Snow Falling On Cedars

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

A New Month, A New Season

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

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

"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

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

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

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