Gone, But Not Forgotten

When I was in Rabat at the end of last month for my mid-service medical exam, I sent a letter to my folks in the states. It sounds like they received it about a week after I'd sent it. If I've got a letter to send to the states, if I'm about to travel to a major city here in Morocco, I usually wait until I get to the big city to mail it. That way, it will likely arrive sooner than if I mail it from the town in which I live. Once I mailed a letter to the states from the town in which I live, and it took six weeks to arrive!

Anyway, soon after my folks had received my letter, I received an e-mail message from my mom, in which, among other things, she acknowledged that they had received the letter. She also described how, when my dad was reading the letter, their dog, Star, walked over to my dad and started sniffing the letter! As Star was sniffing the letter, she started wagging her tail! It seems as though she picked up my scent on the letter!

Trying To Get Turtles To Race Each Other

A couple of nights ago, I walked out my front door and found a few boys, perhaps eight years old, crouched in front of my front stoop. I looked down and saw that they had placed a couple of turtles side by side on the stoop. I think that perhaps they were scaring the turtles, since the turtles had almost entirely receded into their shells.

"Ah," I said to them in Moroccan Arabic, despite the poor prospects for competition between these particular turtles at that moment, "A race." Then, knowing how competitive that Moroccans, including Moroccan youths, can be, I asked, "Which one is going to win?"

A second later, another boy ran up and placed on the stoop a third turtle which was twice the size of the two which had already been there. He exclaimed, "This one!"

Seeing Some Of My Fondest Hopes Realized

This weekend, Moroccan women are participating in a series of workshops in my town here in the Sahara. Another Moroccan woman is leading the series of workshops. She is bringing the other Moroccan women together to express themselves, getting them to discuss the experiences they have had whilst defending their human rights. She is guiding them to discuss the definition of human rights and the objectives and results of programs which seek to educate others about women's human rights. She is leading them to evaluate practical, effective strategies for promoting women's human rights. She is educating these other Moroccan women about international human rights law relating to women. She is directing them to analyze the challenges they face as they work to protect their human rights, and they are sharing strategies to use in their work. She is helping them to develop plans to work more effectively on behalf of women's human rights.

Having worked to help protect women's human rights, naturally I was keenly interested in these workshops. Once the workshops got started, however, I was once again faced with the formidable challenge I usually face while sitting in on meetings here in Morocco. The workshops were being conducted in Arabic, and I was understanding far less than five percent of what was being said. I became dejected. I bemoaned how I was constrained from sharing my knowledge and skills with them, or even understanding what any of them were saying.

And then suddenly I saw the light, a crucially important point which I frequently consider in general, but which had temporarily eluded me in this particular situation: in my mind, I had been making this situation about me, and this situation clearly was not about me. I thought, "Of course it's not about me here. It never was, and it never should be." On the contrary, it hit me, how amazing and wonderful it was, what was happening in front of me. It wasn't a PCV standing up there educating these Moroccan women. A Moroccan woman was educating them. I thought, "This is exactly what the Peace Corps and I want. This is the ideal situation: a Moroccan woman educating other Moroccan women. She's doing it herself! She's not relying on a PCV to do it." The Peace Corps, and PCVs, want projects to be sustainable: that is, they want the host country nationals to be doing the projects themselves, which is exactly what this Moroccan woman was doing after being trained to do so by an NGO (non-governmental organization) named Global Rights, which does this type of work in various countries around the world.

Next I thought that not only are these Moroccan women likely feeling empowered by the knowledge they are gaining, and by the opportunity to express themselves about their efforts to protect their own human rights; perhaps they are also feeling empowered by how another Moroccan woman is the one who is educating them and leading them and encouraging them. Hopefully they are looking at this woman who has so much self-confidence, and, by watching her in the active, assertive position she is occupying as she educates them, perhaps by witnessing her courageous behavior, hopefully they are thus gaining the insight that women can defend themselves. Hopefully they are feeling inspired to do so.

Thus I realized that what I thought was a missed opportunity, and a waste of resources, was in reality an opportunity that indeed was being seized, courageously, boldly, assertively; that these women were taking the resources they had and multiplying the benefits which could be gained, by investing their knowledge and skills in each other, by educating each other and empowering each other.

Once I had reached this realization, I was not only content to sit and watch this woman educate her peers; I was thankful to be watching her educate them. Having recognized that my pride and my ego had been causing me to poorly perceive the situation and my place in it, and thus having seen that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, I next asked myself, given that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, how could I best help in the position in which I found myself? I saw that I could help by encouraging them to do this work, partly by helping them find new opportunities to do this work, including by getting them in touch with others whom they can educate. Thus I set about gathering the information about these workshops, so that I can forward it to others who can be similarly educated and empowered, and who in turn can thus educate and empower others...

I Know Why I Am Here

During recent weeks, other PCVs, who arrived here in Morocco about three months ago, have been having a rough time. They haven't had much time to adjust to life here in Morocco yet, and thus are still experiencing culture shock. Since their PST (Pre-Service Training) ended last month, many of them are no longer seeing other PCVs everyday. Thus, they're facing many of the challenges attendant to adjusting to life in a foreign country, but without the face-to-face support of new friends they've made in the PCV community.

Having lived here in Morocco, and thus in a foreign country, for over a year now, I figure that I might be able to help; I certainly hope that my words are helping! I've been sharing tips, including coping strategies, with them, partly as laid out in my August 2011 blog entry entitled "Tips for PCVs and PCTs."

And while I didn't especially need the reminder, nevertheless I appreciate how, in being presented with the opportunities to help other PCVs, I am being reminded of why I am here: to help others. In helping other PCVs, I am reminded of how I am here to help Moroccans, especially impoverished Moroccans, and even more specifically, to help them better themselves. To help them learn and develop themselves so that they may better face life's challenges. And I am happy to be helping them, as in doing so I have the opportunity to give back some of the tremendous amount of help I have received from countless others throughout my life.

Blah!

A couple of days ago, when I left this cyber where I live down here in the Sahara, and was walking down the street, I saw a middle-aged man getting onto a bicycle. A boy, perhaps nine or ten years old, was riding toward him on a bicycle. As the boy was about to ride past the man, the boy threw up his hands and muttered, "Blah!"

I chuckled, amused at the boy's spontaneous, playful gesture. Meanwhile, the man on the bicycle was starting to pedal away, appearing thoroughly unamused.

An Invitation To Become a Work of Art

On my way here to the cyber today, I was greeted by a young woman. I stopped to exchange greetings with her. As I was doing so, I noticed that she had henna on her hands. It looked like the person who had drawn it onto her hands had done a pretty good job. Suddenly she asked me if I wanted henna on my hands.

Although Moroccan girls and women often have henna on their hands, I don't think I've ever seen Moroccan men with henna on their hands. But then I remembered that my friend and former fellow PCV, Ben, had had henna on his hands, but just a big blotch of it, not crafted into any sort of design. Thinking of how he had had it on his hands, I agreed, somewhat hesitantly, to have some henna put onto my hands.

I then saw that the young woman's friend standing next to her had one of the syringes used to apply henna to the skin. I extended my hand to her, slightly concerned about what she was going to draw on my hand, thinking that Moroccan women have designs of henna drawn onto their hands, but that Moroccan men don't have henna designs drawn onto their hands.

However, soon after she started drawing on my hand, it became clear what she was writing. When I discerned that she was writing an "A" on my hand, I started laughing, since I had realized that she was going to write my Arabic name, "Abdu," or "Abdo," on my hand, which in fact she did. I thanked her, appreciating her generosity in sharing her henna with me, and her sense of humor in writing my Arabic name on my hand.

Moroccan women usually use henna for purposes other than writing people's names. They use it often for at least a couple of purposes. One is to color the skin and fingernails. As I've mentioned, women use henna on the skin to draw designs on women's hands. However, Moroccan women also apply it to their hair, so as to give their hair an orange tint. People have also applied it to leather, wool and silk. I've also seen it applied onto pottery here in Morocco, though the potter who I saw doing so down in the town of Tamegroute, which is well-known for its pottery, told me that only potters of that region apply henna to pottery; he said that potters elsewhere in Morocco don't apply henna to pottery. The henna plant is grown here in Morocco.

When it is applied to the hands, one has to wait (less than an hour) for the very dark brown henna to dry. After not too long, the gooey dark brown henna hardens, and will fall off very soon if you don't wash it off. Indeed, as I have been typing this blog entry, pieces of the hardened henna have kept falling in front of the keyboard on which I have been typing. At this point, most of the dark brown hardened henna has fallen off, revealing, on the palm of my hand, orange-rust colored letters spelling "Abdo."

Wait For It...

How ironic... the young woman who gave me the idea to write this blog post just walked into this cyber where I am typing, greeted me, and shook my hand. OK, perhaps it's not that ironic or unexpected, since she is the same one who had essentially made a marriage proposal to me earlier this year (see my February 2011 blog post on that particular encounter with her).

Anyway, not to be distracted any further from the subject of the blog post which I have sat down here to write today... yesterday where I live down here in the Sahara, I crossed paths with this same young woman who I just mentioned. I was walking through the crowded area across the street from two schools here in my town. Given that sessions of classes had just let out, such that many students were mingling on and near the block on which I was walking, I didn't realize that I had passed her. I then heard a soft, female voice say, from behind me, "Abdu..."

Ah, but now I must digress again, to explain that name. Moroccans seem to expect PCVs to use Moroccan names rather than their English names. As far as I know, there is no direct translation of my name in English into Darija, that is, into Moroccan Arabic. I figured that "Abdullah" was the closest I could get. Invariably either Moroccans or I shorten it to "Abdu."

Anyhow, I thought, "Did I just hear someone say 'Abdu'?" I turned around to try to see someone who might have called my name. I saw the young woman in question, smiling ever so slightly at me.

I walked back to her, asking her in Darija, "Bihxir?" and "Labas?" both of which mean, "Are you fine?" She responded that she was fine. As I approached her, I waited to see if she would extend her hand to me for a handshake. She put out her hand, so we shook hands. Moroccan women might not feel comfortable shaking hands with men, so it's important, as a man, when greeting a Moroccan woman, to wait to see whether or not she extends her hand for a handshake.

However, when I speak with Moroccan men, other than when either of us is passing by without stopping, I always try to remember to shake their hands. It's an expected part of greetings between men in Morocco.

When men shake hands here in Morocco, if they know each other, and are glad to see each other, they might firmly and vigorously shake hands with each other. However, when a Moroccan woman shakes a man's hand, she does so always briefly, and, even more unsurprisingly, much less firmly than men shake hands. Indeed, often a Moroccan woman will merely touch her palm against the man's palm, without actually grasping his hand.

As if to provide this very type of comparison with its attendant contrast, the next person with whom I shook hands was a man. I had left my brief interaction with the young woman and walked to the community center here in town. I had gone there to inquire about the status of paperwork which must be completed before I can teach an English class for adults there. When I entered the office of the community center, the fellow there in the office shook my hand quite firmly, and for a significant duration (at least compared with the usual length of handshakes in the US). In fact, he used the handshake to guide me to sit down before I started talking with him, continuing to grasp my hand until I was sitting down.

Moroccan men also use handshakes as a way of making sure you don't get away from them before they're done talking with you. I've had conversations with Moroccan men where they've maintained the handshake throughout the entire conversation. Unnerving though it was at first, I have come to recognize why Moroccan men do so. And, I've realized that often one must wait in relation to handshakes with both Moroccan women as well as Moroccan men: with the women, for them to initiate the handshakes, and for the men sometimes to end the handshakes.

Assembly Required

The dar chebab (youth center) where I do most of my volunteering has been mostly closed for remodeling for several weeks now. This coming on the heels of it barely having re-opened and kids trickling in as the school year started. That coming on the heels of it being closed for a good deal of time since it was the summer.

It recently re-opened, much to my relief and gratitude. One day recently some of the kids and the dar chebab moudir (director) and I started assembling a pool table which the government had sent to the dar chebab. At one point, I looked at the directions, which were written in English, along, of course, with accompanying diagrams. I pointed out that the directions were instructing us to affix the slate part of the table top to the wooden part of the table top before placing them on top of the legs of the table, which were already standing, per the directions. My suggestion did not meet with acceptance.

Coming on the heels of having so little work, having my reading of the directions essentially ignored, I became discouraged when I tried to actually be constructive by helping to read the directions, which were not in my companions' native language. I got up and left the room, retreating to the dar chebab moudir's office. I assessed the situation. I wanted to leave the dar chebab, since I felt like my fellows were not listening to me. I next thought, "If I leave here right now, this will be disastrous for my mood right now. And for my prospects of living and coping here in the longer term."

Once a couple of folks had left the game room, where the pool table was being assembled, and then soon after, the dar chebab altogether, I re-entered the game room. The folks who had left had seemed to be the least receptive to my suggestions. I again noted that the directions instructed us to first affix the slate part of the pool table top to the wooden part of the table top. My fellows then affixed the slate and wooden parts of the table top to each other.

Later, I mused that, when challenges occur, sometimes one just needs to take a step back and breathe a little bit. Then, after removing oneself from the situation for a bit, re-enter and try again. After all, and perhaps this is true even moreso for PCVs than for other people, things aren't always going to happen how and when we want them to happen.

You Must Be The Change You Want To See In The World

Last week, I was walking down a street with a couple of boys who frequent the dar chebab (youth center) where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. One of the boys had ripped up sheets of paper into tiny scraps. He began to let them go, so that they fluttered away in the wind. I asked him in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, "Why are you doing that?" as I ran to pick up the scraps of paper.

When I rejoined them, the one who had dropped the pieces of paper asked me where he should put the scraps of paper he was holding. He motioned as if he should put them in his pocket. I told him that that was a good idea, and put the scraps I was holding into my own pockets.

In recalling this interaction, I am reminded of another instance in which I was picking up scraps of paper which had scattered in the wind here in my town. A few weeks ago, I was walking down a street. A motorized vehicle with a tarp tied over the sides and the top of the vehicle, but not over the back of it, passed me. As it passed me, numerous small sheets of paper flew out of the back of the vehicle. As I bent to pick up the pieces of paper, I saw that others were yet flying out of the vehicle.

Once I got further down the street, some young children, perhaps five, six and seven years old, saw me picking up the pieces of paper. They began to scurry around and pick up the pieces of paper and bring them to me.

Are those kids going to pick up litter, or things which end up becoming garbage, when I'm not doing so in front of them? I don't know. Ultimately they're responsible for their actions, just like I'm responsible for mine. I can, and should, model the behavior that I would like to see in the world. Otherwise I'll just end up complaining about what I don't like. Rather than actually doing something about it.

How I Recently Felt Great About My Language Skills

I've been living here in Morocco for over a year now. I haven't had anyone from the US visit me here yet, though that is about to change. Even though I haven't yet had anyone from the states visit me here in Morocco, I have already hosted visitors to my town. Usually they have been fellow PCVs.

Last week, I was presented with a different kind of opportunity. As I was returning south to my town down here in the Sahara, I caught a bus in Marrakech. Soon after I sat down on the bus, I started speaking with a young man from the US and a young woman from Belgium who were sitting across the aisle from me. When they got off the bus later in the day, I told them to contact me if they decided to visit my town.

Later in the week, they called me and arrived here in my town. I took them on a walk through the palmerie, the huge grove of palm trees which extends as far as the eye can see. I brought them to the tops of some hills from which we enjoyed beautiful vistas, of the palmerie, the mountains, and the town. While I was showing them the town and the landscape, we ran into various people I know here. My new friends witnessed Moroccan friendliness and, indeed, hospitality, as we were invited to share tea. At my host family's home, in addition to tea, we also enjoyed cookies and peanuts. A little later, we dined with them. Since it was Friday, my host family served couscous topped with zucchini and other vegetables for lunch, as couscous is the typical Friday lunchtime meal here in Morocco.

Given that my new friends don't speak any Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, I was translating everything for them. Having reached a plateau in my learning of Darija more than half a year ago, at times I have felt as though my Darija skills could be better than they are. However, during my friends' visit here in my town, I felt pretty good about my abilities in Darija, since I had to translate everything for them. It reminded me of how far I've progressed in Darija since I arrived in Morocco over a year ago.

As with evaluating one's own language abilities, often in other ways in life, it can be easy to focus on what you'd like to be doing, but aren't doing, perhaps because you're not as skilled as you'd like to be. But I think it's much better to focus on, and remind yourself, of what you are capable of doing, rather than become discouraged because of what it seems that you cannot presently do. Remind yourself how far you've come. And where you're headed. And how to get there: by having faith, by loving yourself as God loves you, reminding yourself from where you derive your strength, and by calling upon that source of your strength.

Language Learning Strategies

I've received guidance from other PCVs, Peace Corps staff and Peace Corps recruiters on how to effectively learn a host country language. I figured that those tips could help others, so it recently occurred to me to share them here on my blog, so here they are.

Notebook.
It can be helpful to have a notebook in which you write new words and phrases you learn. By writing them down, you're likely to be learning them better for a couple of reasons. First, you're practicing them, or imprinting them onto your brain, by writing them out. Second, you'll be less likely to forget them if you write them down, partly since you can go back and look at them later.

You're also more likely to get more out of the notebook if you carry it around with you. Then when you hear a new word or phrase, you can write it down and not run the risk of forgetting the new word that you learned (or how to spell it, since you can write down the spelling when someone tells it to you, rather than later--or not at all).

Some people also suggest copying similar and related words and phrases over into new lists so that similar words and phrases are grouped together. If you do so, you might better remember the new words and phrases for a couple of reasons. First, again, you're imprinting them onto your brain by writing them out. Second, you'll be reinforcing the meaning of the words by making associations between similar words.

Tutor.
By having a tutor, you can benefit for various reasons. First, by having a consistent tutor, you'll get help from the same person, which can be efficient. Second, you'll have someone whom you can not only ask questions about the language, but also on a consistent basis. Third, you can set up usual times to meet, so that you are regularly spending time learning more about the language. Fourth, you can ask a tutor more technical questions, such as about grammatical rules, the answers to which you might not be able to discern from just having conversations with others.

Often a tutor is only as effective as you help him or her to be. While a tutor can help you spot your strengths and areas in which to improve, the primary responsibility of benefiting from your experiences with your tutor rests with you. Let your tutor know in which areas you are struggling, and how you feel he or she can help you. If you rely on the tutor to develop material for your meetings, you might end up focusing on areas which don't best use your time.

Language Partners.
Of course, the more you practice speaking the language, the more likely it is that you'll get better at speaking the language. Even though this point is obvious, people often don't think of having people with whom they regularly meet to practice speaking the language. You can do so just on a social basis, hanging out with a shop owner, in a barber shop, with people at a cafe, or just at someone's home. Often PCVs fall into the trap of not being social and sequestering themselves in their homes, which, of course, causes them not to be social, and thus not to practice their language skills. Because they have lower language skills, often PCVs then further avoid social contact. It's important to force oneself to get out there and be in the community, for various reasons, including to develop one's language skills.

Efficiency With A Snap of the Fingers

On my way back from my mid-service medical exam in Rabat this week, I visited my friend and fellow PCV, Jack, who lives and works relatively close to Marrakech. I arrived in his town when he was still at his dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where we, as Youth Development PCVs here in Morocco, generally do most of our volunteering.

He was finishing up teaching an English class when I arrived. I stuck around not only for the rest of that class, but for all of the next two classes he was teaching.

I got a good tip from him on dealing with classroom misbehavior. At one point, some of the students in his class were talking amongst themselves. He responded to their chatter, by keeping his cool, but also by snapping his finger. Immediately his students fell silent. I thought, "Now, that's one that I've got to remember!"

The Luxury of a Hot Shower

I am blessed in many ways, including by having a shower in my apartment where I live down in the Sahara. Unfortunately, I don't have hot running water, which means that when I take a shower at home here in Morocco, it's a cold shower. Consequently, during this time of the year, in autumn and winter, when I'm in my town, I delay taking showers for as many days as I can, to avoid taking cold showers during cold weather.

Thus when I was in Rabat this week for my MSM (mid-service medical exam), it was with great delight that I took a hot shower last night in the hotel where I was staying. I reveled in the luxury of it. It was so much more enjoyable than hot showers which I've taken in the states, surely because it had been so long since I'd had one. Looking back at how I failed to appreciate hot showers as much when I still lived in the US, I thought of how, so often, we don't appreciate something until it's gone. And how many of us take for granted conveniences we have which others, living elsewhere in the world, don't have.

MSM (Mid-Service Medical Exam)

Today I had my mid-service medical exam (MSM) and my annual dental cleaning here in Rabat. If a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) has developed a medical condition or a dental condition which the Peace Corps can't accommodate, then the Peace Corps will medically separate a PCV (meaning that, under the medical separation, the PCV's service ends and the PCV gets sent back to the US). All went smoothly with my MSM and my dental exam. So, all I have to say is, onward with my Peace Corps service!

We Set Our Eyes On What Is Unseen

Last night I came to the town of one of my fellow PCVs, between Marrakech and Casablanca. She and I were in the same small CBT (community-based training) group together during our PST (Pre-Service Training) in our first couple of months here in Morocco. Yesterday, I visited the Dar Chebab (youth center) here in her town. I was watching my friend teach English to a dozen people, mostly children. I asked her if they come regularly for English class, and she said that they do. I've felt challenged insofar as I've started teaching English at various points in my town and usually people stopped attending class after a few classes, which I found frustrating. I've also been frustrated by teachers saying that they want to work with me, but then when I ask them what activities or projects they want to do together, they don't tell me any. I also find it frustrating that they don't want to work on activities or projects I suggest to them. I get frustrated by these responses partly because the Peace Corps wants our activities to be sustainable: they want host country teachers to be carrying on our activities and projects after we COS (close, or finish our Peace Corps service).

After I visited my friend's Dar Chebab yesterday, perhaps I saw my challenges and benefits in and related to my site in a new light because I wasn't in my site, and thus had some distance from my daily situation in my site. As I was walking back from my friend's Dar Chebab before she finished teaching her class so I could get some work done at her apartment before she got home, I thought about her regular English class students. It suddenly brought the benefits and challenges in my site into focus from a broader perspective. I pondered that I tend to see the consistent, predictable benefits in my service as not being related to the work that I actually do, whereas I tend to find challenges in my service as being related to my work.

I'm thankful to God that I can attend a Bible study group with other Christians an hour from my site, especially given that I'm living in Morocco, which is an overwhelmingly Muslim country. I'm thankful that I'm not extremely isolated. The closest other PCVs to me are about one hour away from me. I'm thankful that I'm only a little over an hour from a small city. I'm thankful that I have a palmerie, which is a massive grove of palm trees, and hills and mountains, where I can go for a quiet, serene, contemplative walk in nature in my town.

As opposed to these predictable benefits, which don't arise out of my work, and some of which don't even arise out of my town, I find some of my most consistent challenges as arising out of my work, and thus as arising out of my town. In my town, I often find it difficult to get people to attend classes and to otherwise engage in activities and projects.

I'm thankful to God for the benefits I do have. I'm just also very conscious of the challenges, and not quite sure how to effectively address them. I've told myself that I can run activities and projects by myself, despite how those activities and projects nevertheless will probably not be sustainable. Essentially I sometimes tell myself that it's better to do some work which might turn out not to be sustainable in the long run rather than not be working at all. It has also occurred to me that although an activity or project might appear to be unsustainable, I don't know what effects it will have. Work we do as PCVs which seems unsustainable might profoundly effect a certain individual, having long-term impact on that person, improving that person's life, and we might never know it. Thus, for this reason, and for many other reasons, I try to live my life following the guiding light implicitly described by 2 Corinthians 4:18: "We set our eyes on what is unseen."

Thanksgiving in Morocco, Part Two

Yesterday I was very happy to share in my second Thanksgiving celebration this year. I went to the home of some of my friends from the US who live in the city that's about an hour away from my town, whose home I visit often, including for Bible study with them. There were many folks from the US there yesterday at their home for the Thanksgiving celebration.

The spread was very impressive for dinner, including turkey with gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, turnips, candied carrots, corn and peas, and potato salad. My friends also served sweet potato casserole; I commented that it deliciously tasted much more like, and had a texture much more like, sweet potato crumb cake than casserole. I was equally impressed by the number of options for dessert, which included pumpkin pie, apple pie, pecan pie, lemon pie, two kinds of fudge, pumpkin chocolate brownies, and banana bread.

But honestly, much more than the food, I was happy to be spending time with my friends. And much more than just being happy about spending time with friends, I was much more happy to be spending time with other Christians. In doing so, I just feel supported at a much more profound and deeper level. In applying to the Peace Corps, and in accepting an invitation to join the Peace Corps, I did make a conscious decision to remove myself to a place where I expected to not be around other Christians for the sake of work. I suppose that I appreciate their support and encouragement and company as fellow Christians all the more since I didn't expect to have it from anyone in person while in the Peace Corps!

Living In Exile

At times during my Peace Corps service here in Morocco, I've felt like I've been living in exile. I'm in a land which is foreign to me. I didn't grow up here. Although I've been learning about the culture and customs here, there is still much I don't know. And even when I do know of cultural norms, often I still am not naturally predisposed towards them. While I've been learning a language which Moroccans speak, namely Darija, that is Moroccan Arabic, I'm not fluent in it. In short, at times, I have felt as if I have been in exile here.

But then not too long after feeling like I'm living in exile here, it occurs to me that I am not in fact in exile. Generally, when one is living in exile, one doesn't know when one is returning to one's native homeland. I, however, am blessed insofar as I know when I'm going to be heading back to the US. Barring any unforeseen occurrences between now and November 2012, I am currently scheduled to COS (close my service) next November.

Also, when one is living in exile, typically one has been either forcibly removed to the country of exile, or has fled to the country of exile to escape persecution of some kind. However, I am blessed also in the sense that I did not come here to Morocco under such circumstances. Rather, I came here to Morocco of my own free will. As another PCV said to me months ago, when she experiences rough patches, she sometimes tells herself, "No one made me come here. I decided to come here."

Thus I too remind myself that I decided to come here to Morocco. And I remind myself why. To help people, and more specifically, to help impoverished people, and, even more specifically, to help them better themselves.

It was in this vein, of learning how to live well in a foreign land, with all of its attendant challenges, when reading the book "Run With The Horses" by Eugene Peterson, that I found a certain passage especially helpful. In the book, Peterson analyzes the prophet Jeremiah, and why he was as admirable as he was. Given the context in which Jeremiah lived his life, partly during the exile of the Jewish people to the land of Babylonia, Peterson discusses how one can live well in exile. Although there are some significant differences between life as a PCV in a host country, and the life of the exiled Jewish people whom Peterson discussed, there nevertheless still are some important words of guidance one can derive from his book as a PCV. Peterson writes:

Exile . . . forces a decision: Will I focus my attention on what is wrong with the world and feel sorry for myself? Or will I focus my energies on how I can live at my best in this place I find myself? It is always easier to complain about problems than to engage in careers of virtue. George Eliot in her novel "Felix Holt" has a brilliantly appropriate comment on this question: 'Everything's wrong says he. That's a big text. But does he want to make everything right? Not he. He'd lose his text.'

Daily we face decisions on how we will respond to these exile conditions. We can say: 'I don't like it; I want to be where I was ten years ago. How can you expect me to throw myself into what I don't like--that would be sheer hypocrisy. What sense is there in taking risks and tiring myself out among people I don't even like in a place where I have no future?'

Or we can say: 'I will do my best with what is here. . . . God is here with me. . . . It is just as possible to live out the will of God here as any place else. I am full of fear. I don't know my way around. I have much to learn. I'm not sure I can make it. But I had feelings like that back in Jerusalem. Change is hard. Developing intimacy among strangers is always a risk. Building relationships in unfamiliar and hostile surroundings is difficult. But if that is what it means to be alive and human, I will do it.'

Fenelon used to say that there are two kinds of people: some look at life and complain of what is not there; others look at life and rejoice in what is there. Will we live on the basis of what we don't have or on what we do have?

After reading these words, I felt that I was led to examine how they could apply to my life here in Morocco. As PCVs, some of us focus on what we don't have, and bemoan what we don't have. And I myself have certainly done that, so I find that tendency understandable. Especially during the first six months or so of living in one's host country. But it also certainly seems to be such a better approach to redirect one's attention and energies toward how one can live well in the present in one's host country. How one can best help people there, since, after all, that was the whole reason for joining the Peace Corps!

The Long Goodbye

My friend Ben just COSd (closed his service) as a PCV last month. After he COSd, he was traveling around Africa for a few weeks. He recently returned to Morocco during the course of his travels, but I'd already bid him farewell more than once, each time thinking that I wasn't going to see him again before he left Africa. As I was on a bus on my way back to my town yesterday, I received a text message from him. He asked me if I was still planning on not being in my town that night. I texted him back and told him I'd be there in 20 minutes. I didn't expect to see him again until sometime after I COS myself. I'm currently scheduled to COS in November 2012, so I didn't expect to see him again until sometime after that, and I didn't expect to see him until we were both back in the US.

When I arrived back in my town, I learned that he was immediately trying to get on a bus. I knew that he had been planning on leaving the province that day to make his way north out of Morocco, on his gradual way back to the US. However, once I received the text in which he said he was in my town, I thought that he would just want to stay the night in my living room, and leave the next morning. He quickly ascertained that all of the buses were full, so it became clear that he would be crashing at my place last night.

We took all of his belongings to my apartment, and I got to host him one more time before he heads back to the US as a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). This morning, on our way to the town square, he stopped at the post office and bought a large box. He emptied some of his belongings into the box. During the process, he gave me a couple of things, including a backpack! I was grateful for it, and thanked him for it. Then he sent the box to his family in the US, so he would have fewer things to carry on his circuitous travels back to the US. Once he had finished dealing with the box, we continued up to the town square, and, more specifically, to the taxi stand for folks headed north. After we loaded his bags into the grand taxi, we were waiting for the taxi to fill up. The guys running the taxi stand, as always, asked how many places he wanted. Ben replied, "Wahd," meaning "One," since he was traveling by himself.

He and I then passed the time while waiting for the taxi to fill up partly by taking pictures, including of his stuffed teddy bear. Ben is making an adventure picture book for his young niece in which he is chronicling the adventures of his bear, Jillabo, during travels around the world. As Ben travels, he places Jillabo in various locations around the globe, making it appear as if Jillabo is doing a variety of things such as climbing towers, sitting on sidewalks, and traveling in taxis. During our wait for Ben's taxi to fill up, one of the guys at the taxi stand again asked Ben how many places he needed in the taxi. Ben again replied, "Wahd." The Moroccan guy replied, "Lla; juj," meaning, "No; two," as he pointed first to Ben, and said, "Wahd," and then pointed to Jillabo and said, "Juj." When you like a joke someone tells here or some other humorous comment, often you shake the person's hand, so I shook the guy's hand for that one.

And a little later, "Safi, baraka." That's it, enough. The driver said it was time to go. The taxi had filled up. Ben and I hugged each other and he got into the taxi. It promptly pulled away as he finally headed out from the province.

Thanksgiving in Morocco, Part One

Today here in my province, other PCVs and I got together to have an early Thanksgiving celebration. Given various other activities and commitments we all had coming up, we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving together the weekend before Thanksgiving. Most of us at our celebration were PCVs about halfway through our service as PCVs.

I was grateful that a few of the PCVs decided to cook dinner for all of us. Our host just asked us to contribute 50 dirhams each to help defray the cost of the ingredients which were used in cooking our delicious meal. Speaking of which, here is the menu of the delicious food we ate:

First Course (Appetizers):

pumpkin-apple soup
mixed salad with garlic herb vinaigrette

Second Course (Entrée):

turkey with bacon on top
squash cornbread stuffing
whole wheat lentil stuffing
sweet potato casserole
green beans seasoned with garlic and butter
twice baked potato casserole with bacon bits
cranberry sauce
freshly baked hard rolls

Third Course (Dessert!):

apple pie
pumpkin pie
banana bread
caramel apple cake

I didn't even think that I was eating that much, and after we had finished eating, my host (who knows that I love to eat) asked me if I had had enough. I thought about it for a moment, and replied that I was only slightly stuffed. I added that I was able to eat more, but then I would have been really stuffed. In retrospect, I suppose that it makes sense that even though I didn't think that I was eating that much, I still wound up being slightly stuffed. I was only eating the equivalent of one full plate, followed by a sampling of three of the four desserts (I didn't realize that there was any banana bread, or I would've tried that, too). But I rarely eat that much at once here in Morocco. So even though it was less than I usually ate on Thanksgiving Day in the US in past years, it was a greater quantity of food than I usually eat during any particular meal here in Morocco.

There was plenty of food! I certainly appreciated the delicious cooking. I thanked my friends for it. When I said grace before we chowed down in earnest, I thanked God for the delicious food. I also thanked God for the wonderful people who had prepared all of the food, and for the other wonderful people there with us. Immediately before our Thanksgiving celebration, I'd had a stretch of a few weeks where I didn't see any other PCVs (or any other expats at all), so it was nice to get to see them all.

That night, we settled down in beds and sleeping bags for our slumber. I was spending the night in a room that was maybe slightly smaller than 9 feet by 9 feet with 5 other PCVs. At one point, another PCV and I were reading as others were already dozing off. A few minutes after she finished reading and rolled over, I turned off the light and settled down for the night. By the dim light of a streetlamp filtering in through the small window high above us, I discerned the rough shapes of my fellow volunteers under landscapes of sleeping bags, sheets and blankets, as they unconsciously comforted me by reminding me of their presence through their sonorous respiration like bullfrogs croaking in a moonlit marsh, a pleasant chorus of reassurance which gradually lulled me to sleep.

Moroccan Independence Day

Today, November 18, is Moroccan Independence Day. Before it gained its independence, Morocco had a long history of invasion, occupation and colonization, including by the Phoenicians, Romans, Greeks, Spanish and French. Arabs came to Morocco in the 7th century and stayed with the indigenous Berber population.

Under the Treaty of Fes in 1912, Morocco became a protectorate of France. Under that treaty, Spain took control of areas in northern Morocco. Also under the treaty, in theory Morocco retained its sovereignty, but in reality the French and the Spanish were exploiting it pursuant to the terms of the treaty. In 1956, after rising violence in Morocco accompanying discontent over colonial rule, Morocco gained its independence from France and Spain.

Because of the holiday, the post office and city hall are closed. Students also have the day off from school today.

PCV Doldrums Remedies

On one recent night in my apartment, I looked yet again at a box of macaroni and cheese which my brother and sister-in-law had sent to me more than a few months ago. I thought, "I should make that soon." I next thought, "Why not right now?" There's no time like the present. So I went ahead and made the mac and cheese. Then I ate it out of the pot while lying in bed in my pajamas, listening to Blondie songs. One remedy for the doldrums as a PCV is to do something nice for yourself.

I also have more to share on coming up out of the depths of despair, but on a deeper, spiritual level. I recently felt myself slipping into despair amidst this current slow work period and isolation from other expatriates, including other PCVs. I decided to take it to God. I prayed, "God, please take this pain away." Instantaneously I felt tremendously better: instantly I felt better than neutral; I felt wonderful. And then I thought, "I should blog about how God took my pain away."

And once I decided to blog about the restorative power of God's grace, I recalled some helpful words which I recently had heard about praying, and other helpful things to remember when one is experiencing trials which lead one to pray. And I realized that I had been previously receiving some of this guidance from various sources, and been trying to follow it, for a while now, which, I believe, is why my prayers were as effective as they were.

First, I have been getting reminded in various ways that trials, stressful events, occurrences which cause us grief, happen as a part of life! They happen in some form or another to everyone, whether they be deaths of loved ones, grave illnesses, job loss, becoming homeless, being sent to prison, being victimized, or misfortune befalling us in other forms.

However, when trouble strikes:

As I was recently reminded, I have seen that it has helped me to have previously established a relationship and a connection with God when I then seek God's help. I try to be in regular contact with God. I try to communicate with God frequently. Which means communicating with God about good things which happen. Giving thanks for benefits large and small. Giving thanks for positive events which happen once, and thus specially, and blessings which God gives to me everyday, and thus specially, because they are generous, sustaining, vital gifts from God in my life.

And then, when trouble strikes, as I have been advised, I turn to God. I seek God. I've been reminded by others that I need to declare to God that I trust God for the solution. That is, I must also acknowledge that to solve the problem at hand, I'm not relying on my own strength, but on God's strength. I have to admit to God that I'm not strong enough to handle the problem on my own. I have to tell God that I know that I don't have the resources to overcome the obstacles I face. That I know that unless God grants me the wisdom and grace to respond effectively to the challenges I face, I won't have those necessary qualities when I need them during crises.

I've also been reminded to try to keep my eyes and ears open for the messages which God sends to me. I read the Bible every day. I believe that it's true, how it says in Revelation 3:20, that Jesus stands at the door and knocks, and if I let Him in, He'll show me the way through my troubles. If I remain receptive to what He has been trying to tell me, then I will continue to see that He has been trying to show me the way.

And after seeking this help, those who support me have reminded me that I must then praise God. I thank God. God is in control of the situation, and in control of my life. I try to turn it over to God.

And, I must say, I'm invariably pleased with the results. While the obstacles are challenging, I also realize that they present opportunities to grow. And so I try to welcome the challenges, when they come.

The Real Reason For Feeling So Wonderful

In a couple of months, a friend of mine from the states, Melanie, is going to visit me here in my town in Morocco. Unfortunately, she can't really stay with me in my apartment, since my town is so conservative that at least some people here in the community would poorly perceive her staying overnight in my apartment with me.

So, yesterday I visited the various lodging options in and near my town. I visited every place I could find, which turned out to be nine different options. I looked at rooms at every place with the exception of one, since at that one place all of the rooms were occupied when I went there. I got all of the relevant information about the hotels and other lodging options, which I e-mailed to my friend today.

Having gotten that task done, I felt GREAT. Please keep in mind that so much of the time while I've been a PCV, I rely on others to show up, to show their interest, and to take action that I don't have authority to do, but that they have authority to do, by virtue of their positions. Consequently, I end up WAITING a lot. And in general, I'm fine with waiting. I'm glad that I get to cultivate patience in myself as a result of being here. Sometimes, though, it gets to me when I'm not accomplishing things for the reasons I described above.

And so, yesterday, when it was only up to me to get the job done, I was very happy to get out and get it done. Having set out to accomplish a task, and having accomplished it quickly, and almost completely thoroughly, I felt great. In comparison with how I often don't get much done here since I'm waiting for others.

If you're applying to the Peace Corps, or if you're currently a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) or a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), I urge you to keep in mind that things will not always happen on the timetable you want. Also, recognize in which ways you have control, and in which ways you don't. And then conduct yourself accordingly.

If you do become frustrated because you feel like you're not accomplishing much, I recommend retreating a bit. Take the time to evaluate how you are approaching the situation.

Lately I've been helped in this respect while I've been reading the book "Soundings: A Thematic Guide For Daily Scripture Prayer" by Rev. Chris Aridas. In this book, Rev. Aridas addresses a few dozen different themes, centered around how we can best live our lives, guided by passages from the Bible. In one section, he addresses how we, especially as citizens of the USA, want to accomplish things, how we want to be productive. But then he suggests that it's more important to first make sure that we simply are truly being ourselves. He maintains that someone accomplishes things when one is true to one's own identity, rather than because one has completed an activity or a project. As the best example, he asserts that Jesus succeeded because he was true to who he was, not simply because he did anything in particular. He concludes this particular series of thoughts by explaining that when we accept this axiom, the accomplishments will naturally come later.

After having read these musings of Rev. Aridas, I then applied this conceptualization which he describes to my own life, and, in particular, to my recent day in which I researched the lodging options for my friend. It occurred to me that by doing the research for my friend, I was expressing my true identity. That is, in doing that research for her, I was expressing the most crucial part of my identity, which is reflected when I help others. And that makes more sense to me, that I felt so good because I had helped someone else, in this particular case, my friend, which is so important for me to do in my life.

Being a Foodie in the Peace Corps

I love food. I am, most definitely, a food lover, or, as some say, a "foodie." Back when I lived in the states, I lived in, and visited, towns and cities which offered so much great food. I began to realize that with so much great food around, there's no reason to settle for mediocre food. Even a burrito for less than 4 dollars could be a real treat when I bothered to go to the best taqueria in the city, rather than just uncreatively opting to go to the nearest place.

So this week I was happy when I had some of the best tajine (essentially a kind of Moroccan stew) at some Moroccans' houses for lunch. And during one of those visits, my host told me that his spouse had baked the cookies we were eating, which were also some of the best cookies I've eaten here in Morocco.

There at his house, we ate the tajine of sheep meat, prunes and almonds out of a communal dish, breaking pieces of bread off from large, round, flat bread, and using those pieces of bread to grasp food from the communal dish. When we had finished eating, the host's son arrived with some of the tajine oil, or sauce, and poured it into the communal dish out of which we had been eating. I was shocked that no one else leaned forward to mop it up with some bread. I gladly did so. There was still a good amount of oil left in the dish when his son took it away. The sauce was so delicious, that I was glad to get to have more of it!

Later that night, when I was back at home, lying in bed in the dark, soon before falling asleep, I thought of my day. I thought of how I had gone to their house for lunch. I thought of how much of a foodie I am, and how delicious that meal was earlier in the day. And then I laughed out loud, gratefully and joyfully, as I thought, "Even in the Peace Corps I eat well!"

Peace Corps Didn't Train Me How To Do This!

A couple of nights ago, I was walking down the street in my town here in the Sahara. I looked to the side of the road and saw a boy sitting on top of a donkey. He said to me in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, "Llah harm l-walidin," meaning "God bless your parents."

This phrase sometimes is said as a way of thanking someone with much gratitude. However, it is also used when asking someone for help, especially when one feels that one really needs the help. Accordingly, when I looked to the ground and saw a middle aged man trying to lift a sheep, I asked, "Wesh nawnk?" meaning "Can I help you?" The boy nodded.

I replied, "Bllati," meaning "Wait," as I moved to place on the ground the carton of peach nectar that I had just bought. I then bent down to help the man. I saw that he was about to pick up the hind part of the sheep. That left me to pick up the front part of the sheep. Unsure of the best way to do so, I just tried to pick it up in between its neck and its legs. As we were moving it from the ground up to the boy on the donkey, I felt what I worried was an unfortunate vibration coming from the neck of the sheep. It occurred to me that I might have been cutting off its air flow. As I walked away from them, hoping that I hadn't injured the sheep, because I didn't know how best to pick it up, I thought, "Peace Corps didn't train me how to do this!"

Watch What You Say

Yesterday I thought it best to make another run to a bakery or two, and hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery stores"), here in town. Here in Morocco we're on the verge of L'Eid Kbir, a major Islamic holiday (see my November 2010 blog post "Eid Kbir" for an explanation of this holiday, and my December 2010 blog post "Holidays," my August 2011 blog post "Summer Camp 2011," and my October 2011 blog post "Women Drivers" for more about Islam). Some shops and stores are going to be closed for much of next week, so I figured it would be best if I made sure that I have plenty of food at home.

At one of the hanoots where I was buying food, I noticed that the "mul-hanoot," the shopkeeper, had his fly unzipped. Immediately, I decided that I was going to inform him of this fact. Next I realized that I couldn't remember the word in Darija for "zipper." Next I thought, "Well, whatever I do, I have to make sure that I don't say the English word "zipper." Here you find one of those unfortunate linguistic intersections which can, and, at times, does, embarrass many an unsuspecting foreigner in Morocco. The word "zip" sounds perilously close to the Darija word "zib," which is the word for the male reproductive organ.

Added to this linguistic landmine was the awkwardness created in this particular situation not just by the presence of other customers in his shop, but women at that. And he was directly in their line of sight. Once I had his attention, first I partly zipped my jacket up. I hadn't thought of how he was also wearing a jacket. Of course he responded by zipping up his jacket. Once I got his attention again, I again zipped up my jacket, this time all the way up. Of course he responded by zipping his jacket up all the way. I tried to explain this gesture the second time by saying, "Lla; laxur," meaning, "No; the other one," but he just shook his head in confusion. 

At this point, the other workers in the hanoot were beginning to look at me, perhaps wondering what I was trying to tell the mul-hanoot. I decided to busy myself in loading the groceries which I had just bought into my bag. I glanced over at the mul-hanoot again. One of the other workers in the shop told me in English, "Just say it in English." For one thing, I didn't want to announce to the entire shop that a man's fly was unzipped. For another thing, I also knew that if I said it in English, it would probably be misfortunately misinterpreted given the Darija word "zib."

The mul-hanoot came over to me, this time out of view of the women in the store. This time I whispered to him, "Lla; taht," which means, "No; down below." He then looked down at his fly and understood.

Later that night, when I was at home, I chuckled, thinking that when I had finally successfully communicated to him that his fly was down, as he was zipping it up, he was yelling across the street to someone. In retrospect, I laughed at how I had been so concerned about embarrassing him, when it turned out that he wasn't self-conscious at all about it. It reminded me that just because a cultural norm exists in one's own country, it doesn't necessarily mean it exists wherever else you happen to be. You might think that this conclusion is a bit obvious, and shouldn't be that surprising, especially to a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV). But I think that to get more specific, I think that what was surprising to me was that the cultural norm here is to cover up. Given the potential risk of exposing oneself, and how poorly that would be viewed here, I would have thought that he would have been more concerned and/or embarrassed by learning that his fly was down. So I suppose that yesterday I was reminded that while I've learned that there are certain cultural norms here, I've yet to learn all of the parameters of those cultural norms, and how those are or are not prominent in a variety of different situations.

Early Termination

Last week, the other PCV who had been living here in my town decided to ET (early terminate), that is, he decided to stop being a PCV early, and return to the USA. During the few days between when he decided on early termination of service and when he left town, when speaking with me and also with others, he most frequently cited his relatively poor language skills as why he decided to ET. I suppose that I will admit that his Darija, that is, his Moroccan Arabic, wasn't the best I've encountered in other PCVs.

However, there are a variety of ways in which one can be effective as a PCV. Here in Morocco, enough kids, teachers and other community members know enough English that one can help a good number of Moroccans using English. One can also do work in the community which involves little or no speaking. Given these options, in combination with what he told me about himself, I was reminded of the maxim that to be capable of attaining things, one must believe that one is capable of attaining them. One must have hope, faith and confidence. Without those qualities, whatever one tries to do becomes that much more difficult.

Having said all of this, I must say that I am not in a position to judge his decision. While I would have preferred that he stay here, I'm just simply not positioned to assess even whether his decision was the correct one. He makes his own decisions. Furthermore, I don't know what God has in mind for him. He may be back in the USA now to help fulfill an important purpose there.

Asking a Woman's Opinion

This afternoon, I went over to my host family's home for lunch. As usual, when I arrived, the TV was on. In most Moroccan homes, if the TV is not on when one arrives, then shortly after one arrives for a visit, it is switched on. For a while, I was talking with some of the members of my host family. One of them was showing me some photos which she and her extended family members and friends had taken in Rabat, Casablanca and Ouarzazate on her cell phones (yes, she has more than one cell phone). After a while, my host family brought out some tea and sweets which we enjoyed together. Some time later, we ate lunch, which was a tajine, or stew, with bread, and drank the peach nectar which I had brought to their house with me.

At some point, we were watching a TV show about a group of Moroccan women who went to Marrakech for a weekend getaway. It seemed like a reality TV show. The footage was switching back and forth between their Moroccan husbands at home cooking and caring for the kids, and the Moroccan women enjoying their time in Marrakech, which included a meal in a Chinese restaurant as well as some time poolside.

I was struck by one thing which I've noticed before on TV here in Morocco which has always somewhat puzzled me. During the segment of the show at the pool, women in bikinis were shown. Yet I was watching this show not only in Morocco, but in the home of a fairly conservative family, in a conservative rural town, where the vast majority of women cover almost all of their bodies, except their faces, hands, and below their ankles. I've been repeatedly surprised by how conservative families here in Morocco watch TV programs showing scantily clad women, or women at least wearing clothing with low necklines, and baring most of, if not all of, their arms and legs. I suppose that I can discern that these viewers might be making a distinction between what they choose to wear themselves and what they choose to watch other women wearing on TV. Still, I am a bit surprised to see conservative women and men here watching TV shows starring women who are so uncovered.

In any event, when the TV show was over, I asked one of my host sisters (who, incidentally, in the last few months, has been to Casablanca and Rabat) what she thought of how these Moroccan women went to Marrakech for the weekend and left their husbands to cook in the kitchen and care for their kids. My host sister wouldn't answer.

After she wouldn't answer my question, I felt that I was led, by her failure to respond, to think a couple of things. First, it occurred to me that she wasn't used to someone asking her for her opinion, at least not on the topic which I was addressing. Which makes sense, given the cultural norm here in conservative rural Morocco, of how women are generally expected to stay at home, cook and care for their kids. Second, it occurred to me that perhaps she didn't feel like she could say what she really thought in response to my question... whatever it was that she thought. However, I still thought that it was important to ask her for her opinion...

Prioritizing

Last weekend, I went to the city that's about an hour away from my town. I had very much wanted to return there for Bible study with the group of Christians I had met there earlier this year.

Before last weekend, I had had the idea in my head that if I was going to go to the city, I had to stay overnight there for at least one, if not two, nights, to make the trip worthwhile. Last week, I realized that I could take a bus or a grand taxi there on Sunday morning, and take a bus or taxi back here to my town on Sunday afternoon.

Essentially I realized that I had to prioritize. It's not a priority to have a weekend outside of my town. In fact, one of my priorities is to make sure I don't spend too much time outside of my town.

I concluded that by going there for just part of one day, I'm focusing on what's most important, tending to my spiritual health and well-being. I spend time doing what's most important, while at the same time not spending a night outside my community. Taking care of everything, while being sure to do what's most important.

So, last weekend, I went into the city just for the day. That day, I felt, as I do now feel, supported and encouraged in my faith by the other Christians there; I'm very thankful to have the spiritual community I have with them. After the Bible study session, we had a potluck barbeque lunch there in one of their houses. In the meal, I especially appreciated the barbequed chicken, the barbequed sausages, and the potato salad. All of the desserts were great; we had German chocolate cake for the birthday of one of the women there in the group; we also had chocolate brownies, which were enjoyably gooey; and we also had some yummy peanut butter brownies with chocolate chips in them.

After the barbeque, I headed back here to my town. I was sad to be leaving them after having had such a good time. At the same time, I'm glad that they're so nearby.

Funkytown, Or, A Sort of Mid-Service Crisis

For most of September, and a good part of October, I was in a funk, a trough to which I returned more than once; I was going through a series of rough patches during this period. I was feeling down, a bit challenged.

When Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) are about midway through their Peace Corps service, they often go through what has been called a "mid-service crisis." Midway through, PCVs ask themselves whether they're really making a difference, sometimes doubt the effectiveness of the Peace Corps, bemoan their lack of progress in learning a new language, and just generally question whether they should be in their host country at all.

I don't think that I really experienced what I would call a mid-service crisis. I asked myself some questions similar to the ones I've described here. But in the last couple of months, I never posed questions as fundamental about my Peace Corps service as some of the more serious ones I've listed here. Nor did I feel as low as I suspect some other PCVs have when they were about halfway through their service.

Nevertheless, I don't discount the possibility that I was feeling low because I'm nearly halfway through my service as a PCV. Speaking recently with my immediate family members on the phone, my sister-in-law reminded me that it's natural and common to question, re-evaluate and re-assess one's position when halfway through any particular endeavor. From doing so, one can benefit from the insight and perspective one potentially gains by devoting one's time and attention to where one came from, currently is, and is heading. I can't claim to have any particular insights from reflecting on my recent trough. However, it's at least my intention right now to re-evaluate my service as a PCV. At this point, I am now more than halfway through my time in Morocco (combining my PST, or Pre-Service Training, with my service as a PCV). I am now also nearly halfway through my service as a PCV.

So, to get more specific about how I've felt from time to time in the last month and a half... among other things, I've been challenged by dealing with a lack of work. For the entire summer, except for the ten days or so that I was at Summer Camp, I've had little, if any, work to do. The Dar Chebab, or youth center, where I do most of my volunteering, was closed for much of the summer. Since it re-opened, little by little, more kids have started coming to the Dar Chebab. I've gradually been starting to work more and more.

I've also felt resigned to understanding Darija, and speaking in Darija, at the level I had reached earlier this year, in the Spring. At that point, more than a few months ago, I hit a plateau in learning Darija, which is Moroccan Arabic, and which is the language I speak the most here in Morocco. After progressing in learning Darija for at least half of a year, I felt like I was no longer improving in my ability to speak and understand Darija.

At times I've felt homesick for family and friends in the USA, and just the life and culture there. I miss my family and friends there. And the culture in the USA is the one to which I am the most accustomed.

Given that I'm most comfortable in the culture of the USA, at times I feel challenged here in Morocco. While I've learned how to live here, and have adjusted to life here, it's still a foreign culture to me. I've learned about it, and can explain it, but I haven't adopted it as my own. I still am very much a citizen of the USA living in Morocco. Consequently, sometimes the cultural differences here are still prominent to me. It's as if, at times, I feel a later stage version of culture shock. Perhaps shock is no longer the most appropriate word, but to the extent that that word is no longer entirely evocative, I believe it is largely due to simply having been exposed to this foreign culture for as long as I have been living in it. That, having lived here as long as I have, the cultural differences are no longer surprising, or shocking, but only because they're no longer novel. The attendant challenges, of coping and adjustment, are still present.

Yes, if you think that I am implying that I feel in some ways that I have not entirely adjusted to the culture here, then, yes, you are correctly interpreting what I am trying to say. I think that perhaps it is still reasonable to still be adjusting to the culture here. But I also think that I in particular feel especially challenged in living here due to my particular makeup, approach to life, philosophy, religion, faith and values. I generally favor freedom and latitude over restriction; debate over silence; inquiry over static acceptance and failure to question; activity over passivity. I attended a college which helped me to further develop these values and this approach to life; which keenly tried to encourage its students to engage in critical thinking; and which strongly supported respecting others' rights, which certainly included buoying and improving the status of women. In addition to all of these facets of my intellectual makeup, I feel most challenged here in terms of my spirituality, given the relative lack of exchange between religions, paucity of debate and little diversity within any particular conversation about religion here. And I face these spiritual challenges in the context of being Christian in a country which is more than 98 percent Muslim.

You might think that I have been describing many things descriptive of my entire time here in Morocco. I think it's true, that in the last month and half, I have been feeling emotions which I have always felt here in Morocco. To a certain extent, in my mid-service crisis, if it deserves to be called that, I have been continuing to grapple with challenges I have always felt here.

In a way, I think that maybe in the last month and a half, I have been assessing how I have been dealing with these challenges. I've been evaluating how I cope.

I've gained some fortitude from knowing that at this point, I feel relatively stable in my service. I know how to cope well. I did experience a series of rough patches in the last month and a half. Yet, at no point during this period did I sink anywhere nearly as low as I did during my first few months living here in my town, from late November last year to mid-March this year. I think that I've fared as well as I have because of the advice I've received, and my own advice (mostly contained in my August 2011 blog post entitled "Tips for PCVs and PCTs,") which I myself have tried to follow. Recently when I was feeling down, I identified how I was feeling. I thought, "I'm feeling homesick." Next I thought, "It's reasonable for me to feel homesick. I am far away from many people I love. I miss them. It's completely natural for me to feel this way." Immediately I felt drastically better. Knowing that I can competently cope, I then feel empowered to take action in other areas, such as my work.

I've also maintained a sense of direction and purpose by reminding myself while I'm here. I remember very often that I'm trying to do what God wants me to do, namely, help others, and, more specifically, help impoverished people, and, even more specifically, help them better themselves.

In keeping in touch with my faith, and reminding myself what my values are, I've been taking my own advice, remembering what I've learned. And I've also been remembering what others have taught me. You might think I am making a very obvious point here. However, I've seen numerous PCVs sinking low because they succumb to various forms of tunnel vision, of pessimism, of failing to consult, listen to, and learn from others (and at times I have suffered from this malady as well). So remember what you have learned, and ask for help when you need it. After all, the Peace Corps is all about learning from others.

Wormhole to the U.S.

A couple of weekends ago, I went to the city that's about an hour away from my town. I was very happy to attend a Bible study session with the Christians who I had met there earlier this year.

Later in the day after the Bible study session, I stayed overnight at one of their houses. While the Christians in this group, which meets for Bible study, are expats from various countries, the particular family, with whom I stayed overnight, is originally from the U.S. Consequently, when I was in their house with them, they were speaking nothing but English, except when they were on the phone with Moroccans, when they then spoke Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic.

Also, they've been living here in Morocco so long that this is their home. They've adjusted quite well; they're comfortable. One of them commented to me that it takes months to adjust to life here in Morocco. I agree, and I can say from experience that it takes a while for Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) to adjust to life in their particular host countries.

During much of the time I spend with other PCVs, we end up talking about challenges of serving here in Morocco. However, these expats from the U.S. are so adjusted, that I felt like they were hosting me in a home of theirs in the U.S. Thus the conversation felt much like conversation I'd have in a home physically located in the U.S.

On a more mundane level, I also enjoyed listening to the music they were playing in their home. We listened to The Beatles and Michael Jackson.

When I arrived at their home, it appeared as if they had just finished eating breakfast. One of them told me to help myself to some pancakes... with maple syrup! As if that wasn't enough, once I had started eating some pancakes, he told me to have as many of them as I wanted, since otherwise they were probably just going to go to waste. I was thrilled, since I hadn't eaten pancakes with maple syrup in months!

Another way in which I felt that I had been transported to the U.S.: I used their toilet. Which meant, given that it has a toilet seat, that I sat down to use it! Being accustomed to using a squat toilet here in Morocco, it felt like I was in another country when I sat down to use a toilet!

For various reasons I felt like I was in the U.S. Sure, I felt like I was in the U.S. because I was seeing, touching, hearing and tasting things I don't often experience here in Morocco. But I think I also felt as if I was in the U.S. because my hosts that weekend were, and are, just so hospitable, generous, warm and caring. Why, you might ask, is that any different than when some Moroccans show me hospitality in their home? I was able to just relax and decompress. I wasn't serving as an ambassador of the U.S. like I usually am when I walk around in public here in Morocco, or even when I'm in the home of some Moroccans.

But, truth be told, there is more to it than that. I was so immensely comfortable because I knew I was with other Christians. I don't always have to be spending time with other Christians. Yet at a certain point after not having spent time with other Christians, I start to feel isolated if I'm not meeting in spiritual community with other Christians. In a certain way, I don't feel supported in my faith by others, because I'm not spending time with others who share my faith. While there are various ways of building and maintaining spiritual community, I believe that one gains it in a most helpful and supportive way by actually spending time with others.

When I was applying to join the Peace Corps, I had resigned myself to the reality that I would probably not be able to go to church regularly, and to the probability that I would not be living near other Christians. But God saw fit to have it otherwise. God takes care of me.

Enjoying the Draconid Meteor Shower Under African Skies

Last Saturday night, Stan, the other Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) living in my town, and I went up onto his roof to watch the shooting stars of the Draconid meteor shower. I had read in a news article on the Internet earlier in the day that people in North Africa would be well-situated to see the falling meteors. I had also read that the best time to view the shooting stars would be between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. EST (Eastern Standard Time) on the east coast of the U.S. Morocco is located in the GMT (Greenwich Mean Time) time zone, so Morocco is currently 5 hours ahead of EST. Thus, I figured that the best time to watch the meteor shower here in Morocco would be between 8 p.m. and 10 p.m.

Stan and I got up onto his roof around 7:30 p.m. I had read in the article that because the moon was nearly going to be a full moon, it would be reflecting so much light that we wouldn't see as many shooting stars as if it were a new moon. Indeed, when we first got up onto his roof, the moon was already throwing enough light that it was already obvious that we wouldn't have the best viewing conditions. Also, there were no clouds whatsoever in the sky, which on the one hand meant that our view was not obscured by clouds. On the other hand, though, that also meant that the moon was able to bring that much more light to us, thus making it more difficult to see whatever shooting stars there were.

Anyway, despite the brightness of the moon, very soon after we sat down in his plastic chairs on his flat, concrete roof, we started seeing shooting stars. While there were pauses when we were scanning the sky for shooting stars, I don't think we ever had to wait more than a few minutes to see a falling meteor. And this was given how bright the sky was. Between 8:10 p.m. and 8:20 p.m., we counted 18 shooting stars. I have to imagine that if the sky had been darker, we would have seen even more of them.

Despite how bright the sky was, I was very happy that we saw this one particular shooting star. It was by far the biggest and most impressive one I've ever seen. It was a bright, white, round ball, which had a trail of much smaller, and much less bright, pieces flying off of it. Interestingly, given how bright and large it seemed to be, it didn't seem to fade out gradually; rather, all of a sudden, it disappeared. Whatever the reason for its apparently rapid disappearance, I was very thankful to have seen it.

Stan and I also found this particular meteor shower notable because the falling meteors seemed to be located over such a large portion of the sky. Given that the shooting stars were spread over such a large part of the sky, sometimes one of us would see one of them, but the other of us would miss that particular one because of looking in another part of the sky at that particular moment. At the time when one of us missed one of them, of course the other one of us was disappointed to have missed one. However, in retrospect, the immensity of the scope of the meteor shower, which caused us to miss some of them, seems to have been another indicator of the magnificence of this meteor shower, for which I was very thankful, as a natural wonder and gift from the heavens, which we were able to enjoy simply by looking skyward.

Driving Them Crazy

Last Saturday, a couple of boys who came to the Dar Chebab (the youth center where I do most of my volunteering) asked me to teach them about speaking in English. I decided to continue an English class I had started with them earlier in the week in which I was showing them different vowel sounds, and the different ways in which the same vowel sound is spelled, as shown by different words.

I was telling them that the long "a" sound is found in words spelled like "late," "bait," "pay," "paid," and "stayed," among others. At that point, Stan, the other PCV living in my town, chuckled, and said something like, "English is crazy! All of these words are pronounced with the same vowel sound, but they're not spelled the same way!"

Later, I told them about words with the short "a" sound like "at," "cat," "and," "hand," and others. We also covered words with the long "e" sound, the short "e" sound, the long "i" sound, the short "i" sound, the long "o" sound, the short "o" sound, the long "u" sound, and the short "u" sound.

I think that they started to have difficulty processing the intricacies when I started getting into less usual cases. One of them seemed to be taking a little time to process the pronunciation of the last syllable of the word "illiterate." But the last straw seemed to be the word "dove." I had previously told them that the words "love" and "above" were pronounced with a short "u" sound. Then I told them that the word "dove," when referring to the bird of this name, is pronounced in a way which rhymes with "love" and "above." But then I added that when it's referring to the past tense of the word "dive," that it's pronounced with a long "o" sound. At that point, it looked like I was driving them crazy, so I figured that we had reached a good time to end the lesson!

It Could Be Much Worse

When faced with a situation which I find difficult, sometimes because I have to wait longer than I had originally expected for something to happen, or because I can't get what I want right away, I often cope by telling myself that it could be much worse. It was in this vein that I found it very appropriate that I was reading some writings by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton as I was waiting over an hour for a grand taxi in a small town here in Morocco last week. In these particular writings, Merton describes how certain Christians coped with the crimes being committed by the Nazis during World War II, and how they coped with expectations that they participate in such atrocities. In particular, Merton writes about the Austrian Franz Jagerstatter, who was executed in 1943 for refusing to serve in the Nazi military forces. I believe that because I was reading about Jagerstatter, and about his refusal to serve in the Nazi forces, and about how he instead adhered to what he felt was a pure form of Christianity, even though the Nazis executed him for it, I gained a good deal of perspective, and was filled with a great deal of patience. I realized that what I perceived to be a problem, namely waiting for what seemed to be a long time for a taxi, if it actually was even a problem at all, was relatively minor, mundane and unimportant, compared with the challenging moral questions which many people have faced in other, much more stressful circumstances.

And soon enough, as if to validate my acceptance of the true nature of my situation, a bus stopped on the main road, dropping off some people, some of whom wanted to travel on the more minor road on which I had been waiting. Consequently, with these new arrivals, a taxi filled up and was ready to leave.

I was in a full taxi, riding to my destination, the town of my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Ben. He is finishing his service as a PCV this week, so I wanted to visit him in his town before he leaves. We had a good time during my visit. A Peace Corps staff person was visiting his site that day, so as to be more familiar with the town if and when a new PCV starts living there. So we spent part of the day walking around his town, and at times in the process enjoyed great views of the palmerie, the massive grove of palm trees there. We had great meals. One was a tajine with Ben's host family. Another one was at a cafe, and included tomato and onion salad, omelettes, French fries, olives, bread, and olive oil.

When I left his town the next day, I thought about how I was sad that he was about to leave. But then I thought that because he's leaving, that also means that I'm that much further along in my service. Which means that I'm in the thick of being able to help people here in Morocco. And learn things here.

And as I type this, I also know that things could be much worse. Because I have been blessed by God with the freedom which accompanies so many opportunities to give, and in the process, to grow. And thus live the life of love which I aspire to live.

Lighting Up the Evening Sky

Walking home from the Dar Chebab (youth center) where I do most of my volunteering here in my town, on one particular night last week, I saw many flashes of lightning. Though it wasn't raining at all for the entirety of my five-minute walk home, the lightning kept flashing. Over the course of a two to three minute period, five seconds never passed in which I didn't see a flash of lightning. At times this one especially jagged mountain was backlit by the lightning, offering an raw, unrefined, giant silhouette of the massive rock. At other times, the lightning flashed in front of this same mountain, illuminating the front of its immensity.

I remembered how, months ago, I had imagined bolts of lightning striking in front of this especially prominent mountain here in town, envisioning it as an impressive and powerful sight. It turned out to be just as magnificent as I had envisioned it.

Workers on Strike!

Earlier this month, the teachers here in my town went on strike, along with the rest of the public school teachers nationwide throughout Morocco. They were agitating in favor of a lower retirement age. A teacher explained to me this week that public school teachers previously were able to retire at age 60. Later the retirement age was raised to 62. The teachers were striking this week to try to exert pressure to change the retirement age back down to 60.

To give a little more context, since I've been living here in my town, the teachers here have gone on strike on multiple occasions before this week. Workers in Morocco have the right under the Moroccan constitution to organize, that is, to unionize, to form unions. Labor unions constitute about 5 percent of the full-time Moroccan workforce; about 500,000 workers are union members in Morocco, in this country of roughly 33 million.

Labor laws here in Morocco have provided grades of minimum wage, paid holidays, and a defined work week. As is the case so often throughout the world, employees in Morocco have a need for the protection of labor laws and the strength which comes through unionizing. Given the inexpensive cost of compensating workers for their labor in Morocco, and the proximity of Morocco to Europe, foreign companies might find it appealing to invest in Morocco. Thus, in this context, Moroccan workers benefit from the freedom to organize, and from the protection of the Moroccan labor laws.

There's A First Time For Everything...

Earlier this week, I met Stan, the other PCV who lives here in the same town where I live here, at a café for some coffee. As we were sitting there, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I told Stan that, in my ten months of living here in this town, while I have seen foreign female tourists sitting at cafés here in our town, I have never, not even once, seen Moroccan women or Moroccan girls sitting in a café here in town.

When we got up to pay for our cups of coffee, we saw two Moroccan teenage girls sitting at a table in the café. There's a first time for everything... Literally one or two seconds later, I looked further towards the front of the café, and saw three Moroccan women sitting at another table. There's a second time...

Variety is in the Liveliest of Spices

Recently my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Ben visited me here in my town, and we decided to make dinner together. While in the center of my town, we were in a hanoot, which is essentially the Moroccan equivalent of a corner grocery store, where we briefly discussed what we were going to have for dinner that night. He suggested making corn chowder. Never having had it here in Morocco, I quickly supported that idea. We set about buying the various ingredients which I didn't already have in my apartment: corn, potatoes, onions, penne pasta, and a relatively unique spice named "ras-l-hanoot," in Darija, or Moroccan Arabic. Literally this phrase means "the head of the grocery store" in Darija. It's fairly unique because it's actually a blend of various spices, thus containing multiple spices. It's also fairly intriguing because one often can have difficulty knowing what it contains, since its actual composition varies so much depending on who is making it. It's also notable because, at least according to at least one Moroccan, it can contain as many as eighty different substances in it. It often contains pepper (sometimes multiple kinds of pepper), cumin, nutmeg and ginger. It often ends up giving a dish somewhat of a curry-like flavor. Indeed, when Ben and I ate the corn chowder containing the ras-l-hanoot, the chowder seemed to have a flavor reminiscent of curry. It made what most likely would already have been a tasty meal even more delectable!

Role Reversal

This past weekend, I met Stan, the other PCV who lives in my town, at a café which I hadn't visited in months. I had suggested that we meet there because I had had some delicious banana juice there on previous visits. I had accidentally stumbled into discovering that that banana juice was good without sugar. On a previous visit, the waiter there had asked me, rather atypically for Moroccan waiters taking an order for juice, if I wanted it with or without sugar; it hadn't even previously occurred to me that there would even be sugar in it. Without the sugar, it tasted much more like a milkshake, with the predominant quality being creaminess rather than sweetness. Unfortunately, when we asked the waiter this past weekend if he had banana juice, he said that they no longer make it at that café. Stan and I decided to have some coffee there at that café.

As he and I were sitting at that café, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I thought that I am doing the same things here in Morocco that I would do if I was in the U.S. I noted to Stan that if I were in the U.S., I would be going to cafés, where I would be drinking coffee, and at times, reading. Then, as I was looking out at the mountains and hills in front of us, I added that if I was in the U.S., I would also be hiking and enjoying beautiful views in nature, much as I have done here in Morocco. It made me think of phrases here in Morocco, "bhal bhal" and "kif kif," which one uses when one wants to say that two things are the same thing. One also sometimes communicates that sentiment by outstretching only one's index fingers next to each other. I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are the same. However, my realizations at the café made me think that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are more alike than I have been thinking.

After Stan and I parted ways soon after leaving the café, I walked into the center of town. On the way, I crossed paths with one of the students who is a regular at the Dar Chebab ("youth center") where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. We hadn't seen each other since the beginning of the summer, since we both had been traveling over the summer. Given that he and I had not only interacted a lot over the course of the previous academic year, but also that he and I appreciate each other, he greeted me by not only shaking my hand, but also by kissing me alternately on both cheeks, twice on each cheek, for a total of four kisses. Though really, the word "kiss" is technically a misnomer--actually we just touched cheeks, as many people do. Sometimes people make the kissing sound even though their lips are not touching the other person's cheeks. We updated each other on our travels. He asked me if the Dar Chebab had re-opened yet after being closed for the summer. I informed him that it had re-opened the previous week, so when we parted ways, we told each other that we would see each other soon at the Dar Chebab.

As I continued on my way into the center of town, a man greeted me as I approached him. I returned the greeting, and we stopped to speak with each other. I learned that he is a teacher of Arabic and French, and that he just moved to my town to teach in it. I asked him how long he has lived in my town. He replied that he has lived in my town for five days! I found that the usual roles, in my interactions with Moroccan teachers in my town, had been reversed--rather than the Moroccan teacher welcoming me to the town, instead I was welcoming him to the town!

Women Drivers

Walking through my town this past weekend, I came upon a car, which looked like it was a subcompact, being used for driver education. On previous occasions, I had seen people being instructed in how to drive in that area, a minor paved street surrounded by dirt on both sides, which has relatively little traffic. A parking space is drawn in the dirt, in which student drivers practice parking. They also navigate their way around obstacles placed in the street there.

On this particular occasion this past weekend, I was very pleased to see a woman in the driver's seat. I'd previously seen women driving motorcycles in Marrakech, and also I'd just known that women drive here in Morocco. But every time I see that not only are women's human rights respected here in Morocco, but also that women actually exercise these rights, I feel encouraged and strengthened on behalf of Moroccan women.

Especially in light of how women living in other Islamic countries are allowed varying degrees of freedom. In particular, Saudi women have been agitating for the right to drive for years now. In this regard, of learning about the rights of women in various Islamic countries, I found it especially edifying to read "Nine Parts of Desire: The Hidden World of Islamic Women" by Geraldine Brooks. In this book, Brooks reviews how at times women's freedoms have been curtailed in the name of Islam, in the process sometimes distorting what Islam says. For example, the Koran (more accurately spelled as "the Qu'ran") does not mention honor killings, which occur when a woman's male relatives kill her for being intimate with a man before getting married and thus, in their perception, bringing disrepute on their family. At other times, in her book, Brooks discusses how women's freedoms and rights have been curtailed according to what the Qu'ran says. For example, the Qu'ran says that if a woman will not obey her husband, he shall scourge her, which has been interpreted as support for men to beat their wives.

In addition to finding the book informative about Islamic women's rights, I also found the book educational about Islam and its founder. One of his wives accused him of having self-serving prophecies, including of having a revelation that it was acceptable to have more wives than the-then current practice allowed at that time.