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.

My Peace Corps Service As An Investment That Has Been Paying Off

With less than two weeks of my Peace Corps service left, I've given away most of the things which had been in the apartment I've been renting. Yesterday a couple of my fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers), who are much earlier in their service than I am, came here to town and took away some of the last few remaining items. One of them got a grand taxi to drive her to my residence, where the refrigerator I've been using got loaded on top of the taxi and tied down with rope. Another PCV got a grand taxi to come to my place. She took away the ponj, the lightweight foam rectangular cube-like sofa on which I'd been sleeping for the last three months while I've been here in town.

Later in the day yesterday, I emptied the bedroom and swept it. Then I set up a sleeping space in the bedroom, composed of a heavy winter blanket as padding on the floor, covered by a fitted sheet, with a heavy winter blanket to cover me in the slight overnight chill which has started to descend upon us here in the Sahara. In light of how I've been recently enjoying giving away more and more possessions, I viewed this new, simple sleeping arrangement in a satisfying manner, and thought, "All right, now we're really starting to get somewhere!"

Having given away the fridge, now I need to drink all of the milk I buy in one sitting. Thus, I stopped buying one-liter boxes of milk, since I normally wouldn't drink that much milk all at once. Although a one-liter box of milk only costs 9 dirhams, which is equivalent to a little more than one US dollar, since I got rid of my fridge, I've started buying small cold bags of milk which cost 3 dirhams each. Thus, yesterday after my friend and fellow PCV took away the fridge, I went and bought a small bag of cold milk. I was bringing it back to the apartment to eat with an amlou and strawberry jam sandwich. I recently blogged about amlou, which is essentially Moroccan peanut butter. However, I don't think that that amlou I'd previously bought contained argan oil. The amlou I'm currently using contains argan oil, almonds, sugar, salt, fennel, and vegetable oil. So I suppose that it's really like almond butter rather than peanut butter.

In any case, I was arriving back at the apartment to enjoy an amlou and strawberry jam sandwich with some cold milk when I noticed that my neighbor, a Moroccan fellow who teaches French here in town, was also arriving at the apartment building with some of his friends, who are also teachers here in town. My neighbor invited me into his apartment to have tea with them. It was in the late afternoon, or perhaps already the early evening, at that hour of day when Moroccans have kaskroute, which is like an afternoon snack.

I joined them for kaskroute. We sat on the floor around a low, round table in my neighbor's living room, drinking tea and eating dates and peanuts. When I finished my tea, my host filled my tea glass. When I finished the second glass of tea, I kept my tea glass by my side. I didn't want him to fill it again. The teapot was rather small and no one else had yet enjoyed a second glass. Despite keeping my glass at my side, nevertheless my host noted that I had again drained it. He asked me if I wanted more tea. I politely declined.

After we had finished having kaskroute, we were standing in the hallway of his apartment. Two of his friends started wrestling with each other. Moroccan males sometimes wrestle standing up, seeing which of them can best the other in the friendly contest. Soon after the brief wrestling match, I took my leave of them, glad that I had snacked with them.

Today I made sure to visit a family here in town whom I've visited from time to time while I've lived here. I wanted to be sure to see them again before I leave town. First we had tea and peanuts. A little while later, we had lunch, sitting on the floor around a low, square table. For lunch we had lentils and beef, each of us ripping apart pieces of bread to grab lentils and beef from the part of the communal dish which was closest to each of us. For dessert, we enjoyed grapes and apples.

After we had had dessert, I bid adieu to most of them. As I was walking back to my apartment, their son was walking with me for part of the way. At one point he asked me if I go to church. I told him that whenever I can go to church, I do indeed go to church, since it's important to me to do so. Then I added that at times, it's been hard living here in Morocco, because I haven't always been able to go to church here; there's no church here in town, and I'm not otherwise always near a church. However, I shared with him that we learn more when we're having a difficult time than we learn when we're comfortable. I suggested to him that I believe that God allows us to face trials and tribulations because in such trying circumstances, we learn and grow and develop. I've been grateful for such opportunities to learn and grow while I've been a PCV. Indeed, I became a PCV so that I would learn through facing difficulties. I'm glad to say that I feel like I have benefited from living in certain trying circumstances here. For that reason and for others, I feel like my decision to enter the Peace Corps has been an investment which has been paying off.

Drink Tea

One afternoon this week when I was at the dar shebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I've done most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco, some of the local dar shebab moudirs ("directors") were sitting talking with each other and with me. Often when Moroccans are socializing, they serve tea. Accordingly, this one day this week, when the moudirs of the local dar shebabs were catching up with each other, the moudir, of this particular dar shebab where we were, broke out the tea.

After the moudirs and I had started drinking tea, a very young girl, perhaps four years old, meekly walked into the dar shebab and over to the table where we were enjoying our tea. Greeting her in the usual welcoming, inclusive Moroccan way, they offered her some tea. She humbly refused, but they insisted that she have some tea. She then accepted the small glass of tea. The moudirs then resumed their conversation.

Given that I still don't understand the vast majority of any conversation of any significant length which occurs in Darija, I was, during this particular conversation, as is usually the case, present merely and primarily in the status of a cultural observer rather than a full participant in the conversation. During exchanges, slightly removed, I note interesting and humorous occurrences.

Having lived here in Morocco for the better part of two years, I'm familiar with a good deal of the cultural norms here. In particular, when a guest isn't drinking the beverage or eating the food that has been served, the host tells him or her to eat or drink.

Having this background knowledge, having observed such hospitality, and having been directed to eat and drink again and again by Moroccan hosts, I was amused by the young girl's directive to one of the moudirs who had stopped drinking his tea. Most likely, having watched Moroccan adults urge their guests to keep eating and drinking, she had learned to tell someone who had stopped drinking his or her beverage to resume drinking it. I thought it was adorable how she told the moudir who had stopped drinking his tea, "Shurrib atay," meaning "Drink tea."

Turn Off The TV

As I've mentioned, this week I've been spending time with brand new PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) who have just started living close to me down here in the Sahara. One of them, a man, lives here in the same town as me; the other, a woman, lives a half dozen kilometers south of us.

Yesterday we were walking through her village, getting to know members of her community and visiting apartments which she could potentially rent. She informed my site mate, who is the other PCV living in the same town as me, and I, that we had been invited to someone's house in her community for lunch. We arrived at his home at noon, which is early compared to when Moroccans usually eat lunch, typically around 2:00 p.m. First we were treated to tea and cookies, followed by a meal of couscous, vegetables and beef, both of which as the television was playing different movies made in the US. In retrospect, I concluded that the TV had been rather distracting; or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that we let it distract us.

In any event, after we left our host's home, we continued walking around her village. She spotted a building which she suspected contained an apartment. We asked some people nearby where we could find the landlord, and got directed to his home. We were welcomed into his home. Soon after we sat down, our hosts served us tea. Then I heard our host say that it was time for lunch. We had actually arrived at his house right at the typical lunch hour, a little after 2:00 p.m. Consequently, we were served individual servings of diced tomato, onions and green peppers. There were also a couple plates of sliced cucumbers on the low, round table around which we were sitting, as well as a couple of plates of lettuce. And of course there was the main communal dish. In it during this particular meal was beef topped with French fries, all sitting in a delectable oily sauce in which we dipped pieces of bread, which we also used to grab fries and pieces of meat for ourselves.

During our stay at this second house, we were talking a lot with our hosts, a father and mother, a couple of their daughters, and a couple of their sons. As PCVs, we were explaining the Peace Corps to them. The father was telling us how he had traveled to a variety of countries in the Arab world. We were asking and telling each other our ages. One of the sons was smiling and laughing a lot, so I joked with him that he could be a teacher of smiling and laughing. After we had been there at their home for a while, feeling so comfortable, and greatly enjoying their company, I suddenly realized that there was no TV in the room. I noted its absence first to my fellow PCVs. Then I told our hosts that because there was no TV in the room, we had been getting to know each other much better than if there had been a TV in the room. I left their home grateful to have met them, having immensely enjoyed the time with them, and appreciative also that they didn't have a TV on where we had been dining with them!

Taking Pride In His Heritage

Last week I was playing blackjack with some kids at the dar shebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I spend most of my time volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco. Thinking about how Moroccans so enjoy drinking tea, and how we weren't drinking tea as we were playing "21," and how I've heard some Moroccans facetiously call their tea "whiskey Berbere," I suggested, "We need some whiskey Berbere!"

One of the boys playing the game retorted, "We are not Berber! We are Amazigh!" There's not only one Berber tribe; there are multiple kinds of Berbers, including those who are Amazigh. So it seemed to me that this boy was taking pride in his particular strain of Berber heritage. Also, more recently I learned why he may have such a strong sense of pride instilled in him: Amazigh means "free man."

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.

How To Stay Warm In Cold Weather

I live in Morocco, which has been called "The Cold Country With The Hot Sun" and "The Coolest of the Hottest Countries." It gets hot here in the summer, but in many places in the country, especially, of course, at higher elevations, it gets cold in the winter.

I certainly don't live in the coldest part of Morocco. But it does get a little cold here.

I'm a bit more challenged by the cold here than I'd be by the same level of cold in the U.S. In the states, I'd just go inside and turn on the heat. While I have a heat fan in my apartment, the last time I tried to use it, a little over a year ago, I blew a fuse, as I mentioned in my January 2011 blog post entitled "Lights Out." Furthermore, the fuse box is in my neighbor's apartment. Given that I don't always know when he's going to be traveling, I don't use the heat fan.

Thus I resort to other methods to stay warm, including drinking hot beverages. Recently I've been enjoying some Hot Love. It's German-made raspberry vanilla flavored tea, with a brand name of "Hot Love." I also thoroughly enjoyed some hot cocoa, using a tin of cocoa I received as a Christmas gift at the end of last year.

More commonly, though, I benefit from the oldest way of staying warm: I sit in the sun. I'm fortunate enough to have a roof on my apartment building on which I can sit in relative privacy. I go up there and read for hours at a time in the afternoons.

It's much more comfortable up there during the day than it is in my apartment. Around the clock it's been around 50° Fahrenheit in my apartment. Last month, it got down to 47.5° in the apartment. At night I sleep under three heavy blankets, in multiple layers of clothing both above and below the waist, while also wearing a winter hat and scarf. That way, I'm warm when I sleep.

I've also taken to growing more facial hair during the winter here. While generally I prefer to have less, rather than more, facial hair, for much of this winter, I've been sporting a beard, mostly to help me keep warm during the colder weather.

I often feel fortunate when I consider that there are PCVs living in even colder locations than me, including in Morocco. Here in Morocco, it snows in Azrou and Ifrane, and on many mountains. While I can't see any snow-covered mountains from the town in which I live, often when I leave town in the winter, within an hour I can see snow-capped mountains in the distance, reminding me that, while I may think it's cold, it's even colder elsewhere, including not even that far away.

Simple Pleasures

The Peace Corps is preparing for new Peace Corps Trainees to arrive here in Morocco in March. As part of that preparation, Peace Corps is asking us to find out if families are interested in hosting PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in their homes for several weeks, when the PCVs arrive in the towns where they will live for their two years of service. The Peace Corps then decides with which families PCVs will live when PCVs arrive in their final sites to start living there.

I went to one family's home in the last couple of weeks and asked them if they would be interested in hosting a PCV in their home. They said they would. When I then took out the information sheet so I could write down their basic information, they said to do that another time. Later I realized that that was their way of saying that they really weren't interested. Moroccans are often indirect. Rather than directly saying that they cannot do something, they'll respond indirectly to a request, such as by postponing the time for doing something.

Yesterday I went to the home of another family. They already hosted a PCV in a previous year. Also, I had previously asked them multiple times, and each time they had said that they would host another PCV, so I was a bit more confident that they would indeed host another PCV. After gathering their basic information, of course when I got up to go, they told me to stay for tea. So I sat back down. With the tea, they also served bread with olive oil. The olive oil was delicious! After the snack, I was enjoying simply sitting in the sun, looking at the blue sky, and noting the other brilliant color, the electric blue on their window frames. It was so serene and calming, to just sit there for a little while, and take it all in. I love simple pleasures!

How I Recently Felt Great About My Language Skills

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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.'"

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.

On The Way Back

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Double Rainbow

So, to pick up where I left off in my last blog entry and to say a little more about the weekend on which I posted my last blog entry: I was away from my town for some training in another village which is a couple of hours away from my town. There were a dozen other PCVs at the training.

On one of the afternoons of the training, one PCV said that the moudir (director) of her Dar Chebab (youth center) had invited us over to his and his wife's house for kaskroute, or afternoon snack. Moroccans are quite hospitable, and certainly magnanimous with their hospitality. So, we went over to their home for kaskroute.

In addition to tea and coffee, some of the offerings included home-made doughnuts. Since some of you might be curious what the doughnuts, or shfinj, were like, if you think of the texture of the kind of doughnut in the USA which has a hole in the middle and which is powdered, they were of that texture, but without the powder. There were also some baked goods which seemed to be a little like brownies.

In addition to enjoying our hosts' hospitality, and the food, I also was enjoying how my fellow PCV's moudir was playing his guitar for us. Among other things, he played some Bob Marley for us, which was fun to hear.

When we emerged from their home, we were delighted to see a double rainbow. I only remember having seen one once before, in or near Yellowstone National Park, so I was happy to see that double rainbow earlier this month.

Upon arriving back in my town, I barely had enough time to shower, change my clothes and eat a very late lunch before I went to my Dar Chebab to tutor someone in English in one of my regularly scheduled sessions. He's actually a teacher of Arabic. Since he asked me to tutor him in English, I have been tutoring him twice a week. I find it very satisfying, as he is very attentive, and takes a lot of notes, and asks me questions, and comes up with new sentences to test his understanding of English.

It could be that I didn't feel down upon arriving back in my site because I immediately got to work. And, more than just getting straight to work, I immediately set out to helping someone. I have often found that when I feel down, I often feel better after helping someone else.

However, I can say, now that a couple more weeks have passed, that I also am just feeling more comfortable. I feel that I am coping better with being away from family and friends in the USA. And I feel more comfortable not being in the USA, being in a foreign country, in a foreign culture, being in Morocco, and living in my town. I'm here. I live here. This is where I'm living my life. And I'm enjoying helping people here. I'm happy doing this work.

I'm appreciating actually seeing and hearing Moroccans express themselves about what is important to them, instead of just reading about it. I was teaching an English class earlier this month about family trees. When I was teaching the students the words "aunt," "uncle," and "cousin," one of them incredulously asked me in Arabic, "What?! If I want to tell someone about my Emmi, Emmti, xali, or xalti, what am I going to say?"

(In Morocco, in Darija, speakers say "Emmi" for "my father's brother," and "xali" for "my mother's brother," whereas in English we say "uncle" for both of these people. In Morocco, in Darija, speakers say "Emmti" for "my father's sister," and "xalti" for "my mother's sister," whereas in English we use the word "aunt" for both of these people. In Morocco, there are multiple phrases for cousin, namely "wld Emmi," for "son of my father's brother," and "bnt xalti," for "daughter of my mother's sister." Through this greater vocabulary regarding family, you see that Moroccans place a high value on family. Islam plays a prominent role in leading Moroccans to value family; for example, Islam provides that children should take care of their elderly parents.)

I told the students that if one of them wants to tell a person that someone is his or her "wld xali," for example, he or she could say that that person is the son of his or her mother's brother. And then I added that in English, we typically just use the word cousin.

So while I was teaching English to the kids, we were actually teaching each other about our respective cultures. This little story, I believe, reflects how PCVs not only have different roles to play, among them both teacher and student (that is, that as PCVs we not only have things to teach, but also to learn), but also how we often end up quickly shifting between these roles. To phrase it differently, while the "first goal" of the Peace Corps is to "help the people of developing nations meet their need for trained men and women," in the process of doing exactly such work, simultaneously PCVs also often inextricably work on the second and third goals of the Peace Corps. That is, while PCVs are helping to train host country nationals, PCVs often at the very same time help them better understand US citizens and also gain a better understanding of those same host country nationals.

Not wanting to stay too theoretical, however, I sometimes deliberately try not to be too wrapped up in my own thoughts, so that I focus on my interactions with others, and open to what may come along. Yesterday on my way here to the cyber where I check and send e-mail around the corner from my apartment, a couple of the kids who play soccer on my dirt road where I live, called to me after I had passed them. I spontaneously played a little soccer with them, which was fun. I was a little amused by how one of the kids reacted with approval when I blocked the ball he had vigorously kicked to me.

To continue on, and to close on, a lighter note, yesterday I was amused for various reasons about how, during a tutoring session, I was teaching my student the difference in pronunciation between "dessert" and "desert." Of course, I was amused partly because we live in the Sahara Desert here. But also, I found it appropriate that I was educating on this point, because there is no paucity of sweets here in Morocco! And lastly, I was enjoying teaching on this point, because I myself love dessert, as those who know me well can testify.