Apple Sauce and Armadillos

Yesterday, I learned how to draw an armadillo.  For those of you that were worried, rest assured, I finally fulfilled this lifelong dream. It was an exciting moment that I experienced very much . . . alone.

Some of you are aware that I am living the life of a semi-retired 34-year old and you might wonder how I spend my time. 

So, to fill you in, I have actually been doing a little work since the end of Ramadan. I coordinated a camp with other volunteers at my Dar Chabab.  It was a blast, and after the camp was over, both  my idealism and realism about my capabilties as a volunteer were realized.  My good friend created a video about the camp confirming that we are indeed actually working in Morocco.  I emailed the video to the Peace Corps Director, who in turn used it as a motivating training video for other volunteers.  She also sent it to the American Embassy, and they would like to use it on their website. 

I attended several trainings/workshops in September in Oarzazette, Marrakesh, and Rabat. In Oarzazette, I studied yet another language, TashelHit.  TashelHit is a Berber language spoken in many regions in Morocco, including Massa.  I love learning new languages, but TashelHit also carries the dreaded g-r gargle gurgle sound that is very challenging for foreigners (especially me) to make.  I come from Wyoming, for $%#^ sakes.  Every time I make the sound incorrectly, which is every time I make the sound, someone stretches out their neck and gargles at me in an attempt to teach me how to say it properly. Both Darija and TashelHit are heavily populated with this devil letter. 

In Marrakesh, the most touristy city in Morocco, I was reunited with the 100 other volunteers that I came to the country with to attend a training workshop.  Marrakesh is beautiful, but the lingering memory I have of this city is of monkeys on chains and starving horses. I am going back there next week, and hopefully I will come away with a more balanced view. 

In Rabat, I attended a workshop with my Moroccan counterpart about teaching life skills to Moroccan youth.  We hope to coordinate these activities in the spring, when my language skills are up to the challenge. 

The first night I returned to my apartment, I was delighted to cook myself dinner and be alone.  Several days later, things started to go south.  Let me paint a picture:  I spend almost all of my time alone when I am in Massa.  I work in my apartment on lesson plans, studying, etc., and go to the Dar Chabab for 1-2 hours, some days I don't go at all. Hence, the armadillo.  In an effort to maintain my sanity, I have created a list of daily activities: Study, exercise, go outside, do a chore, learn something new. The armadillo was my "something new" yesterday.  Today, I learned to make apple sauce.  Tomorrow, who knows? The world is my oyster.

Seriously though, good things do happen here.   Cross Cultural Solutions, the organization in Rabat that I volunteered for 2 years ago, invited me to come and speak to their current volunteers.  When I was riding in a taxi a couple weeks ago, the taxi driver told me "I am so happy that you are trying to learn my language."   I am often greeted with excitement and appreciation when I attempt to speak Darija or TashelHit. 

I don't want to get on a soap box, but with the current political climate, I believe even more strongly in being here.  Chris Stevens, the American Ambassador that was killed recently in Libia, was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Morocco in the 1980's.  They recently had a day of remembrance for him in the community he lived in, and many expressed sadness at the events that lead to his death.  Let me just say this: I am American, I am grateful for my many blessings.  I live in an Arab nation and have many friends that are devout Muslims.  Friends that have welcomed me into their homes and hearts with no questions asked.  Friends that keep me safe, sheltered, and well-fed.  Please remember this if you hear anyone making any disparaging remarks about Arab or Muslim peoples. 

Oh, I also learned how to draw a platypus. 

Ramadan was over a couple weeks ago, so I can now share a few of my personal experiences with this Muslim holiday.  Let me warn you beforehand, this is not a story about my personal transformation into a more blissful life.   In an attempt to culturally intergrate and experience some rejuvenation and sacrifice of my own, I attempted to fast.  On the first day, at 120 degrees, I stayed in my house most of the day, waiting for the call to prayer at 7:39ish to tell me that I can eat and drink.  I went to "break fast" with my host family.  I experienced the longest 10 minutes of my life from 7:29pm-7:39pm, as food was placed in front of me but I still could not eat it. After the call to prayer indicating the end of the fast, we ate the traditional meal of harrera (soup), dates, and shebekiya (sweet nutty thing). This is also often served with milk and a hard boiled egg.   I also had coffee, juice, and pasta.

The second day I traveled to Casablanca with Leslie.  Leslie was a volunteer who showed me the ropes in Massa and was scheduled to return to America that week after serving in both Albania and Morocco.  We stayed with a friend of hers, who had a luxurious apartment: hot shower, balconies overlooking Casablanca, fluffy towels, and Honey Nut Cheerios.  That evening Leslie and I searched for a restaurant in which to break fast in, but we were unable to find a suitable place.  We ultimately found a Pizza Hut and ordered pizza to go, and ate it in front of the TV while watching American television.  After, we went to Starbucks and ate cheesecake.  It was indulgent and lovely.  On the third day, Leslie went to visit friends while I decided to stay in.   I took a long hot shower, washed and dried my clothes, watched tv, and took a nap,  Leslie's friend made us omelets with American cheese to break fast, and then we went to Rick's cafe (of Casablanca fame, but built after the movie) for dessert.  On the way in the taxi, I started to have hot flashes, and when we went to the restaurant I threw up what little food I had eaten.  I had to visit the bathroom several times while we were there, but I started to feel better before leaving and was able to choke down a banana split and a coffee. 

During Ramadan, there are several exceptions to the obligatory fasting.  This includes exceptions for the elderly, children, the ill,  the menstruating, or the traveling.  On the fourth day, I decided that since I was traveling, I didn't need to fast until I returned to Massa.  The Honey Nut Cheerios and Raisin Bran that were available for breakfast may have been the beginning of my fasting demise.
We traveled to Rabat that day and I stayed there for 3 days, eating 1-2 times a day at the only restaurant that was open until the evening: McDonald's.  It was disturbingly delightful. 

So, on the day that I returned to Massa, I fasted.  I broke fast by myself in my apartment with dates, fresh vegetables, scrambled eggs and orange juice.  When I woke up the next morning, I decided that  I wanted to enjoy my life.  I need food and drink to enjoy my life, so that was the end of my fasting.  I am sure that my reason for ending my fast are shallow and miss the point, but I can assure you that I now savour my coffee a little more every morning. 

Also, during Ramadan, most activity in Morocco comes to a halt.  So, there is not really any work to do.  The first week I returned to Massa I watched every season of "Friends."  The next week I was more productive and got back on track with exercise and studying Arabic.  I also learned several new things too, I drew a palm tree with oil pastels and I gave myself a haircut.  I also cleaned my computer with a q-tip and stared at my own hands for awhile, amazed by their beauty and functionality.  It is amazing what happens when you spend too much time alone . . .

Please be sure that you read my previous post explaining Ramadan, as I don't want my hedonism and gluttony to minimize the importance and relevance of this holiday. 

   

 

Massa II

Massa

Massa

Massa

Massa Cat

Entry way to home in Massa

Hrf S3ir (little lamb) at my Host Family's house in Massa

Sun in Agadir, only on my right shoulder.

Ramadan starts tomorrow . . .

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar. Every day during this month, Muslims around the world spend the daylight hours in a complete fast.
Answer: During the blessed month of Ramadan, Muslims all over the world abstain from food, drink, and other physical needs during the daylight hours. As a time to purify the soul, refocus attention on God, and practice self-sacrifice, Ramadan is much more than just not eating and drinking.
 Muslims are called upon to use this month to re-evaluate their lives in light of Islamic guidance. We are to make peace with those who have wronged us, strengthen ties with family and friends, do away with bad habits -- essentially to clean up our lives, our thoughts, and our feelings. The Arabic word for "fasting" (sawm) literally means "to refrain" - and it means not only refraining from food and drink, but from evil actions, thoughts, and words.
 During Ramadan, every part of the body must be restrained. The tongue must be restrained from backbiting and gossip. The eyes must restrain themselves from looking at unlawful things. The hand must not touch or take anything that does not belong to it. The ears must refrain from listening to idle talk or obscene words. The feet must refrain from going to sinful places. In such a way, every part of the body observes the fast.
 Therefore, fasting is not merely physical, but is rather the total commitment of the person's body and soul to the spirit of the fast. Ramadan is a time to practice self-restraint; a time to cleanse the body and soul from impurities and re-focus one's self on the worship of God.
http://islam.about.com/od/ramadan/f/ramadanintro.htm

Walk around Massa today . . .
















My Apartment!

Minaret outside my kitchen window

Couch in living room

Dryer

Shower

Sink

Kitchen Counter



Bed

Since I last posted, I have moved into my apartment and now have my own address in a country that is not America.  I have a post office box and a Moroccan identity card.  As you all know, this is my dream, or for the Paulo Coehlo lovers, my “personal legend.” Everything I have done in my life has lead me to this moment, in my apartment, alone, listening to the some of my favorite music, and attempting to capture my current situation in words.  As I told a friend yesterday, everything starts to seem so normal that I find I have nothing to share.  Then I remember that I was yet again woken last night by a braying donkey, and that sometimes I have to really think to remember the last day I took a shower. I am then reminded that for 34 years, I did not live my life this way.  It was yesterday, by the way. 

So while I have been blessed with this amazing life, I of course have frequent moments where I long to see all of your faces.  My homesickness has become pervasive this week, starting with my attempt to write a toast for a wedding of close and dear friends.  It revisited me when I received sad news from a friend at home, and then returned when another friend told me about new found love.  My homesickness is magnified by the fact that tomorrow is Father’s Day, and I am sure that my parents, sisters, cousins, aunt, uncle, nephews, brother-in-law, and grandparents, will be sharing some of the day together.  Note to self: Don’t listen to the Fray when feeling homesick. 

On a happier note:  A few weeks ago I was elected to serve on the Gender and Development Committee for Peace Corps Morocco.  I have never “ran” for anything, so I was excited to be elected.  When I gave my speech for election, I very much felt like a nervous 6th grader and told people that if they didn’t vote for me, I would never have the confidence to run for anything again . . . so apparently guilt tripping works in campaigning.   Anyway, being fairly new to this, I don’t have too much to say about my role yet.  I will attend quarterly meetings in Rabat to meet with other committee members and discuss these issues in relation to our role as Peace Corps volunteers, and how we may address these issues with youth in Morocco.  On a selfish note, that means I get to learn more about gender roles in developing countries and have a beer in Rabat at least 3 times a year. 

This past week, I sat in on a women’s literacy class.  There are several very cool things I would like to mention about this class:  1. Girls in high school are the teachers. 2. Women of all ages attend.
 3. WOMEN ARE LEARNING TO READ.  All of us that can read (that would be all of you that are reading this right now) know what a gift it is.  Only 58% of Moroccan men and women can read. 

I also got to watch the same group, again taught by the high school girls, learn about AIDS.   These opportunities are exactly why I wanted to be here. 
I will not start to teach formal English classes until late September.  Otherwise, I am getting acquainted with people in my community and spending time with kids at the Dar Chabab.  This week I may be able accompany them to a neighboring community as they perform an AIDS prevention play. 

Pictures of my apartment and community will be posted soon!  Please don’t be disconcerted by my sad paragraph, it comes with the territory.     

Since I discussed my bathroom experience and cussed in my last blog, I guess I am getting more comfortable with this forum.  I do, however, promise to keep that kind of talk to a minimum for the sake of more sensitive readers. 

Today I rode a camel. As expected, it was bumpy, smelly, and funny.  I would highly recommend this activity if you need a good laugh, but make sure it is not at the camel’s expense. I didn’t get any of my own pictures because I didn’t have my camera.  It is likely that I will ride a camel again so I will try to capture this moving experience on film next time.  I also ate kaskrut (afternoon snack) at a very lovely home that had a pool, a lawnmower, trimmed hedges, and a western toilet next to a bedae.   I generally do not get to rub shoulders with the wealthy class in Morocco, so this was somewhat of a shock to my sensibilities.  I enjoyed it so much I thought about leaving the Peace Corps, becoming an investment banker, and buying a shiny house.   But then I remembered that I probably smelled a little like a camel so I probably will not be hired for any fancy job.   So, back to weekly bathing and stuttering through the day with my broken language. 

I am now living in a community called Massa, south of Agadir on the coast.  It is a 1-2 hour walk to the beach and there are tree goats, camels, and palm trees. It is beautiful and well, a little shocking to the senses.  I have never seen landscape like this.  I am going to be working at a Dar Chebab, an activity center for youth in the area.  The sky is the limit with this work, as I can teach English, apply for grants, form clubs, connect youth with scholarship programs, etc. It all depends on resources and community needs.  The other volunteer at this site has been working very hard and obviously has made an impact.  She will be leaving in the end of July and the youth here are sad to see her go.  I can only hope that they may feel a little bit of that when I leave in 2 years.

Since arriving in Morocco, I have been blessed to stay with 2 different families.  One, that I mentioned before, lives in my former community and I hope to return to visit them next year.   The family I am staying with now has had 6 previous volunteers and they are very in tune with American customs.  Both families have been very gracious and patient with me.  My Arabic language skills are improving, and I am trying to pick up a few extra words every day in Tashelhit, the Berber dialect from this region.  I am moving in with the other volunteer in 2 weeks and will be able to have a little more independence, but I will have to cook my own food like a big kid again. 

Some experiences that stand out for me since arriving in Morocco:  entering a mosque with a host family member, riding in a cab with 2 goats in the back, asking my host sister if I can put the watermelon in the television, going to a waterfall with my host family, days so cold that I put off going to the bathroom, eating Thanksgiving-like meals on a regular basis at 11:00pm, meeting wonderful Moroccans and Americans, and getting caught up in a Turkish Soap Opera.   And I still have 2 years to add to that list . . .

After a long journey,  I was sworn in as an official volunteer for the United States Peace Corps on May 23, 2012. Surprisingly, I did not shed any tears.  Most of my friends and family are familiar with this journey, but if  not, here is a recap.  Please feel free to skip over the boring parts. 

When I graduated college, I wanted to join the Peace Corps but found a way to get around the daunting 27 month committment by going to Peru for 10 weeks.  While I enjoyed my time in Peru, I still found my thoughts returning to the Peace Corps when I returned home.  So, 10 years ago, I applied to the Peace Corps and was nominated for service in the South Pacific which I ultimately turned down because I didn't feel it was the right time, and to be honest, was in the beginning of a serious relationship.   Since I didn't pursue life in the South Pacific, I continued to have many day dreams about the Peace Corps, and went to Thailand for a short volunteer stint hoping that would satisfy me.  As you can see, that didn't work.  I went to Morocco for 2 weeks in December 2010, again hoping my thirst for travel and international exchange would be satisfied. 

When I was in Morocco that winter, I met a former Peace Corps Volunteer who spoke to me about his experience.  I almost didn't want to speak to him about this because I knew in the back of my mind what I had to do.  In the Chicago airport on the way back home, I saw a Peace Corps poster with the copy, "Never have to say I should have."  Shit.  I turned in my application on January 14, 2011.

Now I am sitting on a seddari (couch) in a community south of Agadir, Morocco.  I am surrounded by flies, and I am so happy to be here. 

Strangely, when I was in Rabat the first time, I was having a pensive moment looking out the window of a bus at a tramway that was under construction.  I remember thinking "I wish I could see that when it is done."  I did and it is beautiful. 

As some of you may have noticed, I am having trouble making a decision about how I want to communicate general information home.  I like the blog, but I prefer the settings to be private but I am having trouble adding readers.  You may have received more than one invitation, as my setting page indicates that I have only added 13 people.  I will continue to try and add readers as we go along.  Please let me know if you have not been included :)

A few weeks ago I arrived in Ribat El Kheir, an olive harvesting community at the base of a mountain called Buey Blan.  It is a small and beautiful community of about 20,000, but if feels much smaller because it is very spread out.  Everything I need to go to is within a few blocks.  I will be here until May 19, and then I will return to Rabat to be sworn in as an official volunteer.  After that, I will recieve my final placement for the next 2 years. 

I am staying with a wonderful family that is very kind to me. Luckily, they have a good sense of humor to deal with the language challenges.  We often have conversations that look like this: 

Tania: Sun!
Family:  Yes, it is sunny outside.
Tania: Cold!
Family: Yes it's cold. 

And an hour later . . .
Tania: Sun!
Family:  Yes, it is sunny outside.
Tania: Cold!
Family: Yes it's cold. 

Right now they are all sitting around me arguing about where I got my modem, I think.

As you may have gathered from my emails, it is also very cold here.  Everytime the sun sneaks through the clouds, everyone in the room turns to look out the window to try and get whatever fleeting warmth is available.  There is no heat in most of the homes here, so often times it is colder inside than outside.  I can see my breath right now, and I am wearing the same socks and long johns I have worn all week.  It is too cold to take them off to wash them.  Most of the pictures I took are from the sunny day. 

Bathing is always an adventure.  The first week I was here, I went to the hammam (public bath) with my host sister.  This is the most popular way to bath in rural areas.  It was surprisingly confortable and WARM. I have only done this once, as women can't go to the hammam after 5:30 and I always have language class until after 6:00.  So, that means bucket bath.  Today I was going to take one but the electricity is out so we have no way to heat up the water.  Maybe later today if the lights come back on.  Earlier this week, I was taking a bucket bath and the water on top of the bucket was hot and underneath it was cold.  Discovering the cold water on the bottom of the bucket as I am pouring it over my head was the officially the saddest moment of my life. 

During the day, I meet up with 6 other volunteers and a teacher and study Moroccan Arabic. I am really enjoying learning a new language, and I hope by the end of the training I will be able to get around on my own.  Inshahalah. 

I have yet to fully embrace the Turkish Toilet experience.  I would be happy to share this adventure individually if you are interested.  

After the rain. . .

Rabat El Kheir