Katherine In Morocco

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

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

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

"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

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

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

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.