Be Patient

It's been nearly four months since I submitted my online application to the Peace Corps.  I still haven't had an interview.  

Peace Corps says that patience and flexibility are two of the qualities that are helpful both as an applicant and once one becomes a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer).  Having previously been both an applicant and a PCV, I agree.  Besides, were I to become impatient, it wouldn't get me an interview sooner!  

More to the point, patience reflects the state of the heart.  The second reading at Mass today was from 1 Corinthians 13.  Love is patient.  By being patient, you show love.  Let us be patient, and thus love.  Amen.  

Alternatives to the Peace Corps

When I was applying to the Peace Corps in 2009 and 2010, someone asked me something like, "What are you going to do if you don't get into the Peace Corps?"  I responded something like, "I don't know."  As it turned out, I got into the Peace Corps, and served as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) in Morocco from 2010 to 2012, so I never ended up considering the question of what else I'd do.  

This time around as I again apply to the Peace Corps, I am thinking about what I'll do if I don't become a PCV again.  In considering various courses of action, I've been drawn to seek various elements in my life.  I've been driven to serve impoverished persons while living simply, and I particularly enjoyed a simple life of service abroad as a PCV.  I've craved spiritual community, including while worshipping and celebrating God's many blessings at Mass and otherwise in church.  I've also greatly enjoyed solitude, along with the frequently attendant silence and stillness, which, I feel, helps me to try to listen to what God is saying to me.  I've sought to live a life in which I practice these and other spiritual disciplines.  

Seeking to follow these spiritual practices, I've also applied to Franciscan Mission Service.  Through their program, volunteers live abroad for at least two years while serving poor people.  
It seems likely I might also apply for service programs in which I would serve poor persons here in the states.  I've found some such volunteer programs which interest me through the website www.catholicvolunteernetwork.org.  

It's also possible I might again be a Catholic Worker.  For a few months in the latter half of last year, I lived and worked at a Catholic Worker House here in California.  There we housed, fed and otherwise cared for women and children who probably otherwise would have been homeless.  

I don't know what I'll do next.  I can say, though, that I am excited about what lies ahead.  I am looking forward to returning to active ministry, spending more time serving impoverished people.  I am eager to do so, in whatever framework it takes place.  

A Marvelous Day

I had a marvelous day today. This morning, I got up early and read the Bible. Then I headed out from the hotel room in Casablanca where I stayed last night. I caught a petit taxi to the Catholic monastery, where I attended Mass at 9:00 a.m. Mexican nuns live in the monastery. Thus, the nun who read one of the Scripture readings spoke in Spanish. However, the parishioner who read the other of the first two Scripture readings spoke in French. The priest spoke in French, so most of the Mass was in French.

Before the Mass had begun, I had been feeling a bit unsettled. Thus I appreciated the nuns' prayers before Mass. By the time Mass had started, I was feeling calmer, more at peace, and more focused on being in the chapel.

After Mass ended, I took a petit taxi to Cathedral Notre Dame de Lourdes for the 11:00 a.m. Mass there. When I arrived, I saw tourists with cameras exiting the church and getting back onto tour buses. Upon entering the church grounds, I discovered a grotto honoring the Virgin Mary. Once I got a better look at the cathedral, I realized that it was quite tall. Yet only upon entering the cathedral did I learn that this cathedral houses an amazing set of stained-glass windows. On both sides of the cathedral is stained glass, continuously stretching, uninterrupted, from the rear of the cathedral all the way to its front, depicting God, angels and believers. Above these scenes depicted on the stained glass, many long thin shafts of stained glass stretched up to the high ceiling. It was certainly fine and beautiful artwork.

In addition to the magnificent stained glass, I once again enjoyed the song during Mass today. I enjoyed how, in the absence of a choir at the cathedral, before Mass had begun, a young woman was leading all of the congregants in practicing the song of the day. It made the experience of attending Mass seem even more communal than it normally already feels. I get so much support and nourishment out of attending Mass, especially here in Morocco, where I am not in the physical presence of other Christians on a regular basis. I'm grateful for the presence of other Christians, who share my faith and encourage me in it. I have much for which I am thankful, and that certainly includes them.

Enter

Today I returned to the Catholic church here in the city on the coast where I've been working with other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) for the last ten days or so. When I'd been there this past weekend, I'd learned that there was going to be Mass celebrated there today in honor of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. So I made sure to get up early enough this morning to walk to the church for Mass. Once I had nearly arrived at the church, as I was walking down the block on which the church was located, I heard the choir practicing their song, which came at least partially from the Congo. In retrospect, I considered that it was as if their song was like an invitation into the church, to enter and worship.

After Mass, the congregants gathered in the church building for refreshments, including coffee, soda, croissants and cookies. I joined in for their fellowship and conversation with them. I spoke with some Kenyan, French and Italian folks who were very friendly. I was also happy that I found out the national origin of some of the other parishioners. Some of them came from the Ivory Coast, Guinea-Bissau, Togo, Benin, and Cameroon. I was glad that I got to speak with at least some of them at least a little bit, partly because I'd enjoyed their singing so much, and because I felt that in a way, they invited me in, encouraged me as fellow Christians in my faith in God, and welcomed me into the church.

Accepting Transformation

When the Peace Corps recruiter interviewed me nearly three years ago, he asked me many discerning questions about whether I'd be able to cope with life in a country served by the Peace Corps. Amongst his questions, he asked me how I'd feel about not being able to attend religious services of my faith. I replied that I'd prefer not to be in such a situation, but that I would do it if invited to a post in the Peace Corps where I wouldn't be able to attend services. It's important to me to attend church services as a Christian.

As it turned out, I was invited to serve here in Morocco, where relatively few people are Christian. While some PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) live in sites with churches, I live in a town here in Morocco where there's no church. However, I live about an hour from a church, so I've attended Mass there. More often in that city, I've attended Bible study sessions with other expats there.

When I travel, I attend Mass in the various cities I visit. For the past ten days or so, I've been working with other PCVs in a city on the coast here in Morocco. On Sunday morning, a few other PCVs and I attended Mass at the Catholic church here in this city. As usual, the service was in French. I understood a bit more of the service, including the sermon, than I usually do, perhaps because the priest was speaking more slowly. My fellow volunteers and I also appreciated the large mural behind the altar, which seemed to include a representation of Adam and Eve and the serpent, and various parts of creation, including the globe and many animals, especially fishes of the sea. We also got treated to some of the glorious sub-Saharan African song which is often heard in churches here in Morocco. It truly felt like a blessing to attend Mass there, as it always is to attend Mass here in Morocco.

I've pondered that while being unable to attend Mass while serving in the Peace Corps seemed daunting when I was applying to the Peace Corps, there was an opportunity for spiritual growth even in simply being willing to serve without being able to attend Mass. When one accepts the challenge, one transforms oneself. And sometimes perhaps God just wants to see us exhibit that willingness. Maybe once we've shown that we're willing to make the sacrifice, as Abraham showed, then perhaps God has seen enough and doesn't always demand the extreme sacrifice which we had initially anticipated. And if we are called to make that full sacrifice, the sacrifice that we're called to make doesn't end up being that intimidating, because we've transformed our outlook. It's no longer burdensome, but liberating. It's no longer a tiresome chore, nor a heavy task, but a wonderful expression of love, and joyous service. As we realize that we are one with our experience, which defines us, our choices fill out our personality, and complete our Identity.

Will You Marry Me?

I was happy to attend Mass at the Catholic church in Marrakech this past weekend. On the vast majority of the days I've spent here in Morocco, I haven't knowingly interacted with other Christians. Consequently here in Morocco I often crave spiritual community and fellowship with other Christians. Given my usual lack of interaction with other Christians, I'm grateful whenever I get to worship in a church.

In addition to getting to worship in a church, I was also happy to hear the choir there in that church. Although I'd attended Mass at the Catholic church in Marrakech before this past weekend, I'd never heard the choir there. I so enjoyed hearing them sing, since they sounded so light and free, so joyous and celebratory. After the Sunday morning service, I asked about the origins of the music. They had been singing songs from a variety of locations, including the Congo.

After the service, the priest said that there were a couple of announcements. Then a Frenchman who was in one of the front pews walked up to the lectern. He spoke for a short time in French, and when he stopped speaking, I heard some of the female choir members up in the balcony gasp. He had just asked his girlfriend to marry him. The choir erupted briefly into apparently spontaneous song. Once they had finished singing, she walked up to the altar and the priest blessed their engagement.

When I had been in the church the previous day for the Saturday evening service, in the back of the church, I had seen photos of European couples getting married there in that church. When I arrived for Mass on Sunday morning, I saw rice scattered on the ground outside the church. I suppose I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was to hear his marriage proposal to her!

Traveling As A PCV In Morocco

I still have a couple of weeks of vacation time left. Given that I'm nearing the end of my Peace Corps service, I've got to use my vacation time now, if I'm going to use it. Therefore, I've been traveling this week. At the beginning of the week, I visited a friend, Bill, who lives north of my town. He showed me around his town. Since he's a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who works in small business development, he was introducing me to women who have been learning how to make shoes, weave rugs and baskets, and make keftans (long Moroccan women's robes) and handkerchiefs. In addition to giving me the tour of his town, he also hosted me in his apartment until the next day. I was grateful for his hospitality and generosity. Since it's been getting hot, I especially appreciated how he served another PCV and me cold watermelon and green cantaloupe.

Later in the week, I was happy to visit a Franciscan monastery. I managed to make it there for a service at 7:15 a.m. It was all in French, so I understood very little of it. I'd previously attended masses in French here in Morocco, but for some reason I seemed to encounter a particular difficulty which I don't recall experiencing on prior occasions. I found singing hymns in French more difficult than I'd expected. Later I considered that when singing in English, I'm not only reading the words, I'm also looking to see if the notes go up or down in the songs. Then I realized that when trying to sing in French, I'm struggling with words I don't know in French as an added element on top of trying to read and seeing whether the notes go up or down. But I was glad to be worshipping God with other Christians, since I don't get to do so with other Christians much here.

After the service, I spoke with the expatriate Franciscan monks and nuns who live in the monastery. They were very warm and friendly. I told them that I've benefited considerably from having a lot of time to read while living here. Consequently I've devoted much time to opening the door for God, to trying to place myself before God, so as to be receptive to what God is saying to me. I often think of Revelation 3:20 as a reminder to approach my relationship with God in this way. I was grateful to these monks and nuns for their implicit support of me and other Christians in our walk of faith and path in trying to emulate Jesus.

A couple of the elderly nuns were especially sweet, continuing to clasp my hand as they spoke with me. As I spoke with one of them, I was finding it difficult to speak in French, since I've been infrequently speaking French. She told me to speak in Darija, which was much easier!

After not too long, I was parting ways with the monks and nuns. As I was saying goodbye to them, one of the elderly nuns called me "Xuya," which is Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "my brother," as she next further noted that we're all brothers and sisters.

After I bid adieu to the monks and nuns, I caught a bus so I could continue further north on my journey. I was happy to be able to take a bus with the CTM bus company. CTM buses are nicer, and newer, than most other buses here in Morocco. In addition to also being more reliable than a lot of other buses, they're also air-conditioned, unlike many other buses here in Morocco. As I traveled north, I enjoyed more beautiful scenery, including green meadows giving way to hills covered with evergreen trees. In this area of Morocco, snow covers the ground in winter. But this month, there was no snow on the ground there, unlike when I traveled the same route on my way to PPST (Post-Pre-Service Training) back in February 2011.

This time as I approached Azrou, although I didn't see any snow, in addition to the green meadows, I also saw purple and yellow flowers. At one point, the bus slowed down since sheep were running into the road. Their shepherd, protective of his sheep, got them back off of the road. I saw other flocks of sheep later before arriving in Azrou.

Once I arrived in Azrou, I caught another bus to the town of Ifrane. I'd heard that Ifrane seemed different from the rest of Morocco. The French built Ifrane in the 1930s. Thus it has architecture different from rest of Morocco, namely houses with pointed roofs. However, I must admit that I was disappointed once I arrived in Ifrane, given how people had told me that Ifrane was very different. It didn't seem significantly different from the rest of Morocco. Ifrane is also known for its gardens, some of which are quite pleasant and pretty, with trimmed grass and flower beds with purple, lavender, orange and yellow flowers.

After visiting Ifrane, next I headed to the city of Meknes, where I stayed for the night. In the morning, I headed further north, to the ancient Roman ruins at the site of Volubilis, or Oualili in Arabic. Volubilis is still being excavated, but there's much interesting already to see there. A massive arch, built by local residents out of gratitude for being exempt from taxes, still stands there. The ancient baths remain. I was most impressed by the mosaics. In addition to enjoying the skill of the artists, I marvelled at how well they've endured against the elements for nearly two millenia.

After exploring at Volubilis, I continued north up here to Chefchaouen. I'd been wanting to come to Chefchaouen for a while, and I'm glad I finally did. I'd heard that a planned visit to Chefchaouen of a few days often easily turns into a stay of a week or more, since it has such a mellow, relaxed atmosphere, which I'm now glad to be feeling myself. I've also been appreciating the scenic beauty here. Chefchaouen is nestled at the foot of the Rif mountains. Its medina, that is, the old part of the city, is whitewashed and also covered in various shades of blue. I also tend to especially enjoy a medina when its streets slope more steeply, as they do here.

I'm thankful to be a PCV here in Morocco. There's so much to do and see here, and, more importantly, I'm grateful to be having mutually supportive relationships and interactions with such warm and generous people here, which is, after all, why I came here in the first place.

Second Visit Back to the USA, First Visitor From the USA

For the last nine days of December, I was back in the USA to celebrate Christmas with my family. It felt great; in fact, it was a relief to be there, in many ways, for various reasons.

For one thing, I've found being a Christian in Morocco to be more challenging than I would've expected it to be. During my conversations with Moroccans, sometimes they ask me if I'm Muslim. I reply that I'm Christian, and often they reply that I should be Muslim, or with some equivalent sentiment. In this context, I often feel like they're not interested in learning why I'm Christian. Indeed, I had one such conversation on my way to this cyber today, which underscores the very feeling I am trying to express in this paragraph. Being around people who don't share my faith, and who aren't interested in learning about it, consequently I feel like I'm not part of a faith community in the town in which I live. Consequently, when I'm in the town, I don't feel supported in my faith by the other people in the town.

It was in this context that I was quite emotional at Christmas Mass on Christmas morning. I was beyond relieved to be around other Christians. People, I'm sure, often say and do things, and think that in doing those things, that they have no effect on others. And I suspect that some of the people singing in that church on Christmas morning didn't think that their song could have been as supportive as it was. But just listening to others singing Christmas hymns on Christmas morning, I felt so supported and nourished, as a result of knowing that I was surrounded by people who share my faith in Jesus Christ. I was reminded, in an immediate sense, that I am part of a Christian community, even though while living in my current residence in Morocco, I am geographically removed from it.

I also was as emotional as I was on this visit because of other restrictions in my life here in Morocco. Life here in Morocco is challenging for women. How, you might ask, does that affect me, since I am a man?

For one thing, insofar as Moroccan women are expected not to interact with men in the same ways that American women interact with men, I have altered how I interact with women here in Morocco, from how I interact with women in the USA. I interact with women differently here in Morocco than I did in the states, but that doesn't mean that I'm used to the restrictions--or that I endorse them. In the states, many women supported me emotionally in ways which women cannot do so here. In the states, I would meet up with female friends for coffee or meals. Here in the conservative town in which I live, Moroccan women are rarely seen in cafes. In fact, unless they're going to someone else's house, going shopping, or to the hammam, they're generally not going out, but instead staying home. In the states, I was used to female friends greeting me with hugs, and I was used to greeting them with hugs. Here in Morocco, men are expected to wait to see if a Moroccan woman extends her hand to shake hands, a gesture short of a hug. In this context, I certainly don't have the type of conversations with Moroccan women, with the attendant emotional trust, confiding and support, which I enjoyed in the states.

In another sense, I'm affected emotionally by how women here are treated. I don't enjoy hearing about women being harassed. Usually when I hear about a woman being harassed in Morocco, it's a female PCV who has been harassed. Female PCVs are called "gazelles" and other demeaning terms by men who catcall them. One female PCV was treated like a prostitute: a car would roll up next to her and she was asked to get into the car. Not only am I disturbed just hearing about what is said to these women; I'm also disturbed by how they're affected by being treated in these ways. At least one female PCV left Morocco because of such harassment; another confided to me that she is considering leaving Morocco, and ending her Peace Corps service early, partly because of such harassment. While I listen and try to lend support, I feel that there is little I can do to actually make the situation better. Accordingly, at times PCVs deal with frustration over such treatment.

Add in the homesickness. Yes, I still get homesick, homesickness which is brought on in large part by living in a culture which feels as foreign as it does, homesickness which is brought on also by not being able to communicate that well in one of the languages here in Morocco, and which is brought on also by being the only American living here in this town. I feel that no one else living here in my town can really understand my situation.

Consequently, I don't have the emotional support here in my town which I feel that I need. And in addition to the challenge of a lack of emotional support, it's also culturally inappropriate for me to show my grief or sadness around Moroccans when those emotions arise in me.

Thus during my visit back to the USA for Christmas, I was emotional at times. I was letting out a lot which had been pent up in me, even though when I am alone in my apartment here in Morocco, I cry whenever I feel that I have to cry.

I have thought about why this visit was so much more emotional for me than my visit back to the USA in July last year, when I returned to the USA for my friend Rob's wedding. I've thought that just before that visit, I'd had about a month where work was slowing down at the dar chebab, or youth center, where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. Thus, when I returned to the USA in July last year, I had had a dry spell of work which lasted only one month. However, when I returned to the USA five months later, in December, for Christmas, I'd had a long, slow patch workwise: except for Summer Camp, which lasted about ten days in the end of July and the beginning of August, I had very little work to do for a period of five months. For that reason, I think that this visit was more challenging. Just before this visit, insofar as I had been less busy, I had been facing the challenges in a more direct, and less distracted way, since I hadn't been working as much as earlier in the year.

I've also thought about how I have been living here in Morocco for 15 months. Despite how I have been living here that long, I still feel conscious of how foreign and different life here feels to me. I still feel so challenged by it for the reasons I've mentioned above. Perhaps it is as hard as it is because I know that it is still challenging, because I know that it hasn't gotten as smooth and easy as I would have liked it to be.

Given that I have been experiencing these challenges, I am all the more grateful to have gone back to the USA twice during my Peace Corps service. Some PCVs don't go back to the USA for a visit at all during their 27 months in the Peace Corps.

I think that because of all these challenges here in Morocco for me, my visit back to the USA at Christmas flew by. The time with my folks and my sister down south went quickly. Then my time up in New York with more family members also sped by.

Before long, I was back on planes flying back here to Morocco. I was glad to have a long layover in Zurich. I left the airport and walked around the city, taking in the wonderful sights of architecture there in the city, including some magnificently constructed churches. After four flights, I landed back here in Morocco.

I was very glad that when I landed, my friend Melanie from the USA was here in Morocco, where she had already been vacationing for several days. She drove us south in a rental car she was renting, and we visited Cascades d'Ouzoud, a spectacular series of falls northeast of Marrakech. She drove us down to the town in which I live, and she stayed here in town for one night, at a hotel I had helped her to find some weeks ago. Then she drove us up to Marrakech, and we parted ways the next morning, as she drove north to continue her vacation, and I headed back down south to the town in which I live.

In retrospect, I think that her visit brought into sharper relief many of the aspects of life here in Morocco which I find challenging. Hearing about how she was treated during her travels before I met up with her, I was reminded of ways in which I find life challenging here in Morocco. She told me of how, rather than speaking with her, Moroccan men would speak to her traveling companion, who was a man with whom she had been traveling before I met up with her when I landed back in Morocco. She also related how some Moroccans had been very aggressive with her in asking her for money: one woman in Marrakech, who had drawn henna on my friend's hand, pushed her body into my friend when my friend didn't want to give her more money for the henna. For one thing, I didn't enjoy hearing about how my friend had been treated. But also, listening to her, I was reminded of much of what I don't like about life in Morocco.

How have I been reacting to feeling these emotions? I've been taking my own advice, partly as I set out in a previous blog post, entitled "Tips for PCVs and PCTs," which I wrote in August 2011. In that blog entry, among other things, I wrote about how I deem it important to immediately acknowledge one's feelings. So, once my friend and I parted ways and I returned to town here, when I was feeling down, I thought about how I was feeling. I thought, "I am feeling homesick and sad." Next I thought, "It is completely normal for me to be experiencing these feelings." And after that, I thought, "Literally thousands of other PCVs around the world are either feeling this way right now, or they have felt this way at other points during their Peace Corps service." Once I had evaluated my situation in these ways, immediately I felt better.

And then I thought, "OK, this is great that I feel better; but what am I going to do about going forward? From where am I acquiring my strength as I move forward? How am I going to derive meaning in my daily life amidst these challenges?" And when I asked myself these questions, I was reminded that even though I may not see entirely why I am here, there are reasons why I am here which I cannot see. I thought of a Scripture passage which I especially like, 2 Corinthians 4:18, which advises, "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen..." There are so many ways in which we, as PCVs, just like everyone else in life, can have positive effects on others' lives. Yet we won't see all of those beneficial effects. Thus there is all the more reason to go forward in faith. We have our own ideas about how we can be helpful, and productive, and good; and then God has God's own ideas about what we can do, how we can help others. As Abraham Lincoln noted, "The Almighty has His own purposes." So I remind myself that events sometimes might not unfold in my life exactly as I had envisioned or hoped they would occur. I also remind myself that there are beneficial reasons, often unknown to me, why events happen the way that they do.

Proselytizing

Yesterday someone asked me if I'm Muslim. Moroccans regularly ask Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) here in Morocco, including me, this question. When we say that we're not Muslim, they subsequently proceed to try to convert us to Islam. However, despite how regularly we get asked this question, I still found it ironic that this occurred to me as I was returning from Mass yesterday on the tram. When I responded that I wasn't Muslim, essentially the person started trying to convert me to Islam. Actually the person who was doing this was one of the tram employees who monitors the tram and takes people's tram ticket stubs.

I left the interaction irritated for a couple of reasons. First, it's illegal for people to try to convert Muslim Moroccans to some religion other than Islam; but it's not illegal for Moroccans to try to convert you to Islam. Second, looking back at the conversation, I realized that I had felt irritated by it because I felt like it wasn't a dialogue; I felt it was much more like a monologue, a lecture. I felt like the man was completely uninterested in trying to learn about what I believe. When I told him that I'm Christian, he immediately proceeded to tell me that there aren't three gods, but that there is only one God. However, if he had tried to find out what I believe, by asking me questions rather than simply talking at me as he was doing, he would have learned that I believe that there is only one God, but that God has multiple facets, that God manifests in different ways.

I have always been irritated by, and uninterested in communicating with, others who don't try to understand my point-of-view. So it certainly makes sense that I left that interaction yesterday feeling irritated. However, in addition to generally being irritated by others who don't try to understand my point-of-view, I was also irked by this interaction yesterday because of how important my faith is to me. Given how I feel about my faith and its importance in my life, I very much didn't appreciate how this man was talking at me and was not trying to have an interactive discussion with me.

I enjoy telling people about the diversity of citizens of the USA. And one way I do that is that I just tell people what I believe, and by doing so, help people to better understand Christianity, and thus the religious diversity of the USA. But that interaction on the tram made me feel like that particular person wasn't even interested in learning about my faith and about diversity in the USA. I suppose that I have to remind myself that not everyone in Morocco will be as interested in learning about me and about the USA as I would like them to be.

Joyous Song of Expats Living in Morocco

I was happy to attend Mass today here in Rabat. It was almost all in French. A moment after I stepped into the church, I was glad I was there, just being in a silent church.

I arrived very early, perhaps an hour before Mass was scheduled to begin. A little after I had arrived, people started gathering in the front pews and started singing. I really enjoyed listening to them sing.

During the service, they sang a couple of songs in a language I didn't understand when I heard it and also when I tried to read it on the bulletin for today's Mass. After Mass had ended, I approached one of the young black women who had been animatedly and happily singing in this other language. I asked her in which language these songs were written and sung. She told me that they were in one of the languages of South Africa. It turns out that there is a South African expatriate community in Rabat.

So, I enjoyed visiting a church today, and enjoyed attending Mass today. I also enjoyed listening to joyous, buoyant South African song today, for which I was most grateful.

On The Way Back

On the way back from Spring Camp to my town down here in southern Morocco, I took the train from northern Morocco to Marrakech. On the train, I once again enjoyed seeing lines of what looked like prickly pear cacti, arranged much as fences would be in the U.S.

I also noted satellite dishes on top of modest dwellings with concrete block walls and corrugated tin roofs. Usually when I am in Moroccan homes, which are typically those of poor people, there is a TV. But seeing from the outside so many satellite dishes on top of these simple dwellings, I was reminded of how frequently one finds televisions in Moroccan homes, despite poverty.

I also definitely enjoyed seeing some camels while riding the train. This time I saw only a few of them. Last month, east of the High Atlas mountains, I also saw camels, but more of them than I saw this month.

Once I arrived in Marrakech, I stopped at a cafe to quench my thirst. As I entered the cafe, it felt a bit surreal to note that a flat screen TV was playing a music video, "Learning To Fly," by Tom Petty, in its original English. I had grown a bit more accustomed to this perk by the time the next song, "Satellite," by the Dave Matthews Band, had started playing on the TV.

I was very happy that I got to attend Mass at a church that evening in Marrakech. It was all in French.

I was pleased to run into other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in Marrakech. As I was arriving at a hotel there, by chance I happened to rendezvous with other PCVs.

I went with one of my pals, Dipesh, to a big square there in Marrakech, where we had some fresh-squeezed orange juice, for only 4 dirhams (which is equivalent to about 50 U.S. cents) per glass. Then he and I went to a nearby rooftop cafe, where we had a great view of the square. We caught up on how we both have been doing, facing difficulties, adjusting to life in Morocco, coping with family and friends back home being so far away, and dealing with challenges in our work as PCVs.

He told me how my training site mates, Liz, Tory, Katy and Margo, with whom I trained for over two months when I first arrived in Morocco, were staying in a nearby hotel. I enjoyed showing up at that hotel and surprising them. I was especially entertained when one of my training site mates, Tory, upon seeing me, was so surprised to see me, that I felt that he seemed to be reacting as if someone had snapped his or her fingers, causing me to instantaneously appear in front of him. We caught up on each others' experiences at Spring Camp of the previous week, since we did not all serve at the same Spring Camp.

As usual, I took a bus south from Marrakech back through the High Atlas mountains. I was pleased to again see waterfalls flowing in those mountains on my return trip back down south.

When I arrived back in my town, I was rather fatigued from traveling, as well as hungry. Stopping by the hanoot (Darija for "grocery store" or "corner store") which I most frequently patronize, one of the proprietors handed me a glass of tea. He also gave me some peanuts to eat. He continued to attend to his shop as I refreshed myself. When he came back to the counter, seeing that I had stopped eating, he again encouraged me to eat. In his behavior that day, he provided a good example of typical Moroccan hospitality and generosity. Being as tired, thirsty, and hungry as I was, I was happy to receive his warm gestures. Experiencing such generosity, having established a connection with him, I was reminded why I am here, and felt further integrated into the community here. It helps that people have been as welcoming as they are. I appreciate their warmth, generosity and friendliness. And, it feels great when I relate it to you, as it reminds me that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, which I have wanted to be for many years. I'm glad that I'm a PCV.