Freedom From Things

I'm scheduled to finish my Peace Corps service in October, so I've been trying to pass on all of the things in my apartment, the vast majority of which I inherited from previous PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). David, the new PCV who lives here in town, and Ariana, the new PCV who lives a half dozen kilometers south of me, have already taken everything they want from my apartment. They took a lot, but a fair amount is left. Since I'm eager to unload this stuff, I was excited yesterday when a PCV who lives about 70 kilometers, and at least an hour south of me, arrived to take away more things!

I've been repeatedly noting that I don't miss things that people have taken. Consequently, I want to give away more things as soon as possible. I don't want a lot of things dragging me down.

After my fellow PCV left with a load of things yesterday, I went into the kitchen and went to grab the cinnamon jar to use some cinnamon on a snack. I discovered that many ants had infiltrated into the jar! While I'd latched the lid shut, I hadn't noticed that the lid hadn't evenly met the mouth of the jar, leaving an entranceway for the ants. Then I thought, "Well, I've been wanting to get rid of more and more things. Now I'm going to throw out this cinnamon, too!" I realized that the loss of the cinnamon in fact could be a gain: the gain of more freedom, freedom from another thing, which could enable me to live a simpler lifestyle.

A little later I went out to run some errands. I noticed that the folks at a shop here in town were making "shfinj" (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "fried doughnuts") as they sometimes do. I picked up a couple of doughnuts for a dirham, about the equivalent of 12 or 13 cents. I brought them home and enjoyed them after I'd sprinkled some granulated sugar on them. It occurred to me that I didn't need the cinnamon. I still had the sugar. Even if I hadn't had the sugar, I could have eaten the doughnuts plain, and they still would've been a great treat.

Your Money's No Good Here

Yesterday as I was walking to the dar shebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco, I ran into one of the boys here in town who's especially warm and hospitable. I've eaten lunch with him and his family at their house. He said that his family has been asking where I've been. I explained to him that I'd been traveling for a few weeks, since I'd been working at Spring Camp in northeastern Morocco. He said that I should come over to their house again soon.

Moroccans seem to enjoy having me over for lunch. So we started talking about me coming over for lunch. So I said to him in Darija, "Waxa, l-gda?" meaning, "OK, lunch?" However, given that my pronunciation in Darija is not the best, it occurred to me that perhaps he thought that I just meant sometime the next day. The word for lunch, "gda," is very similar to the word for tomorrow, which is "gdda." You use the same letters when you say each word, but when you say "gdda," you're merely stressing the letter "d" more than when you say "gda." Wanting to be clear, I figured I would just see if lunch the next day would work, so I said, "L-gda, gdda?" He agreed that lunch the next day would work.

After we parted ways, I soon arrived at the dar shebab. There's been less activity at the dar shebab since I returned from Spring Camp last week. Moroccan schools follow the same academic year as schools in the US, starting in September and finishing in June. Thus kids are starting to spend a lot of time studying for their exams at the end of the year, and with good reason. They have to do well enough on them to be qualified to continue on to universities. If they don't pass these baccalaureate examinations, they won't be allowed to enroll at universities. I must say that I wholeheartedly agree with their decisions to spend less time at the dar shebab, and more time studying for these exams, since these tests greatly affect the course of the rest of their lives!

Given how relatively few youths were at the dar shebab, it was fairly good timing for the renovations being done at the dar shebab yesterday, including on some of the flooring. Once the floors had been fixed, the dar chebab moudir (Darija for "director") was getting ready to close the dar chebab for the day, since he wanted the floor tiles to set and not be disturbed by people walking on them until the next day. As he was about to close the dar shebab, he asked me if I wanted to join him for a beverage at one of the cafes in the center of town. That seemed like a nice idea, so we walked for a couple of minutes to the cafe. On the way, he said in English that it was seven o'clock. Since his English is not the best, and since he therefore doesn't always say the correct words, I thought that he might have been giving the wrong time. I thought it was six o'clock. I looked over at his wrist and his watch indeed showed that it was seven o'clock. I suddenly realized that he had in fact given me the correct time. I told him that I'd forgotten that we were supposed to set our clocks an hour ahead. He reminded me that because we've jumped forward an hour, here in Morocco we're now one hour ahead of GMT (Greenwich Mean Time). So, we're now on what Moroccans often call "New Time." When someone has forgotten to switch his or her clock ahead, or is simply operating on the old timeframe, often we say that that person is operating on "Old Time."

Soon after we discussed the time, he told me that he wanted to go to a shop on the far side of the square in the center of town. He told me to go to the cafe and wait for him there, so I got to the cafe first and got us a table. When he arrived at the cafe, he gave me a chocolate-covered wafer which was the size of a candy bar. He'd also bought one for himself. When the waiter came to see what we wanted to drink, the moudir ordered a "nus-nus," which is a glass half full of coffee, and half full of milk. Since it was so late in the day, and I was concerned about caffeine keeping me up, I ordered a glass of hot milk. The moudir and I sat for a while, enjoying our beverages, speaking about past PCVs who had lived here in town, and a little about the PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) here in Morocco who soon are going to become PCVs. When the time came to leave the cafe, I reached for my pocket to get some coins, fully expecting the moudir to gesture to me not to get my change, which is exactly what he did. I didn't press the point. I knew that when a Moroccan invites you out to a cafe, he intends to pay. Indeed, it would be bad etiquette to try to insist on paying for the drinks in such a situation. While I felt somewhat uncomfortable about him paying not only for the candy, but also the beverages, given how little money he probably has, I also appreciated that one has to respect the local customs where one finds oneself.

Later, pondering our time at the cafe, and how he paid for the food and drink, and how I felt a bit uncomfortable about it, I considered that we should let others give to us, even when they don't have a lot. I don't want to stifle people being generous. The real issue is not whether I am getting something, and, if so, what I am getting. Truly it is important if someone feels in their heart the need and desire to be generous. It's also important how we respond when they try to give to us. We want them to feel that they should be giving. We want them to feel that they are living at their best when they are being magnanimous.

It also occurred to me that I can not only reciprocate his kindness by continuing to bring food to the dar shebab to share with him as I've done, but that I can also simultaneously share a little of the culture in the US by sharing some food from the US with him. It pleases me when, after an interaction has made me uncomfortable in some way, through it I find a way to try to help people. I love helping others to give, and giving to others, thus hopefully bringing them joy.

Security Checkpoints

After Spring Camp ended, I visited the Mediterranean coast. I figured I should capitalize on being so close to the coast. In the town of Saidia, I went for a pleasant stroll on the beach. After thoroughly assessing the beachside cafe and restaurant options, I settled on a place where I could get a fish sandwich for a low price. I paid for what I got. The baby shrimp panini for 35 dirhams wasn't that good. However, as I ate it, and after I ate it, I watched the waves crashing on the beach, which, in soothing splendor, thankfully eclipsed how lamentable the sandwich was. After enjoying the view, I caught a taxi back south.

The next day, I headed south from the city of Oujda. Until the turn for the town of Jerada, the landscape was verdant. After we passed the turn for Jerada, the landscape was stark, brown and barren. Consequently, it was a long bus ride to the town of Figuig, where I was staying for the night.

Soon before arriving in Figuig, our bus was stopped a couple of times by the gendarmes, who are the local law enforcement officers. The first time, the gendarme who came onto the bus asked me to step off the bus with him. Then he asked me for my passport. He asked me the purpose of my visit to Figuig. I told him that I wanted to walk in the palmerie, which is the massive grove of palm trees there. I'd heard it's a beautiful town and area, and had been wanting to visit for a while. The gendarmes asked me some basic identifying information in addition to that which they could glean from my passport. Then they let me get back on the bus. The second time we got stopped by the gendarmes, I had a similar interaction with another gendarme. While there are security checkpoints in various places here in Morocco, these gendarmes were more inquisitive than gendarmes usually are at security checkpoints here in Morocco. Why? Figuig is very close to the border with Algeria; in fact, it's so far east in Morocco that Algeria is only a few kilometers away. Figuig is surrounded on three sides by Algeria. And, the border between Morocco and Algeria has been closed for years now. So, it seems that the gendarmes are conducting checks to ensure border security. Anyway, the gendarmes were agreeable and professional enough, so I didn't have any complaints about those interactions with them, also considering that the delays in our voyage south were minor.

When I arrived in Figuig, I was happily surprised by the price for my room at Hotel El Meliasse. Based on my research about that particular hotel, I had expected to pay 60 dirhams for the room. That hotel indeed charges 60 dirhams for some of its rooms--if two people stay in those rooms. Since I was staying in the room by myself, I only had to pay 30 dirhams. For those of you who aren't familiar with Moroccan currency, 30 dirhams is the equivalent of about 4 US dollars. And no, the room was not disgusting. While the paint on the stairwell walls is peeling, no paint was peeling in the room in which I slept. The floors seemed reasonably clean. Some of the blankets seemed old, and others seemed new. I was glad to be paying the price I was paying for the room I had. I've paid more for rooms which were not as nice here in Morocco.

While I was there in Figuig, I enjoyed one of my favorite Moroccan culinary offerings, shfinj, which are deep-fried doughnuts. Given how Moroccans love to add sugar to things, I'm a bit mystified to report that there's usually no sugar of any kind, either powdered or granulated, on these doughnuts. Despite my sweet tooth, I always enjoy these doughnuts, which have no sugar on them. I've had them in various locations in addition to Figuig, including the town in which I live, as well as Marrakech, and also on the Atlantic coast of Morocco.

After enjoying one of these doughnuts, I headed off for a walk into one of the villages of Figuig. After a little while of walking on the narrow streets, the passageways became covered. Overhead were ceilings formed by palm tree trunks, which also served as floors for the buildings which extended over the passageways. On my way back to the main part of town, I walked through the palmerie, past the irrigation canals channeling water through that desert territory, making arable but dry land more fertile.

The next day I headed out from Figuig on an early morning bus, then caught a late morning bus for a longer segment of my voyage west. At one point early in that second part of my journey, our bus had gotten detoured onto a dirt and gravel road. Given the terrain of that road, the driver was driving quite slowly. Once we had gotten back onto the main, paved road, the driver sped up. It occurred to me that perhaps my journey that day could serve as a microcosm of my Peace Corps service. Early on I seemed to be moving slowly, but later time seemed to be passing more quickly.

Later that day, I enjoyed visiting a friend and fellow PCV in his site. We always have laughs together, so I'd been looking forward to spending time with him. On my way back south, I've enjoyed seeing some new countryside. However, I'd been looking forward to spending time with people again. While I enjoy seeing new landscapes, I've been reminded of what brings me most joy: enjoying the company of others and giving each other mutual support. After all, that's why I came here.

Giving Thanks For Warmth And Comfort

Last week, as I was continuing my journey north in Morocco, I went back to the town where I lived in 2010 during PST (Pre-Service Training) in my first two months in Morocco.  My host brother, in whose home I lived back then, met me at the taxi stand when I arrived in town last week.  We retired to his house for a healthy lunch of a tajine of lima beans, peas and beef, which we ate, as usual, out of a communal dish by grabbing morsels of food with small pieces of bread.

As I spent time in their house again that afternoon, I reflected on how far I've come since I first arrived in Morocco.  In light of how I'm more adjusted now to life here, I recalled how rough those first couple of months were.  Consequently, with the benefit not only of hindsight, but also of a good deal of time, I have come to appreciate even more, and be all the more grateful for, how warm, welcoming, caring, generous and concerned my original host mother and host brother were during my first couple of months here in Morocco.

In addition to visiting them, I also wanted to visit other families there in town who are also wonderful.  While it was still lunchtime, I headed to the home of another family who hosted another PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) at the same time as me back in 2010.  I wanted to catch their son, a real character who always hams it up when greeting people, before he returned to school after having lunch at home, as Moroccan youths typically do between 12 p.m. and 2 p.m. I arrived at their house while it was still lunchtime.  Accordingly, within a few minutes of sitting down, the father in that household was sitting at a table with me, and we were enjoying a large plate of turkey.  He kept ripping off large pieces of turkey and putting them in front of me.  When it came time for dessert, I ate a banana.  As usual, the Moroccan host told me to have another piece of fruit, so I then ate an orange.  Then he noted how I had just eaten lunch, and, gesturing to the next part of the living room, he told me that I was welcome to take a nap there.  After eating a second full lunch, a nap sounded good to me.  He removed some of the large, heavy, embroidered cushions from the no-back sofa continuously lining all of the walls of the living room.  He also set me up with a blanket before heading off for his own nap.  As I lay there with a surely full stomach, warm underneath a heavy blanket, I heard the heavy rainfall assaulting the roof, thankful not only that I was warm, dry and comfortable, but grateful even moreso for the warmth, generosity and hospitality of so many giving and considerate people.

Expressing Gratitude By Helping Someone Else

After my recent visit to Marrakech, I continued up to the coast, where other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) and I prepared for our imminent work at Spring Camp. While we were there, some of us PCVs met with the men and women who will be the directors of the Spring Camps where we will be working. More recently, I was glad to get to visit another friend and fellow PCV, Eric, who lives relatively close to Rabat. He cooked some delicious food for me, including banana pancakes, and falafel with a delectable dipping sauce, for me and other friends.

I tried to give him some money to help defray the costs of cooking for me. He refused the funds, explaining that I was his guest. When he found me washing dishes, he told me to stop, again because I was his guest. While I would have preferred to contribute and/or reciprocate his efforts, I certainly appreciated his hospitality. And I've come to realize that, while I will still hope and aim to express my gratitude by trying to be generous and thoughtful in turn, due to circumstances, some acts of hospitality will not be immediately--and perhaps not ever directly--reciprocated. However, when we can't give back directly to the person who gave to us, often we can show our appreciation by being kind to someone else. In effect, we can express our gratitude by indicating that we like how the person treats others, by emulating the generous person generally in our lives, whenever we have the chance.

Someone I'm Going To Aspire To Emulate

Yesterday I took a Marrakech city bus on my way from the center of Marrakech to the town where my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Jack lives. The city buses are much cheaper than taxis. I paid 6 dirhams for the 45-minute bus ride. If I'd taken a taxi, probably I would've paid at least 25 dirhams. The bus fare is set, whereas a taxi driver could end up trying to charge you a lot and you might either try haggling with him, or pay more than you think you should pay, even though you'd be frustrated.

I'm reminded of what a more experienced PCV told me during my first couple of months in Morocco. He noted how a lot of PCVs don't like Marrakech. Some PCVs get turned off by Marrakech and frustrated by it since they wind up spending a lot of money in the city, including while getting overcharged for taxi rides. This particular more experienced PCV advised to learn and use the city bus system. Having taken his tip, the same as the directions given to me by my friend who I'm visiting here near Marrakech, I'm reminded that we should get help and guidance from one another. To do so, it can be easier if one shares how one is feeling. If you're frustrated about a situation, or otherwise feeling challenged by it, tell someone else how you feel about it. Not only will you tend to feel better simply because you've verbalized your feelings, and shared them with someone who can empathize with you, but once the other person knows that you've been struggling with it, he or she can share helpful ideas that he or she may have. Conversely, if you don't share how you feel, you're making it harder for the other person to help you.

Let the other person help you. And in the process, see what you learn about giving and receiving. Last night, I was happy to arrive at my friend's apartment. He welcomed me to his home as he always does when I come to visit. As the evening progressed, he showed me much hospitality. Before I'd sat down, he offered me some of the potato chips he was eating. A little while later, we had breakfast for dinner when he made us some delicious French toast. He gave me half of the orange he was having. He offered me some fancy chocolate. When he went to get a yogurt for himself, he checked to see if I wanted one. He's an unusually magnanimous and gracious host: he's someone I'm going to aspire to emulate.

I Am Not A Tourist

Yesterday I bought an average-sized hard-boiled egg sandwich while here in the city an hour north of my town. It cost two and a half dirhams. I was surprised that it cost so little money. At another cafe, which is in the town where I live, I was always paying five dirhams for a hard-boiled egg sandwich. Then one day about eight months ago, I went to that cafe, and there was a man behind the counter who usually hadn't been behind the counter when I had eaten there on previous occasions. After I had finished eating the sandwich, I went to pay him five dirhams. He indicated that I had to pay ten dirhams. I told him that I had always paid five dirhams. He shook his head. Without one of the other guys who had always been behind the counter on my previous visits to corroborate my claim, I felt like I had to pay ten dirhams. So I paid him ten dirhams. I haven't gone back to eat that cafe, except in the rare instances when another PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) has been in town and has wanted to eat there.

One friend who's a PCV simply walks away after she has paid the correct amount and is asked to hand over more money. I've started doing that too.

I try to disabuse Moroccans of the misperception that I am a tourist by speaking to them in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic. Tourists in Morocco generally don't know any Darija, and if they do know any Darija, it seems that they rarely know enough Darija to carry on a conversation.

I also try to avoid Moroccans having such misapprehensions by showing that I know how things work here, that I know the customs. Though it doesn't come to me naturally, I try to be in the habit of walking up to the counter of a business when there's someone already being served, rather than politely allowing that person some distance while trying to form a line, which tends to be a pointless endeavor: Moroccans generally don't stand in line when waiting to be served at a business. When I've provided space like that, a Moroccan just comes in after me and walks around me up to the counter. When I've tried to give Moroccans space like that in such situations, they haven't known why I was doing so. They don't feel offended if I don't provide such space. So by not giving Moroccans the space they don't expect or require, I'm showing that I understand the cultural norms, and seeming less like a tourist than I would by not being assertive.

It seems like I hear about other PCVs getting overcharged more than I get overcharged. Maybe I've just become more confident in dealing with Moroccans and less willing to pay the inflated prices that Moroccans sometimes try to charge me and other foreigners. In Marrakech, for example, petit taxi drivers are notorious for overcharging foreigners for cab rides. On one of my last two visits to Marrakech, a taxi driver tried to charge me more than 15 dirhams for a ride to the train station. I told him that I always pay 15 dirhams. When he still didn't accept that I would pay no more than that, I simply walked away. I can't help but suspect that some taxi drivers in Marrakech have had so much contact with unaware foreigners, and so few interactions with foreigners who know the score, that they don't expect a foreigner to be as unyielding with them as I am.

Even though I've gotten more skilled at negotiating with them, I still love it and appreciate it when Moroccans charge me the price that they would charge a Moroccan, as happened yesterday when I bought my egg sandwich here in the city. Partly because I try to treat others respectfully and honorably, I appreciate being treated honestly and fairly too. But I also appreciate being treated well aside from how I want to be treated well because I try to treat others well. I appreciate being treated well because if I am treated well, it is a reflection of how I hope everyone will be treated.

However, I've been reminded that not everyone treats other people well for the same reasons. Not everyone is operating under the same value system. Many people try to claim that there is more similarity and synergy between different philosophies and faiths than I think actually is the case.

Several months ago, I walked into the shop of this fellow here in this city and started speaking with him in Darija. I told him that I live here in Morocco and that I teach English here. He warmly received me. He told me that I only had to pay two dirhams for the postcard I wanted to buy. He said, "Berber price--not foreigner price." Later, I thought that the issue wasn't how much I had to pay. Rather, I thought, "There shouldn't be a Berber price and a foreigner price. There should be one price that we all have to pay." We're all people, and thus all due respect. We should all be treated the same: we should all be treated honestly and fairly.

Being Thankful For What I've Got

Today I was in the city which is about an hour north of where I live. When I arrived there this morning, I went to a cafe, where I was sitting outside enjoying a hot beverage. As I've considered many times, this morning again I thought about how many PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) don't live so close to a city. As I was newly thankful that the city is so nearby, it also occurred to me that in the winter, that city is often colder than it was this morning. I enjoyed being able to sit outdoors and drink my hot beverage in temperate weather.

This afternoon, I thought back to how I had been sitting there at the table outside the cafe reading my Bible. I mused upon how many people in various places in Africa would run the risk of being imprisoned, or even killed, if they made it known they are Christian. I was, and am, thankful that I'm not currently at risk of being imprisoned or killed because of my Christianity. It reminds me yet again to be conscious of what I have, and to give thanks to God for it.

Treat Each Other Well

Earlier this week, I was walking through a douar, or small village, near my town. One of the men who lives there in the town had started walking with me, and was telling me a little about the history of the area. At one point I looked over to the other side of the road. I saw a boy, perhaps about 9 years old, appearing to push a much younger boy, who was about 4 years old. The younger boy was crying. The older boy let him go. The younger boy continued crying, and started throwing rocks at the older boy, who didn't look that concerned, but picked up a rock anyway.

I thought, "That's it. I don't care what this guy walking with me thinks, or what any of these kids think." I walked over to the boys, got them to stop throwing rocks at each other, and physically removed the rocks from their hands.

It reminded me of a writing exercise I had some students do a couple of weeks ago at the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV here in Morocco. Sometimes students ask me to give them a topic, so they can write about it, and so I can then correct the grammar and spelling mistakes in what they have written. On this one day a couple of weeks ago, when students asked me to give them a topic, I gave them the first idea which occurred to me. I suggested to them, "Write about why we must treat each other well." Each of the three of them wrote about various reasons. But all three of them wrote that we must treat each other well "because we are all sons of Adam." I was struck not only by how all three of them gave that reason, but also I wondered at how they didn't refer to any Biblical figures after Adam.

I noticed how none of them mentioned Jesus. Later I thought about how I've often heard people living in the USA say to me, "Jesus is in the Koran." While some people add that Muslims believe that he isn't the Son of God, I never remember others informing me about how Muslims believe that Jesus didn't die on the cross. In my mind, those seem to be significant differences, which, I believe, account for a lot. Additionally, if Jesus, who spoke so much, and so extensively, about treating others well, is in the Koran, then why, when these students were asked to write about why we must treat each other well, did not even one of these students mention Jesus?

Reflecting On An Anniversary That Never Was

A few days ago, I was reflecting on how, if I hadn't left the job that I left just before joining the Peace Corps, it would have been my ten-year anniversary at that job earlier this month. I sometimes get quizzical and puzzled looks when I tell people that I left my comfortable, unstressful, secure job to enter the Peace Corps. Similarly, people, including at least one other PCV, have asked me if I miss what I had before I left the U.S.

I was aided in my decision to leave that job, and, as far as I can see at this point, to stop working in that field, insofar as I had concluded that that particular job wasn't a good fit for me. I'd concluded that, given what my skills are, there were other jobs where I could perform better, and be happier.

But I also have long tried to maintain an approach to my life in which I evaluate the life that I'm living. I try to ask myself if I should make changes in my life, so that I can live a better life. Throughout my life, more and more I've tried to do what God wants me to do. I've tried to open the door so God could enter my life more easily as Revelation 3:20 suggests:

Here I am!
I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,
I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.

Indeed, after composing parts of this blog entry in my head over the last couple of days, I found it very appropriate when, this morning, I read the following passage from the book of Tobit. I felt that Tobit was expressing what I have experienced in my life:

Turn to Him with all your heart and soul,
live in loyal obedience to Him.
Then He will turn to you to help you
and will no longer hide Himself.
Remember what God has done for you,
and give thanks with all your heart.
- Tobit 13: 6

Over the years, as I've tried to listen to the Holy Spirit, and thus as I've sought to follow God's Word, I've found it easier to hear the Holy Spirit. Consequently--at least for me--I have also increasingly found it much harder to evade what it is telling me. After a period of some years, I found that I prefer to submit. I prefer to try to enter by the narrow gate, as Matthew 7:13 advises. Though the path is narrow, and thus has its own trials and tribulations, I find those challenges much easier to brave than the challenges on the wide path, the difficulties which have arisen when I have chosen not to follow what the Holy Spirit has tried to tell me, when I have tried to follow a more selfish path. At least amidst the difficulties of trying to follow what the Holy Spirit is telling me, I gain the satisfaction and warmth and community and mutual support that arises out of helping others.

Otherwise I would be facing the difficulties arising from not following the Holy Spirit's guidance--and at the same time not reaping the benefits arising out of trying to follow God's will. In that case, I would be deprived of the fulfillment, interconnection, and strength through interdependence on others that I gain by trying to follow God's will.

Faced with these two paths as alternatives to each other, I am reminded of a film I recently watched, "St. Giuseppe Moscati, Doctor to the Poor." In the film, St. Giuseppe Moscati ponders, "Life isn't that unfair, really. In every test it sends us there is an opportunity." So I have tended to view choices in my life, especially ones posing more formidable challenges, more and more as choices between trying to follow God's will or trying to follow some other path where I am helping others less.

In trying to follow God's Word, long ago I also saw that it is important to help poor persons, given how many times Scripture passages advise to help impoverished people. In the last few days, I was yet again reminded that it is important to help those who are impoverished, again while reading the book of Tobit. Tobit advised:

If you are stingy in giving to the poor, God will be stingy in giving to you.
Give according to what you have.
The more you have, the more you should give.
Even if you have only a little, be sure to give something.
This is as good as money saved.
You will have your reward in a time of trouble.
Taking care of the poor is the kind of offering that pleases God in heaven.
Do this, and you will be kept safe from the dark world of the dead.
- Tobit 4:7-11

And I feel that I am aided on this path, of trying to help impoverished people, and of otherwise trying to follow God's Word, by having chosen a life here in the Peace Corps, since my current life affords me the time to do such work and to reflect on these matters. In addition to instances evident in some of my previous blog entries, here in this blog entry, I've presented one example of how I've found such contemplative use of my time here helpful. This morning I gained insight when I read that particular passage from the book of Tobit: it clarified for me how I got to be here, and why I am here, in the Peace Corps in Morocco.

And you know what else? As a result of having made these changes in my life, which are allowing me to spend more time helping impoverished people and which are also allowing me to devote more time to my spiritual well-being, I like myself better. I am glad that I am investing the time to try to foster my own spiritual development. And I am glad to be here helping others. Again I am reminded of the film, "St. Giuseppe Moscati, Doctor to the Poor," and how, in that film, one of his contemporaries explained, "This is the love that makes you happy, the love you give to others, expecting nothing in return."

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.

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.

A Case of Mistaken Currency

I have been greatly blessed to have received many care packages from loved ones since I started living here in my town ten months ago. People who know me know that I have a sweet tooth. Loved ones have sent me chocolate chip cookies and brownies that they have baked, as well as Paul Newman Oreos and Trader Joe's Oreos they have bought for me and sent to me.

I've also traveled a lot in the last ten months, so the sweets I've received in care packages have lasted even longer, since I wasn't eating them when I wasn't at home. While traveling, I've eaten a lot of desserts from patisseries (French for "bakeries") as well as from "supermarchés" (smaller supermarkets).

Consequently, over the last ten months, I've had only brief periods where I didn't have a stash of sweets at home. Recently I finally exhausted the last few Trader Joe's Oreos which my sister-in-law graciously bought for me when I was back in the states this summer. Still I had, and still have, a box of Christmas candy which a former co-worker sent to me! Yet I feel that at this point, I should save that until December, so I can eat it at a more appropriate time of year.

Thus it recently came to be that I didn't have any sweets at home which I was going to eat. It was in this context that a couple of days ago, I stopped by this bakery here in my town. I told the man behind the counter that I wanted to spend twenty. He replied that that sum would get me hardly any cookies. I figured that he was charging me much more than he would charge Moroccans, so I told him that I would rather not get any cookies, and I left his shop disgruntled.

A little later, I asked myself if perhaps he was not trying to overcharge me, but if perhaps instead I had misunderstood him. It occurred to me that maybe he and I were thinking in different units of currency.

In Morocco, the standard unit of currency is the dirham. However, Moroccans also state prices in riyals. Here's how it works: stick with me. One dirham equals 100 centimes. One riyal is 5 centimes. So one dirham equals 20 riyals. So if he thought I only wanted to spend 20 riyals, that would mean he thought I only wanted to spend one dirham, which only would have been enough to buy about one cookie.

PCVs in Morocco often find themselves confused, especially in their first few months in Morocco, when prices are quoted to them in riyals, and, I contend, with good reason. The amount in riyals does not appear on any unit of Moroccan currency. Thus PCVs often find themselves having to convert from riyals to dirhams in their heads as they stand at a shop trying to buy something.

Usually it's obvious when a shopkeeper quotes a price to me in riyals. It's usually in the hundreds rather than 5, 10 or thereabouts. I'm tipped off by the huge difference between the figure he has given me and the amount I expected it to cost in dirhams. I then set about doing the math in my head to convert from riyals to dirhams.

However, standing in the bakery, it just didn't occur to me that he was thinking in dirhams. If I had indicated with my hands the volume of cookies I wanted to buy, then he would have quoted me a price. Since he didn't quote me a price, I had no figure to compare with what I had been expecting to pay.

It was only later that it occurred to me that perhaps he had been thinking in riyals. Yesterday, I decided to go back to test my theory. This time I happened to enter the shop with Stan, the other PCV who also lives in my town. When we entered the shop, the baker offered us a free sample cookie each, somewhat akin to a Madeleine cookie in the U.S. As soon as we had finished those sample cookies, he offered each of us a second sample cookie, each of which had ground nuts sprinkled on top. I bought a bag of cookies which cost twenty dirhams, which contained perhaps twenty cookies. I left the shop happy that I had gone back to give interacting with him a second try, happy to be giving business to a local vendor.

I think that I confirmed my hypothesis which I had developed after having left the shop the previous day, that it seemed that he had been thinking in riyals rather than in dirhams. During PST (Pre-Service Training) during my first couple of months in Morocco, Peace Corps staff directed us PCVs to develop hypotheses about why certain things happen here in Morocco. I received reinforcement of the wisdom of this approach from my trips to the bakery. It's important not just to develop the hypotheses, but also to gather the data which confirm or disprove the hypotheses. Otherwise you might be missing out. On more than just some delicious cookies. Also on the chance to learn more, and understand more, about another culture, and the people who live in it.

Gone Food Shoppin'

When I was in the city at the beginning of last week, I took the opportunity to go shopping in one of the supermarkets there. When Moroccans call a store a supermarket, or a "supermarché," as they are called in French, Moroccans are often referring to a store which would be too small to be considered a supermarket in the U.S.

As I've mentioned in previous blog entries, when I'm here in my town, I buy food at hanoots (which is the Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, word for a grocery store of sorts, and which often is a stall carved out of the front of a building with a counter at its front). Typically a hanoot is so small that you just walk up to the counter. You don't walk into the hanoot, because there's no doorway, there's just the counter. In that case, you ask the person (almost invariably a man, at least down here in rural southern Morocco) for what you want, and he brings it to the counter for you. Sometimes a hanoot is large enough that you can walk inside and peruse items on the shelves and bring them to the counter yourself. However, given that I live in a town of less than ten thousand people, not a city, there are items which I can't get when I go shopping at the hanoots here in my town.

So, when I go to the nearest city, which has a population of tens of thousands, I usually visit a supermarché and buy items there which I can't get in my town. A supermarché here in Morocco is often about twice the size of what we would usually call a corner store in the U.S. Sometimes in the supermarché I can buy things which I can't buy in my town; other times in supermarchés, there are more varieties of items than I can buy from hanoots in my town. For example, last week at a supermarché there in the city, I bought some applesauce, which I can't buy in my town. Given how much Moroccans sweeten their food and drink, unsurprisingly I found the applesauce to be too sweet for my liking. However, it was still nice to have it. Much more often, at either of the two supermarchés there in that city, I buy peanut butter, which I also can't get here in my town. There's one brand of peanut butter which has entire peanut halves mixed throughout the peanut butter. There's another brand which manufactures both creamy peanut butter and crunchy peanut butter, both of which are just like peanut butter you can buy in the U.S.

In some cities, such as El Jadida and Rabat, there are slightly larger supermarchés, perhaps four times the size of a corner store in the U.S., which consequently have more variety, and which belong to a chain. When I visited one of them for the first time in El Jadida, I was amazed (coming from the perspective of living in rural Morocco) at the variety of yogurt available in that supermarché. I noted to my friend and fellow PCV Ben that one side of part of one aisle, a part of the aisle which probably ran for 25 to 30 feet, stocked an unbroken stretch of yogurt. I can, and do, buy yogurt in my town, but not from such a wide variety.

Moving beyond supermarchés of these aforementioned sizes here in Morocco, there are stores here in Morocco which citizens of the U.S. indeed would consider supermarkets. In large cities, including Fes and Marrakech (each of which has a population of about 1 million people), one can visit these large supermarkets. Again, sometimes one can buy things at these large supermarkets which one can't buy in a rural town, or, someone has more choices amongst varieties of items than one can buy in a rural town.

Frankly, though, I don't find myself feeling any strong need or desire to visit and shop at these largest supermarkets here in Morocco. Even when I go to the small supermarchés in a city here in southern Morocco, I'm not buying things which I need--I'm buying products which give me a little taste of home, which are nice to have, but which I don't have to have. I'm thankful to have such supermarchés fairly close to my town, but I realize that they're a luxury, not a necessity.

Thus one can try to be conscious of the distinction between necessary sustenance, and food and drink which are simply nice to have. And that in buying certain food, which is not essential, but which is nice to have, one is buying things which one can buy because one has enough money to buy it. Thus one can see certain purchases as reflecting one's wealth.

However, one can also choose to notice a disparity in wealth as reflected in changes in location within a country. One can choose to be conscious of a disparity in wealth while shopping in urban Morocco as opposed to when shopping in rural Morocco. One can see this disparity in multiple ways.

Partly this disparity is reflected in how one gets to one of these large supermarkets in urban Morocco as compared with how one gets to a hanoot in rural Morocco. Most people shopping at the large supermarkets in urban Morocco drive there, though one can also take a bus or a taxi to some of these large supermarkets. I think that relatively few people walk to these large supermarkets in urban Morocco. By contrast, virtually all rural Moroccans will walk to a hanoot to shop. Indeed, the vast majority of people living here in my town don't own cars.

One also can witness a disparity in shopping between urban Morocco and rural Morocco in the denominations of bills customers use. It's far less likely to be problematic for a customer to pay a grocery bill with a 200 dirham note in a large supermarket in urban Morocco than it is to be difficult at a hanoot in rural Morocco. Although a 200 dirham note is equivalent to about 25 dollars in the U.S., if you want to buy a week's worth of groceries with a 200 dirham note at a hanoot in rural Morocco, as another PCV put it, it's like trying to use a 100 dollar bill in the U.S. Since smaller amounts of currency are flowing in and out of stores in rural Morocco, it's consequently harder to get change for a large bill.

Thus even when doing something as mundane and simple as grocery shopping, we have the opportunity to practice being conscious. To notice what is going on around us, and how we fit into it, and what our part in it is.

Calling Home as a PCV

I had a great day yesterday. I got to introduce Stan, the other, newer PCV living in my town, to more community members. The moudir (director) of the Dar Chebab (youth center) where I do most of my volunteering, walked with us around town, so Stan got to see a little more of the town.

After that, I wrote my blog entry yesterday, which brought me much joy to write. If you've got a message which can be a source of strength, support, learning, joy and community, don't keep it inside you; share it, so that others may benefit from it.

Stan and I met to have dinner to celebrate the one year anniversary of my arrival here in Morocco. At first, we went to the cafe here in town which serves pizza, but unfortunately the guy who makes the pizza wasn't there. Instead we ate at a cafe in the middle of town which serves rotisserie chicken and French fries, with a small accompanying plate of diced tomatoes and onions, and also with bread. By the end of the meal, I was surprised that the cats there at that cafe hadn't asked us for some of our chicken. I told Stan that the other time when I had that chicken meal at that cafe, the cats repeatedly and vocally solicited me for some food. There are many feral cats in Morocco!

Then I called my parents in the U.S. A while ago, I got hip to how it's cheapest to call the U.S. from Morocco using a calling card. I pay 20 dirhams for a card which gives me about 12.5 minutes of time to the U.S. It's roughly 8 dirhams to each dollar; thus the calling card lets me call at the rate of between 17 and 18 cents a minute. I say this mostly so my readers in the U.S. will have an idea of what the calling rate on a calling card here is.

When one PCV says to another PCV how much something here in Morocco costs in U.S. dollars, the other PCV often responds, "Remember, we get paid in dirhams, not in dollars." Essentially we usually remind each other to evaluate expenses in the currency of the host country, not in U.S. dollars, for at least two reasons. Usually the same item won't cost the same in each country; also, since we're getting paid, and spending, in the host country currency, we should evaluate our expenses in the host country currency. And, we're here in the host country, not in the U.S.! So we try to think in terms of the host country currency.

Earlier in my time in Morocco, I called the U.S. using my cell phone, which was quite expensive, costing between 8 to 9 dirhams per minute. So those of you in the U.S. have an idea of how much that is, it costs the equivalent of a little over a dollar per minute. Hence I stopped using my cell phone to call the U.S.

At this point, I mostly use my cell phone to call within Morocco. Every other PCV in Morocco has a cell phone. There was a PCV here in Morocco who didn't have a cell phone, and the Peace Corps here in Morocco told him to get a cell phone. He replied that he didn't want one. Peace Corps Morocco told him that they needed him to get one for security purposes. In other words, they needed him to have one so that they could contact him quickly in an emergency, just like the rest of us who already had cell phones. So, in the end, he got a cell phone.

There are some PCVs in Morocco who have contracts for cell phone service. They're signed up to have cell service for the rest of their terms as PCVs.

Rather than signing up for a contract for cellular phone service, I decided to use my cell phone with "recharges," which I buy at cell phone service provider stores, or at grocery stores or electronic gadget stores. I visit such a store and tell the person in the store in whatever amount I want to recharge my phone. The vendor then sells me a card for that denomination of money; I scratch the back off of part of the card, and send a text message containing the code which I just uncovered to the phone company with which I have cell service. That phone company then recharges my phone for the amount of the credit which I have just bought.

In Morocco, a few different companies provide cell service. One company often has specials giving credit double or triple what one has just paid. If they're having a double dirham special, someone can pay 20 dirhams, but get 40 dirhams of credit. Another company, however, always gives someone triple dirham credit if someone pays for a recharge of at least 50 dirhams. Thus if someone knows they're going to use the minutes in the long run, then it pays to recharge for a larger amount.

I just told you in a long-winded way that I used a calling card to call my parents in the U.S. When using these calling cards, I go to public phones to place the calls. So I took a brief walk to a public phone, waited a little while for a woman to stop using the phone, then called my folks. I'm certainly grateful that I can call the U.S., cognizant of how technology now exists that PCVs didn't have in years past. I'm also thankful that I can call the U.S., because I know that not every PCV today has that luxury.

However, I also know that while I have luxuries and conveniences here that other PCVs don't have, other PCVs also have conveniences which I don't have. I think that the key during one's service as a PCV is not to bemoan what one doesn't have, but rather to appreciate and enjoy whatever one does have.

Exodus: My One Year Anniversary in Morocco

"Open your eyes,
and look within:
are you satisfied
with the life you're living?"
- Bob Marley

I have long loved the above quotation, from the song entitled "Exodus" by Bob Marley. For two decades, in fact, I have tried to live by it, which has meant asking myself the above question at different points in my life. This has been an inquiry which has been easy for me.

It has been easy for me to see when I am happy as well as contented, when I feel fulfilled, when my being is joyous. I try to pay attention to, and thus it's fairly easy to see, what elicits and fosters these feelings in me. It's easy to ask myself these questions. Years ago, it became clear to me that I feel best when helping others. And it didn't take me long to figure out what my skills are, and thus to ascertain how I can best help others.

Thus I came to the conclusion that I should leave the job which I left last year. Although I felt fulfilled in that job, was grateful to be helping others, considered my co-workers to be blessings in my life, and respected them and the work which they were competently, compassionately, and passionately doing, I felt with a good deal of clarity that I had to move on, because my answers lay elsewhere.

Hence the inquiry was easy. And the general conclusion to leave was easy, despite, for so many reasons, how comfortable I was there with them.

Accepting the answers, on the other hand, at times has not seemed as easy. I consciously use the verb "to seem" rather than the verb "to be" in the previous sentence. As I've tried to suggest in previous blog entries, I have been coming to realize that my feelings of contentment, fulfillment and joy have largely depended on how I choose to perceive what happens in my life. And, now, in this paragraph, I am suggesting that it's up to me how easy the answers seem to be. If I choose to perceive the answers as being difficult to accept, then they will be difficult to accept. If I choose to perceive the answers as being easy to accept, then they will be easy to accept.

While I did not feel especially challenged in my inquiry into whether to leave my job last year, at first the answer of what specifically I should do next did not seem as easy, as I suggested in my very first blog entry, entitled "Up Until Now." I grappled with the idea of joining the Peace Corps, and finally accepted this path one day as I was sitting in church. I changed my perspective, and accepted God's way, rather than resisting it. I knew that there would be difficulties, and challenges, and I chose to confront them, knowing that I would be strengthened in meeting those challenges, because I was accepting God's way, of love and truth.

Perhaps because I approached the Peace Corps from this direction, I appreciated how the Bob Marley song "Exodus" spoke to me about my spiritual journey which has included joining the Peace Corps. When I was on a bus on my way to Spring Camp earlier this year, I was listening to this song. At that point in my time here in Morocco, I had adapted a good deal to life here in Morocco, thus I had just started to feel that I could survive my two years of Peace Corps service here in Morocco. Hence I was listening to the song with a sense of exhausted relief and gratitude, the kind of gratitude one feels after having completed an especially harrowing part of a journey, when one feels that although there are further challenging parts of the journey ahead, that the worst of it has passed, that one has, in effect, been safely shepherded through the stormiest, most trying periods.

Having felt resonance with this song as I listened to it during that bus ride, I later began to inquire why it especially resonated with me at that particular moment. At first, the most basic associations arose in my mind.

Having started to read the Bible with the first chapter of Genesis on November 27 last year, which was my first full day living in my town here in the Sahara, and having read some of it every single day since then until I read the last chapter of the Book of Revelation on August 29 this year, I thought of how I had read the Book of Exodus. Then I immediately began to think more of this association, guided, in part, by Bob Marley's treatment of that book in his song of the same name. In that song, Bob Marley sings, "Exodus: Movement of the People." The Book of Exodus describes the exodus, or movement, of the Jewish people out of slavery in Egypt. I thought of the similarity of their leaving Egypt, and my having left the U.S. I also thought of how they left Egypt and went into the desert, and how I left the U.S., and came into the Sahara Desert. Of course, my inquiry did not end there.

I thought of how God delivered them out of slavery and out of the desert. And I thought of how I have trusted in God, how he has safely delivered me thus far, and how I know that He will continue to safely deliver me. And in continuing my inquiry further, I thought of how I am on a journey of faith, just as the Jewish people were, when God delivered them out of Egypt. I took a leap in starting a new life, just as the Jewish people took a leap and started a new life when they left Egypt. However, to state it merely so, and not explain it further, would be incomplete, since it was a leap of faith which I took. As the Jewish people had faith in God when He delivered them out of Egypt, so I had faith in God when I took the leap of faith to enter the Peace Corps.

And as I've previously noted, God has provided for me. For that, I have been extremely grateful. For that, I thank God.

But what if tragedy struck? What if dire, calamitous circumstances, on a scale which I have never before experienced, arose in my life? Unfortunately, in such circumstances, some people lose their faith. Or, if they are not already believers, they justify their disbelief by asking how God could allow such misfortune to occur. However, what it seems that they fail to realize, is that we gain strength through adversity. It is exactly when times are hardest, and test us most, that we have the best, most promising, most valuable opportunities to grow. In his book "The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence For Belief," Francis Collins asks, "Have you learned more about yourself when things were going well, or when you were faced with challenges, frustrations and suffering?"

It was in this vein that I have tried to learn from the unexpected and tragic deaths of loved ones. My friend Liz died nearly eight years ago, when she had been married less than a couple of years, and when she was five months pregnant. As if that didn't make her passing tragic enough, she was an extremely caring and giving person. A couple of decades ago, before I met her, she was a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) in Niger. Later in her life, she and I worked together at both of the jobs I held just before I joined the Peace Corps. She was my mentor, and my friend. I was shaken up by her death. I began to ask myself more and more how I was spending my life, to evaluate more often my life choices. Thus, in this vein, I applied to the Peace Corps.

As my friend Maral said at Liz's memorial service years ago, "She's only dead if we let her die," meaning that we must not forget her. Meaning that because I admired her so much, I choose for her to live on, by trying to emulate her in her generosity and kindness. Thus I found it immensely appropriate that it was on her birthday last year that I boarded a plane to fly here to Morocco to enter the Peace Corps. And thus, as I am writing this blog entry on the one year anniversary of my arrival here in Morocco, I am conscious of, and grateful for, and choose now to honor, her service as a PCV, her kindness and generosity as a human being, and her guidance of me.

Since Liz played such an important role in my life, I have been conscious each year of her birthday and the date on which she died. Consequently, at some point, I thought about exactly how old she was when she died. Very soon after I thought about exactly how old she was when she died, it occurred to me when I was going to be that exact age. On June 16 this year, which was the day when I became exactly as old as she was when she died, I thought a lot about her that day. And I realized that none of us should expect to live for any particular amount of time. I was yet again reminded of my own mortality. I was again spurred to evaluate how I am living my life.

Since I always try to take this approach in my life, I appreciated it when, in the last few days, I just read a particular passage in Jon Krakauer's book "Into The Wild." In that book, Krakauer explores the life of a young man named Chris McCandless, struck by a severe case of wanderlust, uninhibited by society's expectations about how he should live his life. In his book, Krakauer includes a letter from McCandless to a friend, in which McCandless urges his elderly friend:

I'd like to repeat the advice I gave you before, in that I think you really should make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future.

Some of you may have read "Into The Wild"; others might not have read it. For those of you who have read it, please keep in mind that I am quoting McCandless because, when he was pondering how he wanted to live his life, he was brave enough to think outside of the confines of societal expectations. Tragically, he also was careless, and did not sufficiently prepare for his adventures. However, one can define one's own life, which can be contrary to societal expectations, and also plan properly to avoid unnecessary danger. So, please know that I am not quoting him for the purpose of endorsing a reckless, imprudently unsafe lifestyle; rather, I am quoting him for his uncommon ability to boldly define his own life. I am quoting him for the purpose of illustrating that anyone can bravely choose to define the parameters of their own life, perhaps unconventionally so, in order to live a more generous, loving, kind and compassionate life than a life which society generally encourages people to lead.

And in the context of my life experiences, which has included unexpectedly losing loved ones, I choose not to wait to make adjustments to my life, when those adjustments occur to me. I remember that a few years ago, I went with a friend of mine named Liz (not the Liz I mentioned above, but rather, another friend named Liz) to a concert in the splendidly art deco Paramount Theatre in Oakland, California. The main performer of the evening, Madeleine Peyroux, at one point, in between musical numbers, while commenting on a song which she and her fellow musicians were about to perform, advised us in the audience, "Don't wait too long."

When I recalled this advice which we received from Madeleine Peyroux that evening years ago, I thought how appropriate it was that Vienna Teng was the opening performer that evening. Vienna Teng left her comfortable job in Silicon Valley to pursue her passion of being a singer-songwriter. In that sense of making a bold change in her life to pursue her passion and develop her talent, she was one of the people who implicitly supported me, and inspired me, to decide to quit my job and enter the Peace Corps.

So, I try to live my life now. I ask myself what I want to do before I die. Which includes thinking about my values, and trying to live according to my values, conscious of my own mortality, conscious of how I don't know how much time I have. Conscious of how, in Mark 13:33-36, Jesus said:

Be alert!
You do not know when that time will come.
It’s like a man going away:
He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge,
each with their assigned task,
and tells the one at the door to keep watch.

Therefore keep watch
because you do not know
when the owner of the house will come back—
whether in the evening,
or at midnight,
or when the rooster crows,
or at dawn.

If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping.

Epiphany

This morning I got a phone call from Stan, my site mate (that is, the other PCV, or Peace Corps Volunteer, who also lives in my site, or town), asking me to meet him and his host father at an apartment they were visiting to see if perhaps Stan might move into it. Stan had previously said to me that he felt that I could help in translating for him when he goes to look at apartments, since I know more Darija than he does. So I got up and went to meet Stan and his host father. Given that the apartment was only a few blocks away from my apartment, I didn't have to walk far to meet them.

The apparent owner showed us into the apartment. First he brought us into a carpeted room with many pillows on the floor, common in Morocco. We all removed our shoes, as one typically does when stepping into a carpeted room in a Moroccan home. He offered tea and pastries to Stan and me. I appreciated that he asked if I wanted tea with or without sugar. Given that Moroccans typically sweeten their tea more than I like, I asked for tea without sugar.

Moroccans typically sit down with the person with whom they might potentially do business, and have tea and something accompanying it, like pastries in this case, or perhaps peanuts, before getting down to business. So, once I had had some tea and a pastry, we stood up and left that room, and went to see and discuss the rest of the apartment.

Though at this point, I must clarify that it turned out to not be an apartment, but rather two rooms in the apparent owner's home, unseparated from the rest of the house. In one of the rooms, a doorway with no door in it, and the shape of a window, with no window in it, led from the space which the owner wanted to rent, into the space which would not be rented. He said he would complete the wall so that the doorway and the window would be closed up and filled up by a wall.

Although this arrangement seemed a bit sketchy to me, Stan requested that I ask the apparent owner how much he wanted to charge for rent. The apparent owner replied with a rate that was more than twice the usual amount of rent for an apartment here in town. Given that the Peace Corps sets a ceiling for the amount of rent money they'll give us PCVs to pay our rent, and that this proposed rent amount was well above that ceiling, a counter-bargain clearly had to be forthcoming if Stan was going to rent this space. So he asked me to tell the apparent owner that because I rent an apartment with four rooms, that he would pay a certain amount he suggested, which was less than what I pay for my apartment. I can't say that I was surprised that this particular logic was not successful with this particular man who was showing us this space for rent, because he initially proposed such a high amount of rent. Essentially I felt that today provided another instance of how some Moroccans try to charge more for something when they are interacting with someone from the USA.

So, in the end, we left the building without having found someplace for Stan to rent. We walked along until we reached the main road, where we ran into a Moroccan teacher I had met a few months ago. He organized the festival of student talent, which I had briefly mentioned in my first blog entry in June of this year, with a PCV who lives in the town where he lives. It was good to see him. Notably, he speaks English fairly well. So, the vast majority of our conversation with him was in English. We spoke about a variety of topics, including some projects involving youth on which he has worked. At one point, when we were discussing development work, he said that he feels that it is more important for students to develop skills and abilities than it is for a community to receive gifts of money and property. I thanked him for acknowledging the value of developing oneself as compared with receiving cash and goods. It encourages me when I interact with Moroccans, certainly including Moroccan teachers, who recognize and express this principle.

I also enjoyed his easygoing, welcoming, familiar and jocular manner. At one point, he said to Stan and me that you don't see a lot of dogs in Morocco. He said that Moroccans are not fond of dogs, so that they don't treat them that well.

Then he said to us,

"OK, I'm going to tell you a joke.

So there was this exchange program between Morocco and the USA. A Moroccan dog went to the USA for a year, and an American dog came to Morocco for a year. After the year was over, the two dogs met in the airport in Casablanca.

The American dog asked the Moroccan dog, 'So, what did you think of the US?'

The Moroccan dog replied, 'It's a great place. There is a lot of beautiful scenery; there is a lot of diversity, people of many different origins, like Japanese, Mexican, Irish. So, yes, it was very interesting.' The Moroccan dog then asked the American dog, 'So, what did you think of Morocco?'

The American dog replied, 'You know, I never realized that I was a dog until I came to Morocco.'"

Come, Sit, Eat Again

My first full day back in my town here down south, I went to the home of a wonderful family. While I always enjoy going to their home to visit them, on this particular visit, I went there to introduce myself to Stan, another PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who arrived here and started staying with them during my recent travels.

He was an Environment PCV before coming to live here in my town. However, when they transferred Stan to my town, they transferred him into the YD (Youth Development) sector, so now he's a YD PCV, just like me. But, having done extensive environmental work back in the states, he'll likely do a good deal of environmental work here in our town.

I'm happy that Stan is here. He is a very nice guy, very soft-spoken, and very considerate. He's an elderly fellow; in fact, I often joke around with him and other PCVs that he resembles the elderly Obi-Wan Kenobi, as portrayed by Sir Alec Guinness, from the first three Star Wars films which were made.

So, I went to his host family's home to meet him. I wanted to show him where I live, so that he would be able to stop by whenever he wanted. Conscious of how it was then very late in the afternoon, and thus getting very close to when the family would be eating "ftur," or the meal which Moroccans eat at dusk to break their fast, I told his host sister, "He'll be back in time to eat ftur with all of you." She responded with what could best be described as unrestrained incredulity. In total disbelief and confusion, she didn't hesitate as she instantly asked, shocked, "And you?! You're coming back to eat ftur with us, right?!" In her reaction, she showed how, once you are invited to a Moroccan's home, they are very hospitable, in contrast to how when you are in public and you encounter a Moroccan you don't know. And, in this case, even though I just happened to drop by unannounced, and even though I was about to leave, I was expected to come back to eat with them.

So, I brought Stan to my apartment so he would know where to find me. We didn't hang out at my place very long, though, because ftur was going to be very soon. So we turned around and made the short walk, perhaps 5 minutes, back to his host family's home.

At some point after having the light meal, which we ate just after 7 p.m., I got up to leave. Stan's host mother was surprised. She told me, "You're not leaving; you have to stay for dinner." So I sat back down and continued watching TV with them.

Significantly later in the evening, certainly after 10 p.m., they brought out a tajine (a word in Darija which stands not only for a Moroccan stew, but also the clay container which holds it). The tajine consists of vegetables on top of any of various kinds of meat. In the last week or so, at their house, we've been eating tajine with goat meat in it. Stan told me that they recently slaughtered a goat. One eats the tajine by breaking off pieces of bread (large, round, flat bread) and using the bread to grab pieces of vegetable and meat for oneself out of the communal tajine. After eating the tajine, we've been eating fruit for dessert, which is common to have for dessert after dinner in Morocco. One night, we ate some muskmelon, which I especially enjoy. Other nights, we've had grapes for dessert.

So, it has been nice to experience their hospitality, as always. It's also been nice that the heat has started to abate since I arrived back in town. It has only helped, in terms of the heat, that we have been getting some rain in the last week or so. Sometimes it's only been a few brief drops. However, the other day when I was here in the cyber on the Internet, it started raining pretty hard, complete with thunder, and presumably lightning, but I didn't see it, since I was inside.

The other day I took Stan to the top of this hill here in town to show him this amazing view of a mountain here in my town, with the palmerie, the massive grove of palm trees, in the foreground. Soon after we started walking down the road from the top of the hill, it started raining, and not lightly, either. We started walking more quickly. Remembering the substantial downpour we had recently had, and looking up at the ominous color of the sky, I opined, "I don't think that this is going to be one of those extremely brief showers. We started walking even more quickly, only to observe a few seconds later that the rain was lessening. And then a few seconds later, we started chuckling as the rain had petered out to a few isolated drops. And then very soon thereafter, it stopped altogether.

While I've been grateful for Stan's company, I must admit that I started feeling down in the last week, from missing my family and my friends and life back in the USA. And a couple of days before I started feeling a little down, I really had honestly told my mom that I was feeling pretty good, considering how there is little work to do right now since the Dar Chebab (youth center) is closed right now over the summer. I've been reading a lot during the copious spare time I've had lately. But in the midst of all the spare time, despite my enjoying the huge amount of reading I've been doing, a little undercurrent of homesickness had crept up within me since I had sent that e-mail to her.

Faced with this most recent wave of challenging emotion, I thought it only appropriate to follow my own advice. Consequently, I acknowledged my feelings to myself at the time, and almost immediately I felt better about it. Just in deciding to be conscious about how I felt, and to confront how I was feeling, I took a small, yet nevertheless major, significant, and powerful step in favor of my own well-being. In essence, I was glad that I had taken care of myself! And knowing that I have to be consciously strategic and mindful of how I respond to my own personal challenges, and how I should follow my own advice, I decided to air my feelings by blogging about my recent emotional challenge. And, it also seemed appropriate to respond to this challenge by blogging about it, since in doing so, I am sharing with others how I had dealt effectively with it, which might, in turn, help them to cope with challenges.

In that vein, of trying to help, I had also come to a similar conclusion in the preceding several weeks. It had occurred to me that it may appear like I've been complaining about various aspects of my life here in Morocco since I arrived back here in Morocco from my trip to the states last month. I decided at some point in the last few months that I had to start being more expansive than I had been in my blog, that I had to stop censoring myself as much as I had been in my previous blog entries.

Why, you might ask, had I been censoring myself somewhat? Because I didn't want to be focusing on the aspects of life here in Morocco which are not my favorite parts of my experience here. I dealt with them without blogging about them, so as to try to remain positive on the blog.

And then at a certain point, I thought, "I am not giving people back in the USA an accurate, true picture of Morocco. In fact, I might potentially be misleading people who are currently applying to the Peace Corps, and who might end up as PCVs in Morocco." So, I am now consciously writing about aspects of life in Morocco which may seem to irritate me. While they may at times seem to be things which had not previously been problematic for me, oftentimes I am writing about phenomena which at times have irked me for much of the time I've been living here.

When I choose to let them irritate me, that is. I've been trying to not let things annoy me, and instead to remind myself that God wants us to love each other, and not focus on petty things which are ultimately not important in any way whatsoever.

I thus hope to share a helpful perspective by blogging about such challenges. Over time, I have been learning to deal with such challenges. And in dealing with them, and in sharing how I deal with them, perhaps I can help other PCVs.

Humility as a Reflection of Love

I just finished reading "The True Solitude," which is a collection of excerpts of different works by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton. In this book, Merton offers his thoughts on finding peace, both from the values one exhibits, and from spending time in nature. He also shares his musings on the value of solitude. He also writes of how one can receive, accept and reflect God's grace, which can help one to weather difficult circumstances.

In one passage in the book, Merton explains, "Despair is the absolute extreme of self-love." He goes on to say that one sinks into despair when one refuses help from others, instead choosing to be lost. Pride gets one there, since as soon as we fail, we pity ourselves. And despair comes from pride so large and stubborn that one chooses misery over the happiness that comes from interdependence and reliance on God. And then he emphasizes, "But a man who is truly humble cannot despair, because in the humble man there is no longer any such thing as self-pity."

In digesting Merton's words, I thought, "This teaching is perfect for PCVs." As Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs), we despair for various reasons, but so often it's because we are not getting what we want. Sometimes it's because we're living in an physically isolated site, and we want to be geographically closer to other PCVs in the country where we're serving, or because we desperately miss our families and friends back in the USA, or we're overwhelmed by living in a foreign country, or we're frustrated because we feel that we can't speak the host country language well, or we're frustrated because we feel like we're not accomplishing much as PCVs, and for many other reasons. So much of the time we despair as PCVs because we don't have what we want during our service as PCVs.

But why did we decide to become PCVs? To help others. Consequently, we shouldn't be focusing on what we want, and thus we shouldn't be focusing on what we don't have, but instead we should be focusing on how we can help others.

And who are we to be thinking that things should be a certain way? Hopefully we didn't have such expectations about our Peace Corps service before we got to our host countries. We don't know why we've ended up in certain countries, and in certain communities. Nor do we know all of the effects we're having as PCVs.

But if we try to stop focusing on what we don't have, and focus instead on what do we have--including opportunities to help others--then in those interactions, motivated by love, we can find the joy that is felt when one helps others.

Not knowing all of the effects we're having as PCVs, potentially one can choose to feel uncertain, or even despair by assuming that one is not having much of a positive effect on others' lives. One can combat this uncertainty and despair by changing one's focus. For myself, ideally I always try to trust in God, who brought and guided me to where I am today. Essentially we can choose to respond to God in kind: by striving to show God the love which God has shown to us. I don't know God's ultimate plan. But I have been learning to trust God. And it has worked very well, I must report. God has been providing me with everything I need. Beyond superficial material needs, God has given us tremendous opportunities to help others, and in those possibilities, we can choose to help, and thus love others, which brings us a wondrous joy, and a far better result than the alternative course of action.

How To Get Repeat Customers

Arriving in Marrakech today, I was exhausted. When I exited the bus station, I saw some vendors selling fresh-squeezed orange juice. Thinking about how exhausted I was, and how I didn't think I'd want to venture out later for fresh squeezed orange juice like I usually do in Marrakech, I thought that perhaps I should just enjoy some orange juice right away, there adjacent to the bus station. So I asked one of the vendors if his orange juice had sugar. He said it didn't. Later I realized that if an orange juice vendor in Marrakech pours the orange juice immediately out of a pitcher for you, it probably is adulterated, since many fresh squeezed orange juice vendors in Marrakech add water and sugar to the orange juice they sell. (Keep in mind that Moroccans add sugar to many of their drinks).

Dissatisfied with the orange juice I drank at that stand adjacent to the bus station, later in the day I went to a stand I had patronized weeks ago, where the young vendor actually had squeezed the oranges for me while I waited. Today when I approached his stand, I gestured to the pitcher, and asked him in Arabic if there was sugar in it. He replied that yes, there was a little sugar in it. I asked him for some orange juice without sugar in it. He proceeded to squeeze the oranges for me while I waited. And that's why I'm going to keep going back and giving him business.