A New Friendship Between A PCV And A Moroccan

Today I joined my friend David, who's also my site mate, that is, my fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who also lives here in town, when he went to his host family's house for lunch.  I invited our fellow PCV Ariana, a young woman who lives about five kilometers south, to join us at their home for lunch.  I was glad that she joined us.  I'd been wanting to introduce her especially to the younger daughter of the family for a while.

Before she arrived, David and I were admiring the keftans, or Moroccan women's robes, which the younger daughter of the family had made in the course of her occupation as a seamstress.  One was yellow and the other was purple.  Both were embroidered with intricate weaving down the front middle seam.  The yellow one had a rust-colored vest which went over it.  The purple one had matching loose pants which accompanied it.  As a side note, most Moroccan women's clothing, and especially keftans, tend to be loose-fitting, unlike, for example, Malaysian women's clothing which is a bit more form-fitting.  My site mate predicted that our fellow PCV would thoroughly enjoy such colorful, decorative keftans.

When our fellow PCV Ariana arrived, she was absolutely thrilled with the beautiful handiwork of the younger daughter of the family.  She was all smiles, and thoroughly enjoyed trying on the keftan which the daughter put on her.

Normally when one goes to a Moroccan home, the food is a primary, prominent part of the visit.  During this particular visit, the family had to redirect us, from the clothing, and the new friendship which my fellow PCV had struck up with the younger daughter of the family, back to the tea and cookies which had been sitting waiting for us on the low round table.

Also, normally the hosts pour the tea for the guests.  For some reason, the father of the family repeatedly directed me to pour the tea, so I poured the tea.  I forgot to pour the tea in the typical Moroccan fashion of drawing the teapot high above the glass, so that the tea falls in a long arc from the teapot which is high above the glass.  Accordingly, the younger daughter reminded me to do so when she took the teapot and demonstrated the customary way to pour tea here in Morocco.

After the tea and cookies, we enjoyed our lunch, a tajine, which is essentially the Moroccan equivalent of a type of stew.  The tajine we enjoyed today was one of chicken, potatoes and green olives.  We sat on the floor around a low round table, each of us grabbing morsels from the part of the communal dish which was nearest to us with pieces of bread--which the family baked themselves--which we ripped from large, flat, round loaves.  Here in Morocco, it's customary to only take food out of the communal dish with one's right hand, as it's understood that the left hand is reserved for performing private sanitary functions.  One also uses the bread to soak up some of the tajine oil which sits at the bottom of the large communal dish.

But, again, the food today played a supporting role.  In one way, the food was secondary to the sartorial creations we admired.

However, the food also was upstaged by the new friendship forged between my one fellow PCV and my other fellow PCV's host sister, that is, the younger daughter in his host family.  After the meal, my site mate soon left since he had to meet some community members regarding some upcoming work he hopes to do here in town.  My other fellow PCV kept asking the younger daughter how to say certain words in Tashelheit, which is one of the Berber languages, and which is spoken in this southern region of Morocco where we live, here in the Sahara.  As when my fellow PCV was trying on and was wearing the beautiful yellow keftan and accompanying rust-colored vest, she and the younger daughter of the family were sharing much laughter and smiles as they discussed Berber vocabulary.

While I was sad to be saying goodbye to the family, and while they looked rather sad to be seeing me leave their home, since I won't be seeing them again before I leave town so soon from now, I was very pleased to see my fellow PCV having such a good time at their home.  I left their home with a warm, satisfying feeling, because, despite saying farewells with them, they had made a new friend whose company they seemed to enjoy so much.

Friday Lunch In Morocco

Last Friday, I went to the home of one of my favorite families here in Morocco. They live in the town where I live down in the Sahara. If you don't know people well here in Morocco, it's proper etiquette not to show up at their home unannounced. On the other hand, if you've established a warm, familiar connection, it's acceptable to arrive at their home without having been invited on a specific day when you arrive at their home. Indeed, it almost seems that it's expected that you'll show up unannounced. With this particular family, in the past when I hadn't shown up to dine at their home for weeks, and then when I ran into them while out and about in town, they asked me where I had been and when I would be coming over to their home.

Accordingly, as it had been a few weeks since I had been at their home due to my recent travels, last Friday I went to their home for lunch. Given that it was Friday, they served couscous for lunch. Moroccans usually eat couscous for lunch on Fridays. Thus when it was time to eat, around 2:30 p.m., one of the daughters in the family brought out a large tajine filled with couscous. The word "tajine" refers either to the stew-like culinary creation bearing that name, or to the actual clay pottery in which either the tajine stew, or, instead in this particular case, couscous, is served. To keep the meal warm, the high, pointed clay pottery tajine lid is kept on top of the tajine dish until the meal is served. In the large tajine dish which was about 18 inches wide, on this particular day the couscous was topped with well-cooked carrot and pumpkin.

When she brought the couscous, she brought a few spoons for us to use in eating the couscous directly out of the communal tajine dish. Her sister, however, as usual, ate the couscous without a spoon, as some Moroccans do. She gathered some couscous from the tajine dish and rolled it into a ball in her hand and brought it to her mouth in her hand.

After we had finished with the couscous, we had some muskmelon for dessert, which I always enjoy. I find the muskmelon quite refreshing during warm weather such as we're having in the Sahara now.

As I rapidly approach my COS (Completion Of Service, or Close Of Service) date, which, at this point, is now less than a month away, I'm beginning to note in a fresher, almost urgent kind of way, what I have been appreciating during my time here in Morocco. I certainly include the hospitality I've experienced here, including at lunch last Friday, amongst the aspects of my experience here for which I've been most grateful to God.

Spring Camp 2012

For the last couple of weeks, I've been very far north in Morocco working at Spring Camp.  Moroccan kids had two weeks off from school, so some of them attended camps all over Morocco to learn more English and to engage in various extracurricular activities.  Some of them only attended camp for one week; others attended camp for both of the two weeks.  At this particular camp where I was, the youths ranged in age from 10 to 18.  The vast majority of kids who attended this camp came from the city in which this camp was held, or from the immediately surrounding area.

While it was a camp, it was located in a city.  Taxis run regularly on the street where the camp was held.  Grocery stores are within a block of where the camp was held.  So, the camp was held in an urban area.

The camps are run by the Moroccan Ministry of Youth and Sports.  As PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) we help to conduct activities at the camps.  In addition to me, there was another PCV, Stephen, working at the camp.  He too is a Youth Development PCV.  He's in his first year of his Peace Corps service.  He lives in the city where our Spring Camp was held. For the duration of the camp, he and I both slept in our own room, in the same building in which the youths were sleeping.

At Spring Camp, the kids wake up between 7am and 8am.  We, the PCVs, the kids and the Moroccan staff, ate breakfast together at the camp a little after 8am.  Typically it's tea and coffee, milk, croissants, some bread, either baguettes and/or the usual round, flat Moroccan bread, perhaps accompanied by butter, apricot jam, and sometimes hard-boiled eggs and Vache Qui Rit (French for "Laughing Cow") cheese.

For an hour or two in the morning, the kids attend English class.  At this camp, since only one other PCV and I were teaching English, there were only two different levels of English classes.  I taught the beginners' class.  In this class, some of these kids knew no English, whereas others knew more English.  As I usually do when I teach an English class with multiple levels of students, I took the approach of teaching the basics while simultaneously throwing in words and phrases closely related to the topic which even the more knowledgeable students would not have been likely to know.  For example, one day I was teaching the students how to tell the time in English.  While I taught them how to say "2:15," I also explained the phrase "a quarter after."

While teaching English during Spring Camp, I encountered the classroom misbehavior of students which I usually face while teaching here in Morocco.  Usually they're just unruly by talking nearly non-stop during class.  During Spring Camp this year, I dealt with their rowdiness partly by splitting them into teams and having them compete against each other to see who best knew English.  I was pleased to see that it often worked well.  On the first day of English class, as we were nearing the end of our almost two-hour-long class, some students were standing up, asking if they could go.  Right after they stood up, asking if they could leave, I figured that the time was ripe to start a game, so the game immediately commenced. About a minute after starting the game to see which team could correctly spell the numbers I was saying, it seemed like they had completely forgotten that they had wanted to leave the classroom.  Each time their team scored a point, the students on that side of the room erupted into cheers.  Moroccan kids love to compete!

However, I also had the kids play games in English class to practice speaking their English, and to get them to be social and get to know each other.  On the days when I was teaching them about greeting each other, and learning others' names and ages, first I taught them the grammar and vocabulary needed to have such conversations.  Then I had them practice such dialogues in English, performed in front of the class.  Then I had them get up and mingle and try to meet as many of their peers as possible.  Then I split them into teams.  During each round of the game, I had a student from each team at the front of the class, asking each one what the other student's name and age were.  I was a little surprised that the kids didn't know more of each others' names, so it seemed that the game helped them not only to practice their English, but that it also helped them to get to know each other.

After English class, the kids played sports and did aerobics and gymnastics for an hour or so.  The other PCV and I sometimes played sports with the kids.  One day I played soccer with the kids, which I enjoyed.  (Moroccans, like much of the rest of the world, understandably call soccer "football."  They say "American football" for what people in the US call "football.")

In the early afternoon, we PCVs, the kids and the Moroccan staff ate lunch together.  For lunch, we often ate salad, followed by a tajine, which is somewhat like a Moroccan stew, as usual, out of one large serving dish.  We tear off pieces of bread and use the pieces of bread to dip into the tajine sauce, and to get vegetables or meat from the communal dish.

After lunch, there was a little over an hour of free time.  Some of the kids used the time to nap.

In the middle of the afternoon, we PCVs ran clubs for the kids.  The other PCV ran a club of team building activities.  I held a club on the culture, weather and topography of the US.  One day I spoke with some of the kids about New York City and New York State.  On another day we talked about California.  I tried to spend our club time with all of us having a conversation, rather than me giving a lecture, about these places in the US.  I asked them what they knew about these places.

When I asked them what they knew about New York, they said the New York Yankees.  One girl who seemed to know more about New York than the other youths mentioned the Empire State Building, Broadway and New York University.  I shared pictures of the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building and the Statue of Liberty with them.  I also told them how one can eat great pizza in New York City.  I tried to get them to grasp how good the pizza in New York is by analogizing it to tajines in Morocco. I noted that one can eat a great tajine here in Morocco, but one is hard pressed to find an outstanding tajine in the US.  I then explained that similarly, one can eat fantastic pizza in New York City, since there are so many Italian immigrants there, but one can't find pizza that's that exceptional here in Morocco.

On the day we discussed California, when I asked them what they think of when they think of California, they said, "Hollywood."  We talked a little bit about how movies are made there.  I told them that while there are palm trees in California, there are many more palm trees in southern Morocco.  We also talked a little about San Francisco.  I showed them a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge.  On the map I'd drawn on the dry erase board, below the US, I drew Mexico, and asked them to identify that country. One of them answered that it's Mexico. I explained that many Mexicans go to the US, including California, to work, especially to harvest fruits and vegetables grown in California. During club time each day, after our discussion, they made posters, on the one day depicting New York, and on the other day representing California.  I taped up their posters in the dining room, to reinforce their artistic tendencies, to try to instill a sense of their artistic skill in them, to remind them of what they'd learned about these places and the culture there and the people who live there, and to implicitly encourage their interest in cross-cultural exchange.

In the late afternoon, the kids also participated in activities run by some of the Moroccan staff running the camp.  Typically the Moroccan staff ran activities involving art, song and dance for the kids.

On another day, a gentleman came to the camp and gave a presentation on the spread of HIV in Morocco. Given how touchy a topic HIV is here, I suspect that he provided some very helpful education to the youths that day.

After these late afternoon and early evening activities, we, the PCVs, the kids and the Moroccan staff, ate dinner together.  For dinner, first we always ate harira, which is a type of Moroccan soup which contains chickpeas, and sometimes also lentils, among other things.  Sometimes after the harira, we ate spaghetti and meatballs.  On some nights after dinner, we ate yogurt for dessert.  On other nights, we ate fruit, such as bananas, for dessert.

One night after dinner, the other PCV and I held a trivia contest for the kids.  We had written questions in the categories of US culture and Moroccan culture.

For example, we asked them, "Which country gave the Statue of Liberty to the US as a gift?"  One of the teams knew that France had given it to the US.  We also asked them which US President had founded the Peace Corps.  One team correctly answered that President John F. Kennedy had founded the Peace Corps.

In the category of Moroccan culture, we asked one team which mountain was the tallest in Morocco. They correctly answered that it's Jbel Toubkal. That team also knew that Volubilis is the site of ancient Roman ruins which once served as Roman baths.

On another night, as on many of the nights of Spring Camp, some of the youths performed in talent shows.  Usually they sang or danced.  Sometimes they acted in skits, which they performed in Darija.  On one night, one Moroccan teenager performed live rap in Darija.  That same night, the Moroccan staff insisted that I sing into the microphone, so I sang "And I Love Her" by The Beatles, editing out lyrics which I thought might be culturally inappropriate, given the relatively conservative relations between the genders here in Morocco.

During each of the weeks of Spring Camp, we went on field trips to beautiful spots in the local area, where we took short hikes.  In the first week of camp, we visited a forest.  In the second week, we took a trip to a river.

To get to the forest, there were so many of us that we took both a bus and a mini-bus to get there.  I was riding in the mini-bus with some of the Moroccan staff and some of the campers.  As we headed out on our way down the street, away from the complex where the camp was being held, and toward the forest, a petit taxi began to pull out in front of us just as we were about to pass him.  The man driving our mini-bus exclaimed, "Hmar!"  Strictly speaking, that word means "donkey."  In this particular context, however, he was calling the other driver an idiot.  I don't hear people using that epithet that often here in Morocco.  Parents use it in addressing their kids when they're behaving especially poorly, but, it seems, usually in private.  In any case, each of the vehicles was moving quite slowly, probably more slowly than 10 miles per hour, so they didn't touch.  After our driver was done berating the other driver, we were continuing on our way to the forest.

We went on a pleasant walk in the forest despite the rain which steadily increased during our excursion.  Since that locale is home to some beautiful landscape, and thus is a tourist destination, we crossed paths with some cars and camper vehicles with license plates from European countries.  Most of the time here in Morocco, when I see a vehicle from Europe, it's from France.  I often see vehicles with an "E" for "Espana," or "Spain," or a "D" for "Deutschland," or "Germany." From time to time I also see vehicles from Belgium and the Netherlands.

As we were looping back on our hike toward the vehicles which had brought us to the forest, the rain was falling down upon us and made an unexpectedly pleasant melody.  One of the boys enrolled in the camp was carrying a drum, and he stopped playing it so we could listen to the song which the raindrops made by pattering on top of the drum.  Amidst language difficulties here in Morocco, I often muse that certain kinds of communication are universal.  I believe that nature, through its beauty, serenity and subtlety, is one of them. I also believe that music is another one of them.

I think that humor is another.  Of course one slowly learns about what one can acceptably joke in certain cultures, as well as what natives of that culture are likely to find amusing.  When we had finished our hike, we ate our lunch comprised of the food which the camp cooks had prepared early enough for us to take with us when we left the camp facilities that morning.  As I was eating lunch, a tajine of chicken and potatoes, with some of the girl campers, I noticed that one of them had some potato in the several strands of hair which had escaped from underneath her headscarf.  I pointed this out to her. She started laughing, and it took her a while to recover from the case of the giggles which she developed.  In the end, her friend helped her to remove the little bit of potato from her hair.  And she tucked the few strands of hair back under her headscarf.

At the end of camp, the kids shed many tears. I too was sad to part ways with them and the wonderful Moroccan staff with whom we worked at camp this year. Once again this year at camp, I'd enjoyed working with some remarkably talented youths. One girl who was at camp sings incredibly well. Amidst the tearful goodbyes between campers at the conclusion of the first session of Spring Camp, I said in Darija to this Moroccan teenager who had been belting out stunningly beautiful melodies during camp, "One day I'm going to see you on 'Arabs Got Talent,' and then I'm going to say, 'I met her when she was only 14 years old!'"

Yet I felt even more encouraged by their humility and by their desire and inclination to serve each other. After we ate our meals, some youths cleaned up the tables, not just removing the used silverware, glassware and dishes, but additionally wiping the tables free of crumbs and other food. I was glad to see that they did not see this work as being below them, or as unworthy of them, or as an imprudent use of their time. I tried to clear tables after our meals, and was directed multiple times not to do so. There's a tendency in Morocco to see certain work as being inappropriate for particular people to do since it doesn't match up with those persons' social standing. However, I prefer to see actions in our lives as opportunities to serve each other. When we have chances to serve each other, we have opportunities to give to each other, and thus to love each other. I was pleased that these youths are humble enough that they value service and what it represents. Approaching life with such a generous and nourishing spirit, they're going to not just help others, but in the process simultaneously grow as individuals in some of the most profound ways possible.

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.

Where Have You Been?

Yesterday I went to the home of a family I often visit here in the town in which I live in the Sahara in Morocco. When I run into them on the street, they invite me over to their home for meals. If I haven't gone over to their home for a meal in a while, usually they'll ask me why I haven't come to their home.

Before I went over to their home, I thought I might be able to get some shopping done before most everyone in town disappeared to have lunch. Between about 1 p.m. and about 4 p.m., most hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for the rough equivalent of corner stores in the USA) are closed while their proprietors are having lunch (and perhaps napping after lunch).

I headed out from my apartment a little before 1 p.m. and was glad to find the hanoot where I mostly frequently shop for groceries open. I stocked up on food, then returned home to drop it off.

Then I continued on to the family's home. When I arrived, I took off my shoes and joined the father on a mat, on top of which was a table with a teapot and glasses. Moroccans love to drink tea, and they always offer some to their guests.

As the father and I sat enjoying the fine weather, bounded by the beautiful blue sky and puffy cumulus clouds, he inquired about my family in the USA, as Moroccans typically do. He also asked me if I had been traveling. I mentioned that on some recent weekends, I'd been to the city which is about an hour north of this town where we live.

All of their kids were traveling, so I only ate with the father. In some conservative Moroccan homes, the women and girls eat separately from the men and boys. In their home, at times we've all eaten together, so I don't know why the mom didn't eat with us yesterday.

The mom brought out lunch, which included some fried fish, accompanied by some hot sauce in which to dip the fish. I enjoyed all of the food, but I enjoyed the hot sauce in a way I didn't enjoy the other food. I don't get to eat much spicy food here in Morocco, so I enjoyed the hot sauce as something which I don't eat too often here. We also ate a vegetarian tajine, or stew, which included potatoes and carrots, grabbing our morsels out of the communal plate with pieces of bread we broke off from the typically round, flat Moroccan loaves of bread.

After lunch, the mom brought us some small oranges for dessert. When we had finished eating the oranges, she came over to the mat and sat with us. She too asked me if I had been traveling. I finally realized that they had been asking me if I had been traveling because I was at their home for a meal for the first time in a month. They felt that it had been too long. They figured that since I hadn't come over for a meal, that I must have been traveling.

I must admit that I had been wary about overindulging in their hospitality. I had been concerned about going to their home too often. Now I know that they expect me to come over more than once a month. It strikes me as a bit notable that even after being here in Morocco for nearly a year and a half, that I am still learning the parameters of the customs and cultural norms here.

Being a Foodie in the Peace Corps

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

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

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

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

Asking a Woman's Opinion

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Moroccan Hospitality to the Rescue

Recently I headed out in the late morning, as I usually do, to buy some bread to make a sandwich for myself for lunch, and to go to a cyber. However, given that Ramadan had just ended in the last couple of days, all of the shops were closed.

Though there were a few people milling about, there were far fewer people out and about than usual. Given that I had very little food at home, and definitely no bread, I figured that I was probably going to be missing lunch. I tried to shrug it off, and, thinking that I could at least try to do something, I started off toward an apartment building I know to try to find out if there were any available apartments in it on behalf of Stan, the new PCV living in my town.

Soon after I turned onto the road toward that apartment building, I saw a fellow who lives here in town who is always friendly and welcoming to me. He invited me to come to his home for lunch. I was glad to accept, not only because I was hungry and didn't have much to eat at home, but also because he had invited me to his home months earlier, at times which weren't convenient for me.

So, I was happy to finally accept one of his invitations, and I turned around and started walking with him to his home. Right after we crossed one of the main streets here in town, he walked up to a group of men, some of whom were sitting on the curb, others in a car next to the curb, who were there talking. Given that typically in Morocco, if as a guy you're walking with another guy, and he starts talking with people, he shakes the hand of every guy there, and you do the same, even if you don't know them, even if he doesn't introduce you, and even if you think you're never going to see them again. So, once he had started shaking their hands, I did the same. After his very brief conversation with them, we continued on to his home.

We completed the short walk to his home very quickly, and proceeded up to the top floor, the third floor of the building. He immediately brought out some tea (which, here in Morocco, typically contains a lot of sugar) and removed the knit towel which was resting over the large plate holding a variety of cookies in front of us. When I finished my glass of tea, he asked me if I wanted more, which I did. More than once he told me to eat more cookies. He again offered me more tea, but I declined more tea at that point. Moroccans always encourage their house guests to eat and drink!

After we had had some tea and cookies, we continued watching TV. At one point, we were watching either a TV show or a movie which featured an actress who, I'm pretty sure, was Jennifer Lopez. They hadn't dubbed over the original English dialogue; rather, it had Arabic subtitles. So, I understood when I heard J. Lo's character tell her fellow character, "Change your shirt; you smell like dog," whereas my host laughed and repeated to me in Darija what she had just said, because he had just read it. I responded to him, in Darija, "Yeah, she didn't like that." When the two characters started slow dancing with their arms draped over each other in a bar in the next scene, my host changed the channel, about which I felt little regret.

Then I was more excited to get to see a little of a special on National Geographic Abu Dhabi which was set in Yosemite National Park. Although I understood very little of what was being said in that program, which was in Arabic, of course I could tell that they were observing small frogs in the water there in the park. And, toward the end of the program, I enjoyed seeing some footage showing some wide vistas in the park, which I especially appreciated having visited there and hiked there over a dozen times.

After my host and I had been watching TV for a while, he brought a large teapot and a type of water basin into the room. As typically done right before a meal in someone's home in Morocco, I placed my hands over the basin and he poured slightly warm water over my hands. When I told him "safi," meaning that he had poured enough water over my hands, he then handed me a towel to dry my hands.

He then brought in a tajine of chicken and olives, sitting in the juice of the chicken, and covered with French fries. He had also just brought in some bread (large, round, flat bread), from which we broke off small pieces, and which we used to dip in the juices of the tajine, and also used to grab olives, pieces of chicken, and French fries. We also used just our fingers to pick fries off the top of the chicken, which, incidentally, was a whole chicken, as is usual in a chicken tajine. (Each of us ate with the right hand; in Morocco, it is understood that the left hand is reserved for hygienic uses). Towards the end of the meal, he encouraged me to keep eating, but I didn't want to make myself uncomfortably full, so I told him I had had enough.

Also, I saw a plate of fruit which was waiting for us, so I left some room for that dessert. We enjoyed some melon and grapes for dessert.

Soon after we had finished dessert, he brought the teapot of warm water and the basin back into the room, and I again washed my hands. Soon thereafter, I then happily left his home, thanking him repeatedly, grateful for his generosity and hospitality which had saved me from being hungry for the afternoon.

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.

Spring Camp 2011

Last week, I was very far north in Morocco for Spring Camp, which ran for most of the week. Moroccan kids have the week off from school, so they go to camps all over Morocco to learn more English and to engage in various extracurricular activities. At this particular camp where I was, most of the kids were in their late teenage years. The vast majority of kids who attended this camp came from the city in which this camp was held, or from the immediately surrounding area.

While it was a camp, it was located in a small city. Taxis run regularly on the street where the camp was held. Grocery stores and cafes are within a block of where the camp was held. So, the camp was held in an urban area.

The camps are run by the Moroccan Ministry of Youth and Sports. As PCVs we help to conduct activities at the camps. In addition to me, there was another YD (Youth Development) PCV at the camp. He's in his second year of his Peace Corps service. He coordinated PCV activities at the camp. There was also a SBD (Small Business Development) PCV, who's in his second year of Peace Corps service, at the camp. There was also an Environment PCV, who is in her first year of Peace Corps service, at the camp. We all traveled from our own separate respective towns further south in Morocco to work at this camp in northern Morocco.

At Spring Camp, the kids wake up between 7am and 8am. Breakfast is served at the camp a little after 8am. Typically it's tea and coffee, milk, with some bread, perhaps accompanied by butter, apricot jam, olive oil, and cheese.

For about an hour and a half in the morning, the kids attend English class. In my camp, there were three different levels of English classes. The PCV coordinating the camp, who is in his second year of Peace Corps service, assigned me to teach the beginners' class. I found it a little challenging to teach this class because some of these kids knew almost no English, whereas others knew more English. I employed the tactic of teaching the basics while simultaneously throwing in words and phrases closely related to the topic at hand which even the more knowledgeable students would not have been likely to know. For example, one day I was teaching the students how to tell the time in English. While I taught them how to say "7:30," I told them also of the phrase "half past." Similarly, while I was teaching them the phrase "Good morning," I explained to them that sometimes they might hear people just say "Morning" when they mean "Good morning."

After English class, the kids played sports for an hour or so. One day the other PCVs and I played soccer with the kids, which was fun.

In the early afternoon, we PCVs and the kids ate lunch together. For lunch, we often ate salad, followed by a tajine, which is like a Moroccan stew. Usually when we eat tajine here in Morocco, we eat it out of one big communal tajine bowl or very large dish. We rip pieces of bread and use the pieces of bread to dip into the tajine sauce, and to grab vegetables or meat from the communal dish. From time to time, French fries rest on top of meat in a tajine. We use bread to pick fries off the top of the tajine as well.

After lunch, there is a little bit of time, anywhere from a half hour to two hours, to nap. We had more time to nap if lunch started earlier; if lunch started later, then we had less time to nap.

In the middle of the afternoon into the late afternoon, we PCVs ran clubs for the kids. One of the other PCVs ran a club involving leadership and team building activities. Another PCV ran a dance club. I ran an Environment club. So, I taught the kids some basic concepts about the environment, and why it's important to protect the environment. I taught them, and tested them on, basic vocabulary relating to the environment. Then they made posters representing why we should respect the environment. Near the end of club time each day, some of the kids did short presentations in which they explained why we have to take care of the environment.

In the late afternoon, the kids also participated in activities run by some of the Moroccan staff running the camp. For example, one day the kids went on a treasure hunt on the grounds of the camp.

On another day, some guest musicians came to the camp and performed for us. Soon after the musicians started performing, most of the kids got up and started dancing and clapping in time to the music.

After these late afternoon and early evening activities, we, the PCVs and the kids, ate dinner together. For dinner, first we always ate harira, which is a type of Moroccan soup which contains chickpeas, among other things. Sometimes after the harira, we ate Spanish omelettes (keep in mind that this camp was so far north in Morocco, and therefore so close to Spain, that particular aspects of Spanish culture are present in that area). On another night, for dinner after harira, we ate angel hair pasta which was sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. Sometimes after dinner, we ate yogurt for dessert.

In addition to these activities I've already mentioned, we PCVs also spent time just sitting and talking with the kids about various topics, including the USA. At one point, I was explaining to some of the kids that not everyone in the USA sounds similar when they speak. Given my appreciation of the various accents people in the USA have when speaking, I was enjoying explaining and describing and demonstrating some of the accents of people in the USA. At another point, I was showing them my passports, and explaining to them places and events in US history. While we were looking at a drawing of Mount Rushmore that's on one of the pages of my passport, I was explaining where in the US it is, and which US presidents are represented there. While we were looking at other pages of my passport, I was explaining to them that July 4 is Independence Day in the USA.

One night after dinner, the other PCVs and I held a trivia contest for the kids. We wrote questions in the categories of US culture and Moroccan culture. We also wrote questions testing them on what they had learned in the English classes we taught them. We additionally wrote questions testing them on what we had taught them during the clubs we held for them.

For example, we asked them, "Which country was the first to recognize the US?" We were surprised that both teams got the question wrong, given that the answer was Morocco. Also, neither team correctly guessed the number of stars on the American flag. However, they both knew that the Mississippi River is the longest river in the USA. We also asked them from which country the current US president's father came; one of the teams knew that he was Kenyan.

The kids were fiercely competitive. I so enjoyed watching the kids at that trivia competition, largely because they were so excited about it. When we announced which team won the contest, the winning team erupted into loud, raucous cheering. I felt bad for the kids who didn't win. They looked so dejected.

The last night of the camp, and the following morning, the kids shed many tears. I too was sad at the impending farewells. Yet I also felt encouraged. As with certain kids in my town down south, I love seeing, teaching and speaking with kids who are motivated to learn and who apply themselves.

But at this camp, I was even more pleased, because of conversations I had with some youths there. This one especially motivated youth, who is perhaps 18 years old, told me that he sees kids who are addicted to hard drugs. He added that he also sees others who aren't. He went on, "I teach them a little English, a little Arabic, a little French. And that makes me feel good." I replied to him, "Yes, it feels good to help others." I continued, saying roughly, "I think that this is part of the meaning of life: to help others." I didn't expect to have a conversation like this at camp, but was so pleased that I did.

I had been looking forward to Spring Camp. I had been expecting to enjoy Spring Camp. I just didn't expect to enjoy Spring Camp as much as I did. I'm looking forward to Summer Camp.

Lights Out: My Darkest Hours as a PCV

Over the rest of the weekend on which I wrote my last blog entry, I went on a great hike to the top of a butte, with my friend and fellow Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) Ben, in his site, less than 100 kilometers from my town. Our hike was similar to the hike I did in my site earlier this month, which I mentioned in my last blog entry. When we did the hike in his site, we had panoramic views of his town and the surrounding palmeries, or groves of palm trees there. Of course it was a good weekend, as we shared organic Oreos and discussed traveling each of us hopes to do in the future. I always enjoy the camaraderie of fellow PCVs. The next day, before I left, we had lunch in the palmerie. Like me, he lives just a couple blocks from a palmerie, which is essentially the equivalent of a huge, serene park.

The following weekend, which is now last weekend, I enjoyed the company of a dozen other PCVs for sessions in which we discussed future volunteer activities. And, of course, we had some time for fun, too! That night in that city, we went dancing at a nightclub. I delighted in dancing to songs by Michael Jackson and James Brown. As we were tearing up the dance floor, I asked my fellow PCVs, "Are we really in the Peace Corps???"

Then most of us, me included, left the city on Sunday last weekend. And while I anticipated a dip in my mood after such a fun--and social--weekend, I did not guard sufficiently against such a challenging decline in my spirits. Consequently, as the week wore on, despair crept into my being, and began to grow like a tumor.

As early as Wednesday the 28th, I was in dire emotional straits. One of my best friends in the U.S. had coincidentally just told me over e-mail that she wanted to talk with me on the phone. So, we spoke that night. Unsurprisingly, I felt better after I had talked with her about my feelings. Lesson learned: talk with a family member or friend, perhaps in the U.S., during my darkest spells during my Peace Corps service.

Yet the tenacious, merciless, relentless homesickness wouldn't leave me alone. Which leads me to share some of my spiritual beliefs. My mom has repeatedly suggested over the years that I read "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis. She had even given me multiple copies of the book over the years. I believe it is not a coincidence that, after years of having that book on my various bookshelves, I finally started reading it last week. In the book, C.S. Lewis presents a series of advisory and didactic letters written by an important Under Secretary in Hell named Screwtape, to his nephew Wormwood, who has been charged with malevolently misguiding the soul of his particular "patient." I have long believed in guardian angels, as well as in the existence of those spirits who aim to derail us on our paths of, and toward, spiritual growth.

Consequently, I was not only enjoying, but, far more importantly, was finding spiritual nourishment in reading this particular book. And I do believe Lewis' words helped me to start to realize how this counterproductive construction, or overfocusing on, and lamenting, my homesickness, had been erected, and fortified in my mind. Early in the day on the 28th, I read how Lewis, writing from the point-of-view of Screwtape, described how God allows disappointment to occur at the beginning of all human undertakings. He wrote, it happens when a young boy, enthralled by ancient Greek tales, hunkers down to actually learn Greek. And when newlyweds begin the actual activity of learning to live together. In all areas of life, it is present at the shift from imagining to the task of actually doing. God takes this chance on us because God dreams of us freely serving God. God wants us to be free, so God will not carry us, instead allowing us to do it ourselves. And then Screwtape whispers to Wormwood, in effect, "And that's where we come in..." But perhaps not as destructively as they would like, as Screwtape then warns Wormwood, because if humans successfully navigate these early difficulties, they become far less emotional and thus much more immune to temptation...

With these words, implicitly deconstructing the spiritual morass into which I had fallen, which had been percolating through my consciousness, I continued through my day, not yet having realized their perfect applicability to my present situation. That night, I noticed that an object in my apartment, which had previously appeared to me to be a fan, now seemed like it potentially could be a heater. Given that I sleep in multiple layers of clothing and under multiple blankets each night, I was obviously interested in testing my new perception. Plugging it in and turning it on, I realized it was a fan--and a heater--which blows hot air out of it. Soon after making this discovery, the lights went off--as did all of the power in my apartment. I wasn't able to remedy the situation by visiting the fuse box, since I needed my neighbor's help to do that, and he wasn't home.

I laid back down in bed. As I lay in bed with the lights out, I first thought of Chris Martin of the band Coldplay when he sings the song "Fix You," asking in one of the lyrics if it could be worse. But what that lyric made me realize was that during the time that I had been previously lamenting my situation, it could have been worse--and indeed, DID turn worse, once I became unable to turn the lights back on.

And yet, at the time, I didn't realize how appropriate it was that I had thought of a lyric from that song. In that song, he sings that when you try as best as you can, but you're still not where you want to be, then tears gush down your face. Earlier that day, in the midst of feeling like I couldn't cope with my overwhelming homesickness, and thus couldn't possibly envision myself being here in Morocco for the rest of my term of Peace Corps service, I felt like a failure. I crumpled; I wilted, unable to stand emotionally. In my frantic desperation, I wept tears of powerlessness, helplessness, as I cried out in agony, feeling trapped, feeling that somehow I had to continue, yet feeling totally unable to continue.

But again, it was very appropriate that I thought of that song, because, in retrospect, I feel that what the song describes is what then happened: the Light will show you the way. It was as if someone had said to me, "I'm going to try to mend your soul."

I thought that if I ended my Peace Corps service early, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Upon arriving in Philadelphia last September for Staging, the orientation just before flying here to Morocco, I saw a poster advertising the Peace Corps. It advised, "Never have to start sentences with "I should've..." Of course the ad aims to get people to join the Peace Corps, telling them not to regret never having gone into the Peace Corps. But during my most recent emotionally trying period, I approached the message in that ad from a new angle. I thought that I didn't want to have to say sentences such as "I should've finished my Peace Corps service." And I thought of the lyric in that same Coldplay song, "Fix You," in which Chris Martin sings that if you don't try, you will never know who you were, who you could've been.

And I also thought of a particular part of the Gospel of Matthew. In Matthew 25:40, 42-45, in the afterlife,

The King will say,
"I was hungry but you would not feed Me,
thirsty but you would not give Me a drink;
I was a stranger but you would not welcome Me in your homes,
naked but you would not clothe Me;
I was sick and in prison but you would not take care of Me."

Then they will answer Him,
"When, Lord, did we ever see You hungry or thirsty
or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison,
and we would not help You?"

The King will reply:
"I tell you,
whenever you refused to help one of these least important ones,
you refused to help Me."

And so I thought that if I ended my Peace Corps service early, and stopped helping people here who are in such dire need, Jesus would ask me, "Why did you abandon Me?" I decided that I didn't want to be asked that question.

And so my angst and torment was quite easily extinguished. In an instant, as I considered Jesus' words, my mental state had been drastically transformed for the better.

And I thought it a very good idea to devote some thought to how I had gotten to such an unfortunate state. Listening to Bono of the band U2 sing the song "Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of," I gained some insight into what had happened. In that song, Bono sings that he was not conscious, was partly asleep. He then sings that sinking down can be comfortable, that is, until you discover how deep you can sink.

I had not been paying attention to the functioning of my own mind. Tiny bits of an unhealthy type of longing, a clinging variety of homesickness, had slowly crept and advanced further and further into my mind that week. When it revisited me that night, after listening to that U2 song, I immediately responded with a force and clarity of mind I had been lacking during its previous visits. I thought, quite purposefully, strongly, and with conviction and fierce love, that I am here in Morocco to help people who want my help. The unhealthy, clinging, selfish type of homesickness immediately evaporated. While it revisited me with a vengeance, repeatedly, and in rapid succession, I responded the same way each time, finally forcing it out on its way.

Not that there is anything wrong or unnatural with feeling homesick. In fact, a certain type of homesickness IS natural. But not when it comes to dominate and dictate my actions, preventing me from helping others. Then it has grown into something which has to be dismantled, reined in. But better yet, prevent it from even getting to that point by being present, aware, conscious, deliberate and purposeful, and living with love. Lesson learned: Love is an extremely effective antidote to fear, loneliness and an unhealthy type of homesickness.

And in fact, the next day, I was very happy to spend time with those people here in my town who I have come to consider as my new host family, the family I mentioned in my last blog entry. As before, yesterday I was very happy to spend time with them, this time having a delicious lunch with them, which included a tasty vegetable tajine. Sharing their company, I was reminded of why I am here, to be making wonderful, loving connections with others.