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.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Update
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
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
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
West Wing Comparisons
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”.
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”.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
One Month Until Swearing In
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.
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.
Monday, October 15, 2007
l-3id!
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
CBT Phase 1
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!
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!
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