moroccan food is. I answered cous cous. It is so yummy.

So here is a little food culture lesson for ya'll.

Most Fridays are what I call “Cous Cous Friday.” I would love to eat cous cous every Friday but unfortunately, not many people in my town are consistent in their Friday lunch plans. One family is though: Abdou's in Azrou. Abdou owns my favorite rug shop and his mom's cous cous is one of the best. If I am in Azrou on Friday or just have a craving for cous cous, I head to Abdou’s for Friday lunch.

Friday is the Muslim holy day. The tradition of eating cous cous for Friday lunch is similar to the tradition of Christians (or maybe just Southerners) of eating a big Sunday lunch. I like this; it reminds me of home.

Even though it is culturally insensitive, I should mention that many volunteers (me included) compare women’s cous cous—no two are alike. Some women can make a good tagine but their cous cous misses the spot. In the last 18 months, I have only had 3 bad servings. That's not a bad percentage. When I am invited to return for cous cous at these 3 places, I try to reschedule for tea instead. So far, its worked.

The women in my host family make really good cous cous. Even though its time-consuming and labor-intensive, I have promised to learn. My expectations are not too high. I just want to learn the basics so I can share the magic of cous cous with my family in Florida. Time will tell.

Cous cous pictures (these will help):

Contents: cous cous with chickpeas, chicken, pumpkin, hot peppers, potatoes, zucchini, carrots

The group one Friday last year (Abdou is on the far left; his mom ate too but she is one taking the photo)

Close up...Dig In!

Comforted by Gibran

2009-02-10T17:04:00.005-06:00

Oh, the greatness of Kahlil Gibran. It was not until last year that I read my first words of Kahlil Gibran, the famous Lebanese-American poet from the early 20th century, but I am atoning for my sins. Shortly upon arrival in Morocco my sitemate Chris handed me a copy of The Prophet with the endorsement "if I was allowed to bring one thing to a deserted island, it would be this book." While The Prophet will never kick To Kill A Mockingbird from the number one spot, the book has a good place in my top-three list (in case you are wondering, the other book is Man's Search for Meaning).

The news nowadays is filled with devastation--whether it be the economic crisis, the Middle East conflicts, African humanitarian crises, or even my fellow villagers worrying about the rest of winter and the town's dangerously low wood supplies. I am just so tired of all this depressing news.

A couple of weeks ago, I was the recipient of The Treasured Writing of Kahlil Gibran. This book contains everything Gibran wrote--or actually, was published--except for The Prophet. I have copied "The Poet's Voice" below. As I read about bailouts and death and snow, I can think of no better words about people and faith than these:

A Poet's Voice

Part One
The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.

Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way to knowledge." Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.

Part Two

I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call "patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbour's country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.

I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my childhood; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, "The house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction."

I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth with all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.

Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, others would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment."

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, "Ridicule is more bitter than killing."

Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever.

Part Three

Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.

You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.

You may deprive me of whatever I possess, for my greed instigated the amassing of wealth and you are entitled to my lot if it will satisfy you.

You may do unto me whatever you wish, but you shall not be able to touch my Truth.

You may shed my blood and burn my body, but you cannot kill or hurt my spirit.

You may tie my hands with chains and my feet with shackles, and put me in the dark prison, but who shall not enslave my thinking, for it is free, like the breeze in the spacious sky.

You are my brother and I love you. I love you worshipping in your church, kneeling in your temple, and praying in your mosque. You and I and all are children of one religion, for the varied paths of religion are but the fingers of the loving hand of the Supreme Being, extended to all, offering completeness of spirit to all, anxious to receive all.

I love you for your Truth, derived from your knowledge; that Truth which I cannot see because of my ignorance. But I respect it as a divine thing, for it is the deed of the spirit. Your Truth shall meet my Truth in the coming world and blend together like the fragrance of flowers and becoming one whole and eternal Truth, perpetuating and living in the eternity of Love and Beauty.

I love you because you are weak before the strong oppressor, and poor before the greedy rich. For these reasons I shed tears and comfort you; and from behind my tears I see you embraced in the arms of Justice, smiling and forgiving your persecutors. You are my brother and I love you.

Part Four

You are my brother, but why are you quarreling with me? Why do you invade my country and try to subjugate me for the sake of pleasing those who are seeking glory and authority?

Why do you leave your wife and children and follow Death to the distant land for the sake of those who buy glory with your blood, and high honour with your mother's tears?

Is it an honour for a man to kill his brother man? If you deem it an honor, let it be an act of worship, and erect a temple to Cain who slew his brother Abel.

Is self-preservation the first law of Nature? Why, then, does Greed urge you to self-sacrifice in order only to achieve his aim in hurting your brothers? Beware, my brother, of the leader who says, "Love of existence obliges us to deprive the people of their rights!" I say unto you but this: protecting others' rights is the noblest and most beautiful human act; if my existence requires that I kill others, then death is more honourable to me, and if I cannot find someone to kill me for the protection of my honour, I will not hesitate to take my life by my own hands for the sake of Eternity before Eternity comes.

Selfishness, my brother, is the cause of blind superiority, and superiority creates clanship, and clanship creates authority which leads to discord and subjugation.

The soul believes in the power of knowledge and justice over dark ignorance; it denies the authority that supplies the swords to defend and strengthen ignorance and oppression - that authority which destroyed Babylon and shook the foundation of Jerusalem and left Rome in ruins. It is that which made people call criminals great men; made writers respect their names; made historians relate the stories of their inhumanity in manner of praise.

The only authority I obey is the knowledge of guarding and acquiescing in the Natural Law of Justice.

What justice does authority display when it kills the killer? When it imprisons the robber? When it descends on a neighborhood country and slays its people? What does justice think of the authority under which a killer punishes the one who kills, and a thief sentences the one who steals?

You are my brother, and I love you; and Love is justice with its full intensity and dignity. If justice did not support my love for you, regardless of your tribe and community, I would be a deceiver concealing the ugliness of selfishness behind the outer garment of pure love.

Conclusion

My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs.

I came to say a word and I shall say it now but if death prevents its uttering, it will be said by Tomorrow, for Tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of Eternity.

I came to live here in the glory of Love and the light of Beauty, which are the reflections of God. I am here living, and and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death. If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmurs of Love and the songs of Beauty.

If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incense of Love and the fragrance of Beauty.

If they place me in vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of Love and Beauty.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by Tomorrow to the people.

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts.

Kahlil Gibran

A Beautiful Rainbow

2009-02-05T06:46:00.003-06:00

Who knew that rainbows appeared even after snow storms?! This Florida girls sure didn't.

Edit: I also want to include the picture below. I am posting it here just to make ya'll jealous. I may be snowed in 75% of the time but at least I have scenery like this out my back door.

Another Month In the Books

2009-01-31T10:50:00.004-06:00

January started with me celebrating—or more accurately, mourning—aging another year in warm, sunny Panama City. The month ends with me sitting at my kitchen table watching snow fall. In previous posts, I have complained about the snow and the brutally cold weather but honestly, at this moment, I feel good. My mental state is the best it's been since the election.

A volunteer in Midelt, a city about 2 hours away, hosted a day camp at her dar chebab this week. I spent Tuesday through Thursday helping out. In addition leading a successful session on resume writing and interviewing skills, I introduced the some Moroccan children to the crab crawl and bear walk relay races. The kids had a great time—big kudos to Linley. This week, I felt like I was doing actual productive work. It was a good feeling.

Because Midelt is much bigger town than mine, I packed my running shoes and made a commitment to myself to get in at least one morning run. And I did! In fact, I ran TWICE. Those exercise endorphins put a little bounce in my step. It's been missing as of late.

Thanks to the miracle of some kick-ass boots (read this article about their awesomeness http://outside.away.com/outside/magazine/1295/12f_gari) I have escaped the confines of my house and headed out into the woods. The peace of the trees, the crunch of the dirt and snow, and the scenery has been wonderful. While this place is not without its issues, the surrounding landscape is beautiful. I'm lucky to live here.

Pictures for you to enjoy!

The Environment Horror Show

2009-01-26T16:20:00.002-06:00

Listening to NPR broadcast recently—I love my new wireless internet—about the pollution in Kabul brought me to the realization that I have not written about environmental issues in Morocco.

The NPR reporter mentioned that Afghans burn plastic bottles and tires to make fire for warmth. It reminded me of Twinkle's visit. We were drinking tea and watched a woman stuff a large plastic sack into an forno. Twinkle had this look of slight horror on her face. Sadly though, this is the norm.

In a recent New Yorker interview, Gavin Newsome, the mayor of San Francisco, mentioned that he had recently been in the Middle East. "The surrounding landscape was beautiful but when you looked in one direction, you saw a trash field," he said. That is a pretty apt description of my site. I am surrounded by beautiful green mountains and a cedar forest and yet plastic bags and wrappers litter the ground. Locals always get this bewilderment look when I tell them that Americans have to pay a fine for littering. They know that I have my idiosyncratic ways—I don't like plastic bags and carry my trash 30 km to the nearest dumpster, among other things.

A walk in the woods is such a peaceful thing until one hears an ax chopin' away. Illegal logging is prevalent and it is so sad to think that in 50 years, the cedar forest is going to look so different. It may not even be here for Ali's children. Even sadder, the government ministry in charge of the environment has turned a blind eye to all the deforestation.

I spent last week in Rabat. I am the first to admit that it is nice to be able to sit in a bar and not made to feel shameful. But the niceties only go so far. Cities are full of smog, mainly caused by 20 year-old cars that run on leaded fuel. I have to make sure that I don't walk to close to these cars' exhaust pipes. The smell is enough to induce a migraine. Spend enough time downtown and your snot starts to turn to dark colors. It's just not fun.

I will say this, though. Moroccans have the reduce and reuse part of the equation down. Most homes have one electrical outlet per room. Lights are turned on only in the waning hours of the day and the electrical grid cannot handle more than a couple of items plugged in at one time. My electricity frequently goes off at night (way more than it used too and way more than I would like) and will short circuit if three things (laptop, coffee pot, and phone) are plugged in at one time. My oven is just a bunch of scrap metal remolded to the shape of a box. The annual sheep shearing produces pillow stuffing and wool for weaving. Coke in glass bottles is still the most available form of the beverage—it's cheaper as long as you return the bottle to be rebottled.

The more time I spend here, the more environmental conscious I become. Blame it on what I see and who I spend my time with. I recently read The Big Sort—highly recommended. Its thesis: America is becoming more and more partisan because people are choosing to live among people who share their political and religious views. Americans have trouble getting along because they surround themselves with like-minded people and tend to shut out people with differing views—a classic groupthink example. I admit it; I'm guilty. During Christmas vacation in Republican-dominated Panama City, I was disrespectful to a Sarah Palin supporter. I dismissed their opinion before even listening to their side. This was the first time I heard, to my face, someone supporting her. I live among like-minded people (other volunteers) and let's just say, Palin does not have any supporters in the Moyen Atlas mountains of Morocco. This is a long tangent to say to that like-minded grouping can be bad but it can also produce some good.

In my small province, there are 8 environment volunteers including my sitemate. Our gatherings produce thoughtful conversation and contribute to my informal environmental education. As a result, my environment IQ is slowly but steadily climbing; I'm more aware of my actions in relation to the environment; and I feel more prepared to be a part of possible solutions to the problems Morocco, and America too, face. This is a good thing.

PS. The fact that this was written the same day that President Obama (oh, how good it is to write that) signed an order allowing states to raise car emissions standards is coincidence. But on that subject, as Moroccans say, shiwya b shiwya.

Morocco's Popularity

2009-01-11T08:11:00.005-06:00

http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/01/11/travel/11foodie.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

In today's NY Times: Marrakech is the number one foodie destination of 2009. I must say, though, the food in people's homes is much better than restaurant food. That said, the best restaurant meal I have eaten here was in Chefchaucen with Mom, Dad, and Katherine.

Panama City

2009-01-06T13:18:00.004-06:00

I think these images accurately portray what is awesome about my hometown (minus my family and friends, of course):

These Are The Times You Wish For Global Warming

2008-12-16T07:09:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-26T10:28:00.001-06:00

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

2008-11-16T07:04:00.001-06:00

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

2008-11-02T09:17:00.001-06:00

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…

2008-10-26T09:59:00.001-06:00

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

2008-10-09T11:51:00.003-06:00

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

A New Month, A New Season

2008-10-03T08:42:00.001-06:00

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

2008-09-18T09:22:00.001-06:00

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

2008-09-11T06:51:00.001-06:00

"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

2008-08-28T06:05:00.002-06:00

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

2008-08-17T06:01:00.001-06:00

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

2008-08-15T09:33:00.001-06:00

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!

2008-08-01T07:57:00.001-06:00

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

2008-07-30T05:43:00.001-06:00

"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

2008-07-20T06:23:00.001-06:00

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

2008-07-20T06:04:00.001-06:00

…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

2008-07-15T05:23:00.002-06:00

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 :)

2008-07-11T07:59:00.001-06:00

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

2008-07-08T06:45:00.000-06:00

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

2008-06-21T07:02:00.000-06:00

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

2008-06-20T08:35:00.005-06:00

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

2008-06-11T05:57:00.001-06:00

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

2008-05-27T07:34:00.001-06:00

"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

2008-05-15T08:15:00.000-06:00

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

2008-05-08T06:59:00.001-06:00

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

2008-05-05T05:33:00.000-06:00

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

2008-04-20T07:56:00.000-06:00

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

2008-04-16T10:37:00.000-06:00

“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

2008-04-13T09:01:00.002-06:00

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

2008-03-28T10:55:00.000-06:00

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

2008-03-21T11:57:00.001-06:00

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

2008-03-19T13:12:00.000-06:00

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'

2008-03-13T06:59:00.003-06:00

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

2008-03-06T10:52:00.020-06:00

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...

2008-02-24T09:17:00.000-06:00

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

2008-02-20T09:59:00.003-06:00

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

2008-02-12T08:42:00.000-06:00

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

2008-02-06T08:10:00.000-06:00

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?

2008-01-29T08:18:00.001-06:00

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

2008-01-22T07:49:00.000-06:00

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...

2008-01-17T10:29:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-14T07:47:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-06T08:30:00.000-06:00

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

Cultural Experiences

2007-12-31T05:27:00.000-06:00

Today is my 22nd birthday. While it is weird not to be celebrating it with my family and friends in America, I am excited to be celebrating with my Moroccan family. They are such great people and I love them already.

Until today, I was the same age for all of 2007 and because of this, I feel like I should reflect on the past year but I don’t really want to do that. Where I am now is very different from where I was a year ago. I think this just represents my growth as a human being. I have been in my town for over a month down and have one more month of homestay (lhumdullah) and each day is a different experience. And I wanted to share some of them. So here y’all go:

-How about the time the chicken crossed the road and got hit by a car…no this is not a joke. I tell this to people and they are like “where’s the joke” and I am like it is not a joke. It really happened.

-Saw a 3-legged dog the other day. It was rather interesting-looking.

-Almost got in a fight at the hammam. The hammam is how most people bathe here. I am not very good at explaining what it is so I will paraphrase the guidebook. “The hammam is a steam bath and is a Moroccan version of the spa.” (Rough Guide Morocco) I enjoy going and generally feel clean for a few days after my experience. Most people spend hours and hours there but I can only stay for a max of 2 hours. Besides, most of the women are not used to seeing a white girl so there is a lot of staring.

And just to put it out there because I have been asked this question, I don’t shower often. I usually only go to the hammam when there is enough grease in my hair to fry bacon and/or I am tired of looking like I have a bad hangover. And 2 days ago, I said something that I never thought I would say in my life: “I showered 3 days ago. I am still clean!” Obviously as soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back. Oh well…

-One of the things that I enjoy is when people will talk about me to other people in front of my face. They don’t realize (or don’t care) that I can speak (or attempt to speak) their language. When I say something to them, the expressions on their faces are priceless. But this can also work the other way. On more than one occasion I have said something in English that I would prefer not to be translated. And occasionally, there are people around who have decent English skills. They will look at me; laugh; and I have to do this whole “please do not translate” thing. It is a little embarrassing.

-One of the cultural things that always makes volunteers laugh is the so-called Berber rules for living. We hear them all of the time and most make a lot of sense but some are just off base. You can’t help but laugh. Here is a few:
--The reason you get a cold is because your headscarf is not wrapped tightly enough when leaving the hammam.
--My stomach issues are due to the cold weather not the food.
--The inferno is what is causing you to sneeze.
--Standing in the sun is what caused you to start itching.

-And I will end on this one: Meat is everything here. Because providing a good source of protein, it is a sign of wealth. My family is one of the better off in town and we always have meat. ALWAYS. Well, after Leid and a week’s worth of elaborate meals, I just haven’t been able to eat any more meat. I told my family that my stomach needs a break from all of the meat. So here is what they answered with: “That’s okay. We will make chicken.” It is like that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Leid Kbir

2007-12-27T05:06:00.000-06:00

Friday was officially Leid Kbir but most people celebrated through the weekend, my family included. Preparations for the holiday started weeks ago. My host family killed 2 sheep and 8 in total were killed in the family compound. I am eating so much lamb that I fully expect “baa” to come out the next time I open my mouth.

Some statistics:
Cups of tea (in 3 days): 10…that is a very low number, lhumdullah, and family knows that I prefer coffee to tea so I often get served coffee
Number of Pepto Bismal Taken: 7
Number of new people that I met: I stopped counting at 20
Number of new English-speaking family members I met: 3

I know very little about the meaning of Leid Kbir so I am not going to even mention any of the religious meanings of the holiday. I do know that it is considered the biggest Muslim holiday of the year and people go all out for it. Things were a little crazy but it was very exciting for me to experience the big holiday. I am having a new cultural experience every day, each one different from the last. Some are enjoyable; some are not. That is part of being in Morocco and living with a host family, whom I absolutely love.

How To Slaughter A Sheep

2007-12-24T09:40:00.000-06:00

FYI, THIS ENTRY CONTAINS SOME GRAPHIC AND DISTURBING PICTURES. DON’T EAT BEFORE READING AND DON’T MAKE PLANS TO EAT SOON AFTER.

During Leid Kbir celebrations I got to witness the slaughtering of 3 sheep. Here is how it goes down:

My host dad and brother slicing the sheep’s throat

It laid there for a while, bleeding and…

Twitching.

It’s dead

It’s head is cut off and…

Barbequed to be eaten later.

Holes are then cut below the knee and the sheep is inflated

The sheep is hung and…

Skinned and…

Gutted.

What it looks like before it is chopped into pieces. And yes, this would be our kitchen floor. And yes, I had the same reaction you are probably having right now.

Food Smorgasbord

2007-12-17T06:17:00.000-06:00

So some of the first questions I am asked by people (both from home and here) concern food. Here is a typical dialogue:

Person: How are you eating?
Me: I am eating very well, thank you. (Trying to use the manners my parents so hammered into me all those years)
Person: What sort of foods does your family eat (and me by extension)?
Me: Lamb, potatoes, chicken, cous cous, soup, eggs, etc.
Person: All in one day?
Me: No, All in ONE MEAL
Person: Holy shit…you must have to eat a lot
Me: Yeah, I am required to eat bzzaf amounts of food.

-Side Note: ‘bzzaf’ means ‘a lot.’ I use it frequently not only because many situations call for it but also because it is a fun word to say. Much more fun to say than 'copious'

When I eat all this food, my body engages in some internal fighting. This is how it plays out:

I wake up everyday wondering what kind of stomach day I am going to have. Not going to lie…it adds a little bit of excitement into my life. My family jokes that I use the bathroom more than Ali, the baby that lives in my house. The sad part is that it’s true. Shiwya b shiwya, I say…

Continuing with the food theme of this entry… I was reading a Conde Nast Traveler magazine that another volunteer passed on to me (lhumdullah for the literary exchange that is in full force here) and came across this line:
“Barbeque is America’s greatest gift to cuisine.” Amen, brotha, amen. What I would do for a barbeque sandwich and some Dreamland ribs right now? Oh man, you have no idea…

And just because I think this deserves to be on the internet for everyone to see…Chris, my environment sitemate, has never been to the South. Well, he ventured across the Mason-Dixon line once to visit some friends in North Carolina but I am not really counting that. Sure he may read this thing but oh well, I have been to his hometown (Seattle) before. Back to the food theme…Chris has never had the pleasure of tasting collards (I guess that is understandable) or boiled peanuts (COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE). So when I find collards at souk and can learn how to make boiled peanuts (got any recipes…send them my way), I can introduce another American to the wonders of Southern food.

A Good Metaphor

2007-12-05T05:40:00.001-06:00

Besides being in complete denial that it is December already, I spent this past weekend integrating (a word Peace Corps interjects into sentences like Paris Hilton interjects ‘that’s hot’) in my new community and getting to know my host family. Between two long hikes in some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen, drinking a gazillion glasses of tea, and having my first hammam experience, I realized that my host nephew, Ali, provides the best metaphor for my life in Morocco.

This little boy was born just a few weeks before I arrived in Morocco. In a lot of ways, I am like him:
-We have both embarked on a journey; Ali’s is the journey of life; mine is the journey of life after school
-Right now, he is moving around to figure out where he is much like what I am doing
-In the next few months, we will both get our legs and walk freely about
-In a year, we will both be running around like we own this town

I am excited to be here in my little town and to be sharing it with everyone who reads this blog.

In Site

2007-11-30T11:40:00.000-06:00

Well, I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. My group of 67 swore-in on Monday in a very nice ceremony in Fez. The Ambassador and his wife attended and again I was impressed. Fez is an incredible city. I would walk down the streets and feel like I was in Europe; it even has American things like a Wal-mart type store called Marjane and McDonalds (hey hey hey). On the other hand, you walk through the medina and you feel like you have been transported back to the middle ages. I didn't get much time to explore but later, inshallah.

I have now been in my site for 3 days and amazingly enough, have been busy. Not American busy but Moroccan busy. I have finally got my carte de sejour (card saying I am a resident of my town) figured out and have seen most of my artisans. Also, my amazing sitemate (the other volunteer that lives in my town) took me on a mini hike to one of the hills surrounding my town. The scenery is so beautiful. Unfornately, I forgot to take my camera. Still kicking myself on that one but I will have lots more time to make up for it.

In Florida, there is a saying that you know it is cold outside if you can see your breath. Well, here at 1800m above sea level I see my breath almost every time I breathe. Let's just say I am cold. My body will adjust soon, inshallah. And it has already snowed in the mountains surrounding my town. Pictures will be forthcoming.

December 1st is tomorrow and it is crazy to think about where I am now and where I was a year ago.

Until later...

CBT PHASE 4

2007-11-18T11:39:00.000-06:00

I have spent the last 5 days back in CBT finishing the artisan work my group has been doing for the last 2 months. Returning to the poor little village after visiting my final site which is night-and-day different, I knew that the first few moments with my host family would be awkward. And awkward it was; very awkward. After about an hour with my host family, I was mad at myself for not being prepared. As I have had more time to reflect, I realize that there was little I could have done to prepare. In the best of situations, all I could have done was just smile and wait for the awkward moments to pass.

That first night, though, was not the best of situations. The moment I got into the house I knew I was in for a long night. My host sisters followed me into my room and as I put down my stuff, they started going through it and asking me how much everything costs. For obvious reasons, this made me very uncomfortable. Overall, Moroccans are usually indirect but when it comes to how much something costs, they have no problems asking us. I have done pretty well dodging these questions and have become accustomed to expecting them. But coming from my host family who I have grown fond of and who I have respect very much, I was put off and became visibly upset. They could see this and did not see to care. I have been living with this family for the better part of the last 2 months and this is the first time anything like this has happened. It was almost like they forgot I was a real person instead of an American toy. The rest of the days were better but still uncomfortable. They continued to ask me questions about money but they weren’t too bad and I was able to dodge them. What they were trying to prove, I have no idea.

It is amazing how much happened in the two weeks I was away from CBT. My host sister, Merriam, announced to me that she was getting married. This is really bad of me, but it is hard to be happy for her. I know marriage is different here than in the States but I can’t help that my “Americaness” comes out when I think about Merriam getting married. For me, it is not so much that she will only be 18 when she gets married, it is that the only thing she knows about her fiancé is that he lives in Paris. That is all; she doesn’t even know his name. Merriam doesn’t speak French or even Arabic and thinks it will be easy to go to Paris. I just want to sit her down and explain to her what her marriage and living in France means. If it were not completely inappropriate, I would do it minus the whole language barrier thing. I also know that Mina, my youngest host sister, is going to have to quit school soon. Without Merriam at the house, Mina’s hands are needed around the house. But I also know that Merriam getting out of Morocco will significantly help her family. They already rely on money sent from Paris by a relative living and working there and need any extra bit they can get. Another bright side, Merriam will get a chance to see a side of the world that few in this country get a chance to experience.

Reflecting on my CBT experience, I am really glad that my training has taken place in a poor, little village because I am even more appreciative of my final site. If my training had been a little more posh, I would have taken a lot of things for granted. My little CBT village has taught me a lot but I was ready to leave it. I am ready to end training and motivated to start working in my final site. I am ready to move on because I have had a glimpse of what the future looks like and it excites me.

Update

2007-11-13T11:52:00.000-06:00

Since I last posted, I have found out my final site, spent a week visiting it, and am now back in Ouarzazate preparing to complete training.

The place that I will be calling home for the next 2 years is in the northern part of the country near Fez and Azrou. It is absolutely beautiful and most important, it is green. Green is rare in Morocco and I have it, yay! The scenery is very different from Ouarzazate and my CBT village. In the southern part of Morocco, everything is brown right down to the mud huts. When I stepped off the bus, I felt like I was in a whole other universe.

I am replacing a current volunteer which I didn’t expect to be doing so I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I went to visit. Well, what I found were 10 incredibly motivated women weavers who belong to a newly established cooperative. The starting of the cooperative was facilitated by Katie, the PCV I am replacing. This was just one of the things she did in her 2 years in Morocco. I am definitely a little intimated to be following in her footsteps but am really excited about the challenge. There are lots of potential work projects I could be doing like helping the women find a permanent building, an accounting/financial system, a sustainable market for their products, and various business training workshops! It is all very exciting and I can’t wait to start working.

Tomorrow, I will return to my CBT village to complete my training project. I am eager to finish training. It will be a little sad to be leaving my CBT host family but glad to be moving on to my final site.

Pictures for your viewing pleasure:

A bird’s view of my little town

We have trees with changing leaves!!!

A view of the countryside outside my house

Little Ali, the 3 month old baby that is part of my host family

West Wing Comparisons

2007-10-31T05:26:00.000-06:00

To anyone who has spent a lot of time with me knows that one of my favorite TV shows ever is The West Wing. I am pretty lucky that a lot of the trainees feel the same way. My Ouarzazate roommates and I watch a different West Wing and/or Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (Aaron Sorkin is a god) episode the nights we are in the hotel.

Anyway, in the 2nd to last episode of the series, Allison Janney’s character, CJ Craig, mentions that 9 out of 10 African aid projects fail because of poor road infrastructure. I have no way of knowing if this is actually a true statistic but based on the 2 months I have spent in my CBT village, I have no trouble imagining that this could true. Here is why:

My little village received about an inch of rain in steady drizzle that last 12 hours. Well, who would have thought that this would have turned life upside down. Certainly not the Americans. The roads here are all dirt so everything turned into mud. The river, which supports the village’s agriculture and livelihood, rose a few inches thanks an early snow melt in the High Atlas mountains. Well the river is what separates my village from the bigger town that has the supermarche and most important (to me) the internet. The only way to cross the river is by walking across (let’s face it, it is more a creek):

Or by using the bridge which is basically a pile of rocks built up so that vans with 4-wheel drive can across. Well, when the river rose, it looked like this:

And made it impossible to forge. Well, we were scheduled to ‘go into town’ to buy food and use the internet and damn it, we were Americans; a little rain was not big deal us and food and internet are the two things we can’t live without. Still not completely understanding the situation, we made the decision to just walk over the ‘bridge’ and grab a taxi to town. Our LCF (teacher and for the moment, boss) told us this wasn’t possible so naturally, we considered mutiny.

Well, to shorten the story, the river receded a little and we begged in our best Tamazight the van transport driver to take us to town and he consented. It was during the bridge crossing that the severity of situation hit us. The water was moving very swiftly and if it had rained just a few more inches, the villagers would have been trapped in their homes for days, possibly weeks. Contemplating this, the words of The West Wing popped into my head and I thought “wow, that statistic could actually be true”.

One Month Until Swearing In

2007-10-27T08:56:00.000-06:00

Language learning is the most frustrating part of training. I am concentrating learning a Berber dialect called Tamazight. The Berbers are the indigenous people of the Sahara and North Africa. Like the other indigenous languages, it is an oral language but I am learning it as a written language. That sounds complicated and it is. We learn the words in both the Roman script and the Arabic script but since Tamazight has never really been written down, there is very little consistency in spelling and grammar. For a Westerner who has had correct grammar and pronunciation drilled into her since birth, this is a difficult concept to understand and accept. There are times when you just want to scream and say this is wrong; we do not talk or write like this America. We Americans turn into these passive-aggressive monsters towards our teacher and villagers.

The people in my CBT group get along almost too well. This has become apparent during phase 3. We spend so much time together that we are like family now and we are starting to fight like family. I love being around so many incredible, motivated people and feel blessed to have them in my life; this is one of the best things about Peace Corps. But still, things get tense and confrontational. Peace, love, and happiness…WHAT?!

Enough of the venting, here is the fun stuff…

Yes, this is a picture of real camels and mountains with snow on them. I took this picture a few weeks ago on my way from Ouarzazate to my CBT village. I wasn’t paying attention to any of the beautiful scenery in hopes of trying to ward off the motion sickness I get every time I travel anywhere and then someone shouted camels and here ya go.

My cultural experiences have been so random this last week. Last Friday night, the Peace Corps’ home stay liaison hosted a Moroccan-American conversation in my CBT village. The Americans and our host families had tea and cookies while talking about our different customs and laws. There were two English-Tamazight translators there…the only way this could have happened. I think this was the first time all our families had come together. It was supposed to last an hour and a half but lasted three. Our families are so big and fun that things got a little crazy. I spent most of the time playing with the triplets in Lindsey’s host family. By the end of it, there were not a lot of dry eyes in the room. The most exiting part to me was sharing the experiences with my host sisters. They got to have an evening away from cooking and cleaning and really enjoyed themselves. When we got back, all they did was talk about the conversation. I was so happy to see them having fun.

Me with one of the village triplets that I love to play with

A week ago Saturday had to be the most rewarding day I have had in Morocco. I think I have used this label before and can guarantee I will use it in the future. Even though I experience lots of ups and downs, most of my days are rewarding and I would not trade this experience for anything. Back to Saturday, Bruce Cohen, the Peace Corps Morocco director, came to visit my CBT group in our village to discuss our experience so far. It was great to talk with him in a small setting and discuss what we thought of Morocco and Peace Corps so far and hear his feedback. We showed him the documentary video our group had made about our CBT Phase 2 experience; he loved it! It felt satisfying and fulfilling to have administrative approval of the specific work experiences we are doing in CBT. That is selfish, yes, but it is the truth.

On Saturday evening, my host sisters took me to my first Moroccan wedding!!! I had no idea where we were going. At dinner, they kept repeating that the word “tamgra” which is word for wedding ceremony. But I am constantly lost in translation and thought they were saying the word “lmagra” which means to cut grass. Big difference. So when I show up looking like I just walked out of the REI catalog—this is what I look like every day—I was in for a surprise. No one seemed to care but it gave Maggy and Lindsey (the other Americans there) a couple of laughs. We were really excited to be to share in this amazing experience with the locals. Quite often, we gave each looks like “are we really here?!” It seemed like our entire village was there. The women were in one room while the men stayed outside. Tambourines were brought in and music was played. Lots of dancing and talking ensued, for hours. I had so much fun. The family of the bride and the rest of the village welcomed us with open arms and made me feel like I was a local. I feel like a local here.

That was a week ago and the village is talking about the wedding and how they enjoyed having the Americans there. According to my language teacher, they will be talking about it for years. Everywhere I go, people talk to me about it. It brightens my day when they show me acceptance.

I have been going through my music library with my host brother in the past few days and realized that about 75% of it pertains to the South. It is either beach music, blues, folk, bluegrass, or talk about Southern life. Maggy was telling me about a trip she took through a couple of Southern states and how she heard the word “ya’ll” more times than she could count, ate foods she had never heard of, and (the touchy subject) saw the Confederate flag. I explained a little about our customs and traditions, the food, and history. One very exciting little tidbit: Collards are grown here and cooked with cous cous. I almost cried when I saw it. I am such a Southerner…and I love it.

And I am going to end the entry with this: I read Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning in the past few days and the afterword ends with Frankl’s meaning for his own life. “The meaning of my life is to help others find the meaning of their life.” There are many different ways I can apply this to my life but I think the most relevant one at the moment is: Peace Corps volunteers are here in Morocco to help people help themselves. At his moment in my life, this is its meaning.

l-3id!

2007-10-15T11:37:00.001-06:00

Sundown Friday marked the end of Ramadan and of course, it ends with a celebration. Called l-3id (it means feast), it is a very big deal here in Morocco. Peace Corps arranged for our CBT groups to spend the important occasion with our host families. Before leaving Ouarzazate, everyone in my CBT group made sure we had nice outfits to wear. Since I’ve been in CBT, my personal hygiene has gone to hell so I was looking forward to taking a hot shower, doing my hair, and putting on makeup.

On Friday night, it was henna-time! It took 2 hours to put the henna on my feet and hands and another hour to set the dye. Of course, I wasn’t to touch to anything so my host sisters had to feed me and help me into bed (no brushing of teeth or washing of face…remember, what personal hygiene). They literally laid me in bed and positioned my body in a very uncomfortable position. No pain, no gain, right?

After not much sleep, I woke up at 7:30 for the big family breakfast. The big dish served was basmati rice! It was very exciting to see this. I was really looking forward to eating a large portion of this new food until my host sister poured hot grease over it. I kept thinking, “They are ruining the rice. They are ruining the rice.” Why this is considered a delicacy, I have no idea. For me, it is right up there with the lamb fat. I carved myself a little portion of the rice without the grease and drank multiple glasses of coffee. The coffee here is not served in large mugs like in the states; they use shot glasses. In the states, I drink massive amounts of black coffee but here, I only have 3 to 4 glasses of café au lait in the evening only. Well on Saturday, I drink almost 2 pots of coffee. My family laughed at how much I was drinking and while I laughed along with them, I wondered what they would think of my daily fair trade, shade-grown venti coffees from Starbucks every day back in the states. If I even tried to explain it, they wouldn’t believe me.

My host family got all dressed up and the men went all went to a large clearing on a hill in the village to a prayer ritual to mark l-3id. My host sisters and I went to all the houses in our area to visit with the women. Greetings are huge here. Every time you talk to someone, you start with “Salaam” then ask how some one is, 4 different ways. No matter how many times they ask me in one conversation, the answer is the same. It definitely wears on my patience to say the same thing over and over. On l-3id though, they add another line, “Mbrouk l-3id.” It mean happy or congratulations; very similar to our Happy Thanksgiving or Merry Christmas. When the men finished, the women lined up in receiving lines at their houses for the men to greet them. I felt strange but also very appreciative to watch and be apart of such an important tradition.

My host sisters prepared an elaborate lunch and invited my LCF to join us. I am glad they did because he translated for me. I was finally able to ask my family questions and know what their responses were. It helped me learn and understand a lot more about my host family. Chris, the American who lived next door to me, joined us for lunch and afterwards, he and I managed to go for a walk without little kids following us. Kids follow us Americans everywhere; most of the time, we love it but there are times when we just want to walk and talk alone and reflect on life here and how it is so much different from life in the States (or at least, this is what I want to do). Chris and I went to every Americans’ house only to be told they were at another house. We felt left out (Did we not get the memo?) but proceeded on the Lindsey’s house to play with her family’s 4 year old triplets. Contrary to what we were told, Lindsey was at home so we got to see each other dressed up instead of the usual “I haven’t showered in 3 days and have changed my clothes in 2 days” look.

The 3 of us along with bundles of kids this time continued the previous walk and eventually ran into Maggy. Of course every house we went to, we had to have tea and cookies. I surpassed my previous total of glasses of tea by far on Saturday. Chris’ host father joined us and led us to a different part of the village that I had never been to before. We walked through fields and pretty houses to what had to be the nicest house in all of the village. The walls were tile, the rugs were gorgeous, the ceilings painted, and furnishings that included a washing machine and the big one, a Western toilet. I was just in awe. After more tea and cookies, it was dark and time to go home. L-3id was now over and time for sleep so a new day could begin.

Side note: When I left for Peace Corps and Morocco, I somehow had this notion that life that in States would just somehow stop moving while I was here. I wouldn’t miss birthdays, holidays, and other important events. Lots of other volunteers had this same notion but it has quickly come crashing down on us. One of my Ouarzazate roommates lost a friend 2 weeks ago and this past weekend, I lost a friend that I have known since preschool. It is hard being here and not with family and friends during these moments. I want to be there to comfort and share the time with me friends but at the same time though, it helps to remind me why I am here.

Pictures:

My feet with the henna dye

Me with one of the triplets!

Me with my henna!

Our house!

Video

2007-10-09T06:26:00.000-06:00

The above is a video my CBT group about phase 1 and our little village. Enjoy.

CBT Phase 1

2007-10-01T11:05:00.000-06:00

I had this really long report on Phase 1 of CBT typed up and ready to be posted but it was 6 pages long, so I condensed it but it is still longish…

For the past 9 days, I have been living in an adobe hut in a very small, very poor town on the edge of the High Atlas Mountains and the Sahara without running water and very little ability to speak the local language but it has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Peace Corps has rules concerning blogs and the internet so I am not sure what all information I can post here. To be on a safe side, I am not going to mention the name of the village. There is no use in trying to describe it either because I cannot give accurate descriptions of this amazing little hamlet. Even if I did, I don’t think anyone would believe me. It is hard to holdback tears when I think about the villagers’ tough, brutal lives. This isn’t TV. This is Africa in the flesh.

One of the thoughts that entered my head upon arrival from Ouarzazate was “I am pretty sure I couldn’t live here for two years.” My first day was difficult, to say the least. My language skills were nowhere near where they needed to in order to communicate. L-ftur, the break fast meal, was my first eating experience and it was a relatively silent occasion. My host family would talk to me; I would say “I don’t understand” in Darija; they would laugh at me. Finally, I just went into my room for some alone time. I really needed it. One of the resolutions I made to myself when I left for Morocco was to never end the day on a sour note. Both Voice of America and the BBC World Service were on the short wave so I listened to some English voices and got some much needed world news.

Sunday was supposed to be an off day for us but the people (who are amazing, by the way) in my CBT group gathered to share stories about our host families and the different tactics we attempted to use in order to communicate. This is where my inexperience and youth shows. It seemed like everyone has a better first day than me. Listening to my peers tell stories, I thought maybe I am too young and inexperienced to do this job effectively. Then I realized I don’t need to be comparing myself to my peers but rather using their stories to learn and grow. I went back to my host family and put my fellow Trainees’ suggestions into use. Cooking for Lftur (“break fast”) had already started so I sat down in the kitchen with my language books and started studying. My host sister was so gracious with me and when I started pointing and asking the name of the object, she responded very slowly and was patient with me while I repeated the word about a thousand times. I learned so much and my day was 100x better than the day before.

The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. I would take a leap forward only to take a step back a few moments later. Each new experience was an opportunity for me to learn. During the frustrating moments, it took strength I did not know I had not to go to my room and curl up in a ball with my Ipod and To Kill a Mockingbird and hide.

My host family is sooo nice and incredibility patient with me. They are way more patient with me than I am with them. They graciously took me in and continuously fed me (even though I tried not to eat a lot). One day, a friend of the oldest brother came over and tried to speak to me in English. I complemented the friend’s language skills. My host brother got upset and this determined look came over his face. Then, he made me take him around the house and identify in English practically every single object. We spent about an hour going over everything. Then at l-ftur, he pointed to objects on the table and said their names in English! He remembered the names in English a lot better than I remembered them in Tamazight. I jumped up and got so excited that I shocked everyone else (and myself). They started to laugh at me and I joined in. It was the first time I was able to laugh with them and feel a part of their community. This must be what Peace Corps means when they talk over and over about community integration. By the end of the night, he could count to 21 in English and I could count to 50 in Darija/Tamazight. When I went to bed, my smile was so big; I think you could see it from space. When I arrived home from my training session the next day, he greeted me with “Sara is from Panama City, Florida.” Again, I got excited and gave a big smile. By the way, Sarah is the Arabic name my host family gave me because Elizabeth is too hard for them to say…it is pronouced Sah-rah.

Besides the above episode, I made some other connections with my host family. The littlest boy and I made paper airplanes and paper footballs, did gymnastics, and I taught him how to throw a ball. Even though my host sisters are 21 and 18, it is hard to connect with them. The oldest girl did not attend school and the 18-year old attended very little school. Half of the women in Morocco are illiterate and my host sisters fall into that category. It is really tough for me to handle that statistic and until I met my host sisters, I did not really believe it. In the almost-22 years I have been on this Earth, I think they are the first illiterate people I have met and the sad part is that they are really smart and have lots of potential but have no way to realize it because of the environment they were unfortunately born into. It is them who run house.

I feel like I was able to finally connect with them a little the other night, though. After coming home from classes, I asked to help cook l-ftur and imnsci (dinner). When I said this, they got really excited and kept repeating that I was going to eat dinner, something I usually don’t do because it follows l-ftur by only a few hours and during l-ftur I eat so much that I am full until lunch the next day. My host sisters let me fry the l-ftur bread (yes it is fried and it is one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten) and during the meal, everyone congratulated me on the bread including the parents (big deal for me). They asked me if I liked tajine and I answered yes probably too enthusiastically. So, they taught me how to properly cook the tajine which is one of the most exciting things I have done here. I can’t wait to cook it for those who come visit me! During the cooking and the corresponding meals is when I think I was best able to communicate. The mom said more words to me than she has the rest of the week combined and I actually understood what she said and vice versa. On the same note, the food here is delicious. The fried breads, tajine, and cous cous are some of the best things I have ever eaten. The dad would eat l-ftur in his own little corner, mumbling incoherently, and did not seem to realize me until the middle of the week when he asked the oldest daughter who I was. To pat myself on the back, I knew what he was saying and when he acknowledged me, I answered back in Tamazight. It was a very good accomplishment for me.

One of my new strategies in Morocco is just to smile all the time. It seemed to work well for me during CBT. Some current PC volunteers spoke to us the week before CBT started and one said that when she arrived in her permanent site, she tried to smile all the time. The people in her community seemed to feed on that and it helped her integrate into her community. The saying that was popular a few years ago “I smile because I have no idea what is going on,” well, that is me. Slowly, but surely though, I am getting an idea of what is going on and it seems to make the bad moments, less bad; and the good moments a lot better.

Overall, I feel as if the past week went really well and I looking forward to being back in the little village. The scenery was breathtaking and the village was really peaceful. One night, I went for a walk outside and was amazed by the stars.

Throughout the week, I wondered if I was having as much an impact on their lives as they are having on mine. I was definitely the first American they had spent time with. A few Americans have been through this village but not many. On a lighter note, their lives are more well-rounded now because they have listened to Jimmy Buffett, the Beatles, Alison Krauss, Jimi Hendrix, Norah Jones, Bob Marley, Dixie Chicks, Elton John, and Billy Joel. By the way, thank you Apple for inventing the Ipod and podcasts; and to NPR for making “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” into a podcast. And on the last day, we finally figured out how to get hot water and the hot shower I was able to get on the last day was absolutely sinful.

And Mom don’t worry, I helped out around the house. Definitely did not do my fair share because they wouldn’t let me but I folded laundry, cleaned the dishes, helped in the fields, and hauled water from the communal well.

Another phase of CBT will start again in 4 days and in that time, I have one small, tiny, really simple request. Can every household in Morocco receive a western toilet with the plumbing to match???

The well where the family’s water comes from!

My host sisters

The figs I picked!

My host brother studying his English!

The yummy fried bread!

Portrait of CBT Phase 1

2007-09-26T05:48:00.000-06:00

CBT is going so well! I have only been here 5 days but feel as if I have grown miles. The little town I am in is so beautiful...very picturesque! Each day is challenging but incredibly rewarding. I feel so blessed to be here and wanted to share a little snapshot of one of my experiences.

My host family is so good to me that I feel bad about how well I have been taken in. Their patience and nice behavior is somthing to be desired. Yet still when I talk about them with my CBT group, I detect a pang of sympathy for them and I hate it. I think "what would I be like if I was born here" and vice versa. I hate that life is like this (I guess that is one of the reasons I am in the Peace Corps). My host sisters are so smart yet relatively illterate. I am no different from them but our lives are following opposite paths and just happen to collide on the base of the High Atlas Mountains and the Sahara. One of host sisters had trouble reading the word "bab" in Arabic script. This is a very simple word and one of the first ones I learned here. When I saw this, it was very hard not to cry. She is my age and cannot read. I grew up in a completely different environment and I am reading Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fate of Human Societies. To me, this is one of life,s great inequalities.

I have lots more to say about CBT but but will not be able to update again until I am back in Ouarzazate on Monday, inshallah!

Heading to CBT

2007-09-21T12:12:00.000-06:00

Found out today I will be learning the Tamazight language. It is spoken by the Berbers in the Middle Atlas mountains near Fez. At first, I was a little bummed because I wanted to continue the intensive Darija training but now I am excited about this opportunity. There are only 11 people learning Tamazight so there are only 11 places we could end up living. Hopefully one will be really close to Fez. My Darija will inshallah improve tremoundsously as well and maybe even over the next 2 years, my French will achieve a conversational level. Who knows what my language will be like when I am done...probably a creole of Tamazight, Darija, and French.

My CBT group is in a small town about 2 hours northeast of Ouarzazate. It is so small that there is no cyber so Internet access in the next week is unlikely. My days will be filled with business projects, Tamazight and Darija training, and my own downtime. Hopefully, I can get lots of reading and writing done.

Salam until then...

Books

2007-09-20T14:30:00.000-06:00

One of the most interesting conversations among us volunteers is about the massively overstuffed bags we packed. It seems like the most agonizing decision we faced was what books to bring. I brought only ¼ of the books I wanted. This was the problem for many people; it has become almost comical when someone starts reading a non-Peace Corps book. The typical conversation:
“Oh, I have been wanting to read that!”
“It is so good. You can read it after me” or
“That is a great book.”
“I am enjoying it”
and then a discussion on the book ensues.

Books include:
Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali (excellent book)
The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan (one of my roommates is reading this and likes to read disgusting excerpts from it)
Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
Culture Shock! Morocco (good if you are going to live in Morocco like we are)
Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond (the book I am currently reading but at the current rate, it may not be finished until I move to my site)
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khalid Hosseini

On another note, Community-Based Training starts on Saturday. This will be the first big test for me in Morocco. From September 22nd until October 1st, I will be living with a host family in a village outside Ouarzazate. During the day I will be at my LCF’s house (Language and Culture Facilitator) where I will continue my intensive language training and, inshallah, more cross-cultural sessions. Peace Corps has kept us in a mini-sheltered state these 2 weeks so I am looking forward to getting the chance to get out of the hotel and live in a family. My Darija should improve tremendously in the next 10 days and inshallah, I will get to eat some good tajines and cous cous! Hopefully there will be a cyber I can go to but until then...

Ramadan

2007-09-18T06:56:00.001-06:00

Ramadan started on Friday, the 14th, my 4th day in Morocco. Thankfully, Peace Corps gave us a cross-cultural training session on Ramadan. I found it to be very informational and thought others might find it interesting.

Ramadan is the name of the 9th month of the Islamic calendar and it is the month of fasting. A new month starts when the new moon is cited. Islam considers the new moon to be the crescent moon. So, the new moon was cited on the evening of 13th and fasting started at dawn on the 14th. There is a window of when the moon will be cited. For instance, my Day Runner said Ramadan started on the 12th but that is just the first day the new moon could have been cited. Morocco’s Ministry of Islamic Affairs signals when to start Ramadan and when to end it. Each country is different so it is possible for each country to start Ramadan on a different day. There are rules about who fasts and who doesn’t: pregnant women, children who haven’t reached puberty, the sick, travelers, and menstruating women.

When Ramadan ends on either the 29th or 30th day of fasting, Muslims celebrate the holiday L-Eid (pronounced Aid). It is very large festival and this year it will be the 12th or 13th of October. What is exciting for me is that I will be staying with a local family when it arrives this year! Since it runs on a lunar calendar, Ramadan starts 11 days (roughly) earlier every year and it takes 33 years to complete an entire cycle. Around 6:30 every night, a loud siren goes off. I tried to capture the sound of the siren and the resulting call to praryer in a video on my camera but I can't upload the video on Blogger. I'll have to think of another way to put it on here. Contrary to what I thought before I arrived in Morocco, the call to prayer is not very loud. Unless I am listening for it, I do not hear it. The chant is a very beautiful sound which really surprised me. Not sure what I expected—maybe a bell or siren of some kind (That was ignorant of me)—but I find myself waiting for the sound at evening prayer time.

At 6:45 every night, we have “break fast.” Moroccans have special customs when it comes to this meal. Unlike many other Muslim countries, they eat this meal at home. To break the fast, they have 3 special foods. Harira is a type of soup. It is similar to minestrone and is very yummy. Rgifa is a fried flat bread shaped in a square. This is my favorite! Tastes a lot like cracklin’ bread. Funny situation at “break fast” when we tried the bread: We were trying to figure out what it tasted like and I said it tasted like cracklin’ bread and everyone at the table was like “What is it?!” They are obviously not from the south  Bagrir is a holy bread that tastes and looks a lot like a crumpet. Dinner is around 10 and it is followed by the dawn meal around 4 AM. And the last thing of the night is another siren. Around 4:30, the signal goes off and eating consumes until the evening “break fast.”

Bus Ride To Ouarzazate

2007-09-15T14:54:00.000-06:00

The Small Business Development (SBD) group left Rabat on Friday and headed to Ouarzazate. This was the first time I have really seen Morocco outside downtown Rabat. Even though I slept for 7 of the 9 hour bus ride, the sights of the other two hours were interesting to say the least. Here are some songs that came over the radio:

-LoveStoned by Justin Timberlake
-Irreplacable by Beyonce
-a couple of Madonna classics
-Over My Head by The Fray
-Don’t Lie by Black Eyed Peas
-Fantasy by Mariah Carey

When the first American song came on, everyone just kind of looked at each other with strange looks. It is 4 hours from Rabat to Marrakesh and 5 hours from Marrakesh to Ouarzazate. The road to Marrakesh is flat but after Marrakesh, it is all mountain terrain. The High Atlas Mountains are very pretty and resemble the red rocks in Arizona. Another thing, everything is brown. Seriously. Look at the pictures below if you do not believe me.

I have lots more to say but time is so limited during training. My emails and blog entries are typed beforehand, put on a flash drive, and uploaded at the cyber café. Tomorrow is our first day with nothing scheduled. Hopefully, the cyber will be open and I can spend some time getting US news and updating.

Rabat in Pictures

2007-09-15T14:43:00.000-06:00

A rare empty street in the medina…usually very crowded but it was noon prayer

Hello Florida!

Ambassador Thomas Riley spoke to us on Wednesday. It was exciting to meet him. He is a very impressive diplomat and genuinely interested/involved in the work Peace Corps does in Morocco.

We found WIFI in a small corner of the hotel…This was our version of a cyber

On To Morocco

2007-09-09T22:02:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow we are off to Morocco! Staging went well. The group of 67 is incredibly diverse. I still haven’t met everyone but so far, I think I am the only person from the Deep South. A couple of people are from North Carolina, and South Florida but none from the Panhandle, Alabama, Tennessee, Georgia, and Mississippi.

We are spending a few days in Rabat but won’t actually be allowed out of our hotel until Day 3. We haven’t been told why; we haven’t been told much of anything. We were finally given our training city—Ouarzazate (pronounced where is at very fast). It is located in the mountains of southern Morocco about 8 hours from Rabat and a couple of hours from Marrakech. Nicknamed “Oz,” it is the Hollywood of Africa. Lawrence of Arabia, Babel, and the new movie Rendition were all filmed there.

In Oz, I will be living with a host family, learning with my community-based training (CBT) group of 5-6 people, and see as much of Oz as possible. Hopefully upon arrival in Rabat, I will learn more about training and the exact work I will be doing for the next 2 years.

Looking forward to being in-country!

Bags Are Packed. I Must Be Going Somewhere.

2007-09-07T21:04:00.000-06:00

Well, the bags are packed. Now it is time for sleep so I can catch my 6AM flight in the morning.

Here are my bags:

They are stuffed and a few pounds overweight but that is okay. It took some work to get close to the Peace Corps limit of 80 pounds. Lots of stuff will need to be shipped to me.

Another picture:
My last sunset in Panama City

New York Encounters

2007-09-04T22:16:00.000-06:00

Look who I bumped into...literally

APPALACHIAN ADVENTURES

2007-07-29T20:48:00.000-06:00

On Friday, I embarked on a kind-of spur-of-the-moment road trip to the southern Appalachians.

On Saturday, I arrived in Asheville for Bele Chere 2007. With all downtown streets becoming pedestrian for the festival, it was easy to explore leisurely. After buying a pint of organic IPA, I listened to reggae, shopped (yay for fantastic finds at vintage boutique), and enjoyed the Burt’s Bees mini spa.

After Bele Chere, Jimmy Buffett’s Cheeseburger in Paradise restaurant was the next destination.

Memo to general manager: You are a theme restaurant. You do not compete on food; you compete on atmosphere. You failed. The mood was somber; funeral parlors have better atmospheres. Also, you were wearing a suit. IT IS A BEACH RESTAURANT. Wear at least a Hawaiian shirt! The number of Buffett songs I heard during my hour-long meal: ONE. It wasn’t even “Cheeseburger in Paradise” or “Margaritaville.” You could have least played those instead of “5 O’clock Somewhere” which isn’t even on one of Buffett’s CDs. Any self-respecting Parrothead would be thoroughly disappointed. You let me down. You really did and as a die-hard Parrothead, I did not think this was possible.

Somehow I was able to find the Blue Ridge Parkway from downtown Asheville without getting on the interstate (it was all luck). Replacing Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in the CD player with Songs You Know By Heart, it took only a few verses of “Cheeseburger in Paradise” before all was well again in Margaritaville. Cruising down the Blue Ridge Parkway listening to Buffett and later Prairie Home Companion, I thought to myself: “This is the good life.”

PS. Gatlinburg, TN should carry a warning sign: “If you have ever been anywhere in this world, you will be disappointed with our low-life version of hell.”

A Thousand Splendid Suns

2007-06-01T21:01:00.000-06:00

Khaled Hosseini is the author of one of my favorite books, The Kite Runner and my newest favorite, A Thousand Splendid Suns. This novel is the story of 2 women growing up in Afghanistan; the country lived under the rule of a monarch, communists, warlords, and the Taliban.

The following is Hosseini's description of the Taliban's rules:
(this is not the exact wording from the novel--it's paraphrased)

All citizens must pray 5 times a day. If it is prayer time and you are caught doing something other, you will be beaten.
All men will grow their beards. If you do not abide by this, you will be beaten.
All boys will wear turbans. They will be color-coded by age.
Singing is forbidden.
Dancing is forbidden.
Playing cards, chess, gambling, and kite flying are forbidden.
Writing books, watching films, and painting pictures are forbidden.
If you steal, your hand will be cut off at the wrist. Steal again , your foot will be cut off.
If you are not Muslim, do not worship where you can be seen by Muslims.
Attention women:
You will stay inside your homes at all times. It is not proper for women to wander aimlessly about the street. If you go outside, you must be accompanied by a male relative.
You will not show your face.
Cosmetics are forbidden.
Jewelry is forbidden.
You will not wear charming clothes.
You will not speak unless spoken to.
You will not make eye contact with men.
You will not laugh in public.
You will not paint your nails. If you do, you will lose a finger.
Girls are forbidden from attending school.
Women are forbidden from working.
If you commit adultery, you will be stoned to death.

I want to cry...