The Sun Is Setting On My Peace Corps Service

I'm getting so close to the end of my Peace Corps service that when I do a lot of things now, it's the last time that I'm going to do them here in Morocco.  Today I went to the city that's near my town, making the last round-trip journey during my Peace Corps service to that city.

Very early this morning, here in Morocco, we shifted our clocks one hour back, so that we're once again on "old time," as folks here sometimes put it, or in the time zone of GMT (Greenwich Mean Time).  However, not everyone alters their schedule to conform to the time change.  So, just to be safe, I showed up at the bus station as if the time change hadn't occurred.  Sure enough, the bus was there at the bus station as if the time change hadn't happened.  I was glad that I got up an hour early to catch the bus!

When I got to the city, I made my way to a cafe I've frequented there in that city.  I was enjoying the glorious day, the brilliant blue sky and the temperate weather as I savored a "nuss-nuss," (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "half-half"), which, in the context of going to a cafe, is a cup filled half with coffee and half with milk.  Moroccan coffee tends to be pretty strong, so usually I order a nuss-nuss, rather than follow my practice in the US of ordering a cup filled mostly with coffee and a little milk.  Even so, a nuss-nuss often still gives me a minor case of the jitters!

As I was sitting outside, basking in the sunshine and enjoying my hot beverage, I saw a girl, perhaps in her late teens, ride a bicycle around the roundabout, her head covered in a hijab, that is, a headscarf.  Upon seeing her exercise her freedom of movement, I was reminded of the words of a young friend of mine, another Moroccan teenage girl.  While traveling outside Morocco, she had recently met Muslim girls from other nations and realized that she and other Moroccan girls enjoy freedoms which Muslim girls in certain other countries don't have.  I was glad to hear my friend's thoughts, her realizations about her life and the world.  I was happy that her realm of experience had been widened such that she had altered her perceptions of herself, her life, other girls, and the world around her.  Observing the Moroccan girl on the bicycle this morning, I once again began to wonder how I'm going to process my cultural observations from Morocco once I'm back in the US and have the changed perspective of being back in the states.

After my visit to the cafe, there in the city I attended Bible study with some of my Christian expat friends who live here in Morocco.  I've been so thankful to God for the fellowship and spiritual community I've shared with them, getting to worship God and celebrate His blessings with them.  I certainly didn't expect to live in a location here in Morocco where I would be able to commune regularly with other Christians, so I've been very grateful for their presence, care, warmth and support of me in my Christian faith.  After Bible study, we had a lovely outdoor barbeque, with grilled chicken and sausages, potato casserole, cake and cookies, among other delicious food.  I felt better after getting to say goodbye to my Christian brothers and sisters there, as well as to some fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) who were there in the city today.  I feel like I get more of a proper sense of closure, putting me more at ease, when, in person and with sufficient time, I get to properly say goodbye to people. And, in this particular context of completing my Peace Corps service, when I get to say proper goodbyes, I feel like I'm appropriately preparing to leave this country where I have lived for two years.

On the bus ride back here to the town where I live here in the Sahara, I consciously looked at this town as we approached it, realizing that surely it was the last time I would view it from that location and angle during my Peace Corps service, and, quite probably, for the last time at all.  Returning here to town so late in the day, admiring the sun setting on the mountains near this town, I considered an analogy of the scope of the sun today to my Peace Corps service.  As the sun set today, so the sun is setting on my Peace Corps service.

Being Content Despite The Circumstances

Not only can you have valuable and insightful self-realizations in humbling and austere circumstances, but, I would contend, you're actually more likely to have such realizations under such conditions. I feel like I had such helpful musings today during a stop on my return trip south from Marrakech, after I went there for the weekend.

Soon before I left Marrakech, I was sweating since it has been hot there. Hence I was happy that I was taking a CTM bus back south to the Sahara. CTM buses are newer, cleaner, brighter, and safer than most other buses here in Morocco. Given that CTM buses are nicer than most other buses here, the air conditioning was on in full force on the bus. I had both of the vents above me completely open, and with the cold air blasting down on me, it felt downright chilly despite the heat outside the bus.

I spent much of the trip south from Marrakech admiring the landscape. While we were riding through the High Atlas mountains, I pointed out a waterfall to a couple of friendly, pleasant French tourists sitting across the aisle from me. Soon after that, we went over the Tichka Pass, at an elevation of 2260 meters, or 7414 feet, above sea level.

When the bus stopped for a lunch break in the small town of Agouim, about one hour north of Ouarzazate, I got off the bus and looked across the street, at the line of shops there. I walked across the street to find some shade. In small Moroccan towns, most shops, including hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery stores"), close at lunchtime, starting between 12:00 p.m. and 1:00 p.m., and re-open in the latter half of the afternoon. Given that it was nearly 2:00 p.m., I had no trouble finding a closed shop, where I sat on some unused steps.

I pulled out the round bread and the can of tuna in tomato sauce which I'd bought this morning in Marrakech. When I know that I'm going to be traveling during lunchtime, I try to bring a sandwich, or at least what I need to make a sandwich. A lot of the time when buses make these pit stops, they stop in towns where folks sell street food, that is, food that's cooked on the sidewalk. When I eat street food here, I get sick; thus, usually I don't eat it. Consequently, I was glad that I had brought along this food; I was happy to be packing the tuna into the bread and eating it.

After a little while, I became conscious that I was happy to be sitting there eating my lunch amidst discarded tires and scattered garbage. I wondered what had happened to me. Earlier in my Peace Corps service, I had been disgusted and irritated to be constantly surrounded by trash. I wondered if people would think me radically different when I arrive back in the states.

Then I considered how, before I'd started making and eating my sandwich, I'd disinfected my hands with hand sanitizer. I still have some of the same outwardly visible habits I'd had before I came here to Morocco. I figured that people back home wouldn't think I'd become a completely different person. I came to a similar conclusion again after I'd finished eating, when I cleaned my hands with a sanitizing hand wipe.

It's not that I haven't changed in significant ways. I have changed in a variety of ways. Yet I've also retained certain habits. As I noted above, I've changed how I approach the phenomenon of garbage on the ground here. It's not that I no longer care about it; I certainly do still care about it. I just don't let it irritate me. I do what I can about it. I've done environmental lessons about properly disposing of trash and respecting the environment, and I've otherwise tried to instruct youths about properly getting rid of garbage. Knowing that I've been doing something about it, I'm less prone to get angry about it.

Yet it's not just about doing something about it. Yes, if you care, you're going to do something about it. But I'm not less bothered by trash on the ground simply because I've been trying to address it. I'm also increasingly more at peace with my surroundings, because I've been endeavoring to value what's most important in life. Thus I try to focus on what nourishes me, and especially what is most essential, namely treasuring how God feeds my spirit, and I try to ignore what ultimately are more trivial matters.

I've always strived to live as simply as possible. I've always tried to value most highly those gifts of each day which have been most supportive and nourishing of my mind, body and spirit.

Thus, I realized, as I was sitting on that concrete stoop, eating my lunch amidst scraps of garbage, that I was content merely because I had food to eat. I found irrelevant the circumstances in which I was eating it. I try to focus on what's important. I thank God for my daily bread.

Some Tasty Treats

During my recent travels, I was happy to get to enjoy some b'ghrir, as well as milwi, which is also known as missimen. B'ghrir and milwi are a couple of tasty treats often enjoyed at breakfast here in Morocco. B'ghrir is like a small, round pancake with a light, spongy texture which contains a lot of little holes in it. Milwi, or missimen, is also flat, but is flakier and heavier than b'ghrir. Milwi is cooked in roughly square shapes with rounded edges. Moroccans sometimes eat b'ghrir and milwi plain, with no toppings of any kind. But sometimes they eat b'ghrir and milwi with honey or jam, which is how I prefer to eat milwi and b'ghrir, unless I'm eating the savory kind of milwi, which I prefer to eat plain. When I've eaten the savory kind of milwi, it has seemed to have tiny pieces of vegetables woven into it.

While I often see folks cooking b'ghrir and milwi at shops on the street, that is, at shops with grills actually on the sidewalk, I tend to avoid street food. Invariably I develop some sort of digestive difficulties if and when I eat street food. Given that I thus often pass up opportunities to eat b'ghrir and milwi, I was happy to get to eat some b'ghrir and milwi in the last couple of weeks. When I was in Rabat for my COS (Completion Of Service, or Close Of Service) Conference, the hotel served b'ghrir and milwi for breakfast on certain mornings. More recently, when I was in Marrakech, I happily enjoyed some savory milwi at a rather nice bakery there.

When I was in Rabat, I also picked up some amlou, which is essentially Moroccan organic peanut butter. While I've found amlou here in the town where I live down here in the Sahara, I haven't bought any here in town. While I want to support smaller, more local vendors whenever I can, here in town I only found amlou which is bottled in used plastic water bottles. I'd wondered how many people had drank out of the bottle before the amlou had been added to the bottle. I'd also imagined that a lot of plastic might have leeched out of the bottle. I do think it's great that Moroccans reuse plastic bottles, but I also suspect that they might use them too long, considering health concerns. Anyway, when I was in Rabat, I bought some amlou in jars in a supermarket. I've been enjoying it on what are essentially peanut butter and jam sandwiches. On some bread I spread some amlou, then add some Aicha brand jam, which is my favorite jam here in Morocco, I believe since it contains pectin, which I think helps the jam hold together well and have a firm consistency.

As I rapidly approach my COS date, which, at this point, is less than one month away, I'm continuing to enjoy some tasty treats here. I've been thankful to God that I've been able to enjoy some tasty treats while I've been living here in Morocco!

A Marvelous Day

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

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

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

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

Keeping Cool In The Sahara

Here in Morocco, people tend to keep their front doors and street-level front windows shuttered most of the time for privacy. Since the Sahara summer heat set in, I can't help but get the impression that a few people have started opening their front doors and front windows, presumably to give a little relief from the heat.

During the summer I always keep my windows open when I'm in town. Since it's always darker in my front room than it is outside, people can never see into my apartment, even at night. There's a floodlight directly over the front door of my apartment, so even at night people can't see into my apartment, since it's still brighter outside than it is inside my apartment.

I'll deal with the dust which blows into the apartment, because it really is much more comfortable in the apartment when the windows are open. Moroccans often throw water onto the dirt in front of their homes, to prevent it from blowing into their homes. That's one way to try to prevent the dust and dirt from coming inside.

In addition to keeping the windows open, I've also been keeping cool by taking slightly cool showers. I'm certainly grateful that I have a shower in my apartment! Given how feebly the water trickles out of it, I don't feel bad about taking as many showers as I take, since I'm not using a lot of water when I shower! And at the meager rate of 2.37 dirhams per cubic meter (about 19 cents per cubic meter), after taxes and fees, my water bill runs around 50 dirhams, or around 6 dollars, for each three-month period. Usually I've split the water bill with whatever neighbor I've had in the apartment building. My most recent neighbor, who had been teaching French at the local primary school, got his transfer approved to a school out west on the coast, and he moved there, so I'm back to living in the building by myself. Even paying the water bill by myself, it's still easily a manageable expense! So I'm certainly thankful to God that I have running water and can take cool showers in this heat!

Spelling Bee Morocco 2012

Yesterday and today other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) and I volunteered at regional spelling bees down here in southern Morocco. Over the last few months, schools and dar chebabs (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth centers") held spelling bees. Later, citywide spelling bees were held in those same cities and towns.

The top spellers, who are high school students, from those previous competitions came here to the city of Ouarzazate for the regional spelling bees this weekend. They competed in a spelling bee yesterday in which teams of three students each competed against each other. A team of three girls won the team spelling bee yesterday. Today another spelling bee was held, in which individual students competed against each other. Today one girl won first place, another girl won second place, and a boy won third place.

I was glad to see girls winning most of the top places in the regional spelling bees this weekend after they made it here. Today when we were gathered for the solo bee, one of the Moroccan teachers thanked parents who let their daughters come to participate in the regional spelling bees here in Ouarzazate this weekend. Some of the girls' parents had been hesitant about giving permission for their daughters to attend the regional spelling bees here this weekend.

I can't help but suspect that many of those reticent parents didn't grasp the full scope of constructive impact that these spelling bees could potentially have. And yet in giving or withholding their permission for their daughters to attend, the parents held the key to the doorway of not only opportunity but also development for their daughters. To the extent that, in their reluctance, they refused to grant permission for their daughters to attend and participate in the spelling bees, they correspondingly hampered their daughters' development.

All of the students, but especially the girls who competed, stood to benefit in so many ways above and beyond becoming more proficient in English. In the team spelling bees, the students were practicing teamwork. In both of the bees, they were developing public speaking skills. In gradually becoming more comfortable while speaking in front of an audience, they were probably developing confidence. They may have raised their self-esteem by succeeding at spelling words in these contests. These youths, who are especially studious, and particularly the girls among them, might not have other opportunities through which they can derive these benefits.

Here in Morocco, athletic students, especially boys, seem to have many opportunities to exhibit, practice and develop their talents. As is often the case in many countries, and which also seems to be the case here in Morocco, studious kids, bookworms, seem to have fewer chances to compete in public events. And here in Morocco, I've seen fewer competitions--of any kind, athletic, academic or otherwise--in which girls compete.

I hope that we helped these studious youths--especially the girls, who can find it even harder to speak up--to become more bold and assertive in expressing themselves. I hope that they gained some skill in collaborating with each other as teammates this weekend. If they have been developing these qualities and skills through these activities, they will be improving their standing and their station in life so much more than by simply learning more English.

Get Used To The Wait

On my travels back down south this week, I stopped in the town where my friend, who's also a fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), lives and works. After he met me at the bus station, he took me to the shop where his friends, some Moroccan women who are local artisans, sell rugs. As we were sitting in their shop speaking with them, they invited us to their home for dinner.

After we were at their shop for not too long, we left to go to their home. When we arrived at their home, perhaps around 10:00 p.m., some helwa shebakiya, a sticky, sweet Moroccan dessert, was served. While we knew we would be eating pasta for dinner, there was no sign of when mealtime would be. As the night wore on, it became clear that we weren't going to be eating dinner anytime soon.

At one point, my fellow PCV's female artisan friends left the home. He explained that someone had called expressing interest in buying rugs from them, so they went to meet the potential purchasers. As we commented to each other that it was already late to eat, and that it was getting later for dinner, my fellow PCV joked that his female artisan friends went to Italy to buy pasta.

I was getting very tired since it was getting so late. I was glad when we finally ate, partly because the pasta sauce was delicious, also since I was happy to be eating vegetables in the sauce, and because my fellow PCV cooked the pasta so it wasn't so soft as it is when Moroccans cook pasta. But I was also thankful to be finally eating, since we ended up eating dinner at 1:00 a.m.!

Traveling As A PCV In Morocco

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is It Really Necessary?

This morning I met up with a fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), Jim, who happened to be passing through the town where I live down here in the Sahara. I mentioned to him that earlier that morning, I had been recalling how I'd recently been in the Moroccan city of Errachidia. I related how I showed up to catch an early morning bus there and was told that it had departed a half hour before it was scheduled to depart. I explained to him that because it had occurred to me early this morning that that might have happened to him this morning, I'd sent him a text message asking him to appraise me about how his trip was going. He arrived here when he'd planned. Similarly, on that recent morning in Errachidia, I got on a bus leaving a couple of hours later than the one I'd originally been planning on catching.

Considering both of these journeys, that of my friend this morning, and my recent trip out of Errachidia, and how neither of us were all that much delayed, since we both got to our destinations when we wanted to arrive, I pondered that sometimes we can make things into a bigger deal than they really are. We can think that things matter more than they really do.

I got confirmation of this realization in another way today. When I finished washing my bedsheets this morning, I began to wring the water out of the sheets, since the spin compartment of my washing machine recently stopped working.

First, I acknowledge that I am fortunate even to have a washing machine at all. I am conscious of, and often note, how most PCVs around the world don't have a washing machine at their disposal. I thank God for this and the many other blessings in my life.

To further explain, once I had squeezed the water out of my bedsheets, had hung them, and then retrieved the sheets from the clotheslines on my roof this afternoon, I noted that it didn't matter that the spin function no longer works in the washing machine. The sheets dried in just as much time as they would have dried had I still had the spin function to use. I had despaired when it stopped working, partly because of issues I have in gripping things. But it turns out, now that it's gone, that it doesn't really matter that I don't have it to use anymore. It leads once again to the question, which can apply to so many things in our lives, "Is it really necessary?"

Security Checkpoints

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Giving Thanks For Warmth And Comfort

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

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

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

If You Care, You're Going To Do Something About It

On my walk back to my apartment from the center of town yesterday, I saw a boy throw a rock at another boy. He was picking up another rock when I said to him in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, "Don't do that: you could hurt someone."

I've been trying to devote more time and energy to working on my own behavior, and to helping others improve their behavior. We do others no favors when we see others doing things which are unacceptable yet fail to call them out on their misbehavior. If I'm doing something wrong, I want someone to tell me. In telling me, someone is going to help me improve. I have a spiritual brother who regularly rebukes me and other Christians. I am extremely thankful for his attention, care, frankness, and confidence in chastising me and others. He pays attention to what people are doing. He also cares enough to bring our misdeeds to our attention. If you care, you're not only going to be paying attention; you're also going to do something about a problem. He's honest and forthright enough to tell us the truth about ourselves. And he believes strongly enough in the importance of addressing our behavior to be bold enough to speak with us about it.

I don't know if that boy with whom I spoke yesterday is going to stop throwing rocks because of what I said to him. I can't control him or make his choices for him. But I can, and do, make my own choices. And I choose to address such behavior.

After I told him not to throw rocks, he appeared to be considering what I had said to him. Perhaps, if nothing else, at least I got him to consider some potential consequences of his actions.

Giving Credit Where Credit Is Due

Yesterday I went to the store of a man here in town where I frequently buy food. When he saw me, he got up, asking me if I wanted to buy food. I told him that I didn't come there to buy food.

Instead I went to his shop to thank him for his son's good behavior in the English classes I teach at the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco. While teaching at the dar chebab, so often--indeed, far more often than not--I'm faced with a classroom of mostly unruly children. Thus, I especially appreciate when students behave well rather than encourage classroom misbehavior. Not only are they making my job easier, but also, and far more importantly, they're helping to foster a productive learning environment, by not distracting others through disruptive behavior.

I said to him, "Sir, thank you. In the classroom, your son is serious. He is quiet. When he has something to say, he raises his hand. He respects other people."

I believe that it was out of modesty that the shopkeeper denied that his son behaves particularly well. He claimed that at home, his son doesn't act the way I had described. However, I find it hard to believe that someone's behavior would be so different at home than at school.

Instead, I think it not only far more likely that his son is generally respectful and well-behaved, but also that he behaves so well because his father, this shopkeeper, has been raising him well. And that's why I went to his shop, to thank him, to let him know that I have noticed his son's outstanding behavior and that I appreciate it.

Shame On You

Here in Morocco, when someone does something which breaks a social norm, others might exclaim, "Hshuma!" When they do so, they're telling the person in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, "Shame on you!" The person who is chiding the other person might also pull down one of his or her eyelids with his or her index finger, which also is intended to convey the idea of "hshuma."

However, the concept of "hshuma" does not derive its force and effect on the behavior of others due to guilt on the part of the person who has been criticized. Rather, the accusation of "hshuma" focuses on the person in a way which makes the person publicly uncomfortable, in effect, shamed in front of others. Consequently, it often becomes important in Morocco to save face.

Nevertheless, I don't hear Moroccans saying "hshuma" that often. There does exist the social etiquette here that, if one feels that one should reprimand someone else, one does so in private, rather than in public. One is expected publicly to compliment and thank one's friends here. There's also the tendency here in Morocco that out in public one does not get involved in the affairs of others. I've seen kids fighting while adults are nearby watching. When I've gone to break up fights between kids, only then do other adults sometimes come to the children, at that point to assist in breaking up the fight. Thus perhaps one can trace how one doesn't hear "hshuma" uttered that much to these non-interventionist cultural norms, of not getting involved in others' business.

At any rate, I was heartened recently when I was heading off toward the palmerie, or massive grove of palm trees, which stretches into, through, and out of my town, for one of the walks I so enjoy there. On my way to the palmerie, a very young Moroccan boy, perhaps two years old, threw a rock at me. A woman behind him, perhaps his mother, declared, "Hshuma!" Especially considering how I often see Moroccan children throwing rocks at each other, I was grateful that this woman, particularly if she was the young boy's mother, was chastising him for his hostile behavior. Hopefully by correcting him while he is still so young, she will help him to treat others better in the future as he grows older and becomes more able to appreciate the moral character of his own actions.

A Sure Remedy For The Blues

At various moments in my life, I've found that when I'm feeling down in some way, whether it's discouraged, sad, or some other emotion that's bringing me down, I take a turn for the better emotionally if I choose to help someone else. It makes sense for multiple reasons, and from various perspectives.

In psychological research, it has been found that if you choose to distract yourself, rather than ruminate on your problems, you'll feel better. It's also been shown in such research that if you choose to engage in a more active task, rather than a task where you're more passive, or stationary, you're also likely to feel better.

But I'd add that you feel better because you're choosing to do something, rather than simply letting something be done to you. You're making an affirmative, assertive, proactive choice to take control of your own situation, rather than let it control you.

Not only are we affected by whether or not we choose to do something, we're also affected by what in particular we choose to do. If we choose to do something helpful and selfless, that makes us feel differently than if we react vindictively or selfishly.

We feel differently when we make such divergent choices because we're also affected by the effect we have on others. Often we have the blessing of getting to see how others react to us, which then helps guide our actions in the future. If we hurt someone in front of us, we're likely to see their pain, which is likely to make us regret what we did. We empathize with others. When our friends are happy, we celebrate with them.

When we help others, often the people we've helped thank us. Then we know we've contributed to others having a better day. We know that the other person has appreciated what we've done for them, and that reinforcement also guides our actions in the future.

And after we've helped someone, we have the benefit of thinking about how we've chosen to spend our time. When you reflect on something that you've done which is both productive and beneficial, that is, something that not only accomplishes something, but also supports and nurtures someone else, you feel better about how you've spent your time.

So my recent experience here in town makes plenty of sense. Recently on one night when I was in the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center") where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in Morocco, my mood was in the tank. It was looking as if, due to other work, that I wasn't going to get to travel to help some people who needed my help. I was despairing over this obstacle when a student asked me to help him in reviewing an English lesson which was especially challenging for him. It wasn't long after I'd started helping him that my mood started improving, and significantly, at that. And it makes so much sense. Rather than ruminating over how I thought I wasn't going to get to help certain people, I set about to start helping someone who I could help, someone who was right in front of me.

And that reminds me of other wise words of guidance I often try to follow: focus on what you do have. Do what you can do. Help the person who is right in front of you.

Being Thankful For What I've Got

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

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

Making Someone Smile

I love when I make someone smile. I've brightened someone's day. And that makes me feel better, too!

So, yesterday, when I was at the bakery at which I buy bread everyday, I told the baker that his bread is delicious. He smiled.

Later, I thought about how I've been buying his bread for so long, and yet how infrequently I tell him how much I enjoy it. When I get home from the bakery, I eat a little bit of the bread before I eat most of the rest of it as part of my sandwich. Everyday I rip out some of the warm inner part of the bread and eat it when I'm in my kitchen preparing a sandwich for lunch. A few days ago, I marveled at how I get to enjoy something so delicious despite being in the Peace Corps and living in a relatively remote town in the Sahara. I was, and am, grateful for his delicious product, so I'm glad I thanked him for it. And I'm glad I made him smile.

Reflecting On An Anniversary That Never Was

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing Some Of My Fondest Hopes Realized

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Invitation To Become a Work of Art

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

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

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

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

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

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