Spring Camp 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thunder and Lightning

It rained in my town over the winter. And in the spring. Never a lot. If you go by the definition of a desert as receiving less than 10 inches of rain per year, then I live in a desert, which, as you probably already know, is the Sahara.

I talked with this one guy in Marrakech months ago and when I told him in which town I live, and that it's in the Sahara, he replied that my town is not in the Sahara. And then he mentioned the name of a town where the landscape turns to nothing but sand and human construction ends, and he told me that that's the desert. However, according to the definition of a desert which is delineated by the amount of rainfall, I live in the Sahara.

But I digress. As I had been saying, it rained in the winter and spring. I had been figuring that now that the summer has arrived, we wouldn't have any more rain until the end of the year, if not the beginning of next year. I was teaching an English class with one of my better students recently, when I then saw that it was raining. Since I hadn't been expecting rain, I was definitely surprised. I used the occasion to introduce him to the phrase "I couldn't believe my eyes."

Something else I didn't expect in connection with the rain here: thunder and lightning. While I grew up experiencing thunder and lightning, there wasn't any in California, where I lived right before I moved here to Morocco, so I had been missing it when I lived in California. And, since I had been missing it, I enjoy it now when I get to experience it.

In addition to being unexpected, the rain now is a welcome relief from the heat. While I haven't been finding the heat oppressive, the rain is nevertheless refreshing, since it cools things down. Indeed, these days, when it starts raining, I'm often glad if I happen to be outside because then some of the drops fall on me and help me to cool off a little bit.

At the same time, though, the heat hasn't been bothering me very much, I think partially because I was expecting it to be hotter by now. I mentioned to a friend who's another PCV in Morocco, who's in his second year of service, that I'm surprised when I suddenly realize that my back is drenched in sweat. He replied, "So the heat is affecting your body more than your psyche." I thought that that was a good way of putting it, which also adeptly described how the heat affects me where I live.

But to look at another facet of the heat in my life now, though, I must admit that I sometimes now decide not to go outside because it's hot out. So while I haven't been finding the heat unbearable, I also wouldn't say that it has been having no effect on me.

Of course, I certainly have been drinking more water lately. With the guidance we have received from Peace Corps medical staff, I know that I've been drinking enough water. I just find it remarkable when I drink gulps and gulps of water one after another. And that despite how much water I drink, I urinate only a little. However, I know that both of these phenomena are due to how much I'm sweating out of me. Knowing that I am sweating as much as I am, I consequently and consciously drink a lot of water. Even though the heat hasn't been as bad as I expected it to be, I still am respecting the desert and the attendant heat, and taking care of myself accordingly.

A foreshadowing of emotional ups and downs to come...

Since my last blog entry, I’ve felt like I’ve had emotional ups and downs connected with going into the Peace Corps. I've thought that, in a way, it has foreshadowed how I’m going to be on an emotional roller coaster during my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

To give a full recap since my last blog entry, I had my last day at my now previous job on July 7. When I left my job, I stopped working with a lot of wonderful people. I also stopped doing work which I felt it was time for me to leave behind. But my last day at work was also another reminder of how much time it takes to wrap things up. That day, I was at work late sifting through things, figuring out what to keep, what to discard, what to leave behind. So, if you're a future Peace Corps Volunteer reading this blog entry, I suggest that you start sorting through your belongings long before you need to do so.

After my last day at work, it took me a while to move out of my apartment. Even though I had started sorting through my papers and property months earlier, I still wasn't ready to move out the day after my last day at work, which had been my original plan. And, even with all of the extensive and generous help of my friend Darcie, helping me pack and clean and move, I still wasn't ready to leave San Francisco until several days after July 8. So, again, if you're planning on going into the Peace Corps, I recommend starting to sift through your things far in advance.

On July 13, I left San Francisco. In the early morning, before morning rush hour, I drove my car over the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, packed to the hilt with many of my possessions. Then, heading east on Interstate 580, I drove over the crest of the Altamont Pass, which I consider one of the outer edges of the San Francisco Bay Area. Near the area of the pass, I lost the transmissions of Bay Area radio stations. So, at that point, I put on some music of my own, choosing to listen to the band Coldplay. Once I reached the bottom of the far side of the pass, I entered the Central Valley of California, having left the San Francisco Bay Area behind. At that point, I was listening to Chris Martin sing the song entitled “What If,” about making life choices which lead certain people to not be next to you. And then I lost it. I started sobbing. More than that. As I was sobbing, I was literally gasping for air. I had left so much behind in the San Francisco Bay Area: people who love me, including friends from college, friends I made on political campaigns, friends I made through other friends, friends where I had just stopped working, friends I made at church; so much else which had become familiar, and thus comforting, to me, including neighborhoods, parks, and all the many other amazing offerings and opportunities which San Francisco, the Bay Area, and California have to offer. And, I didn’t know when I would be back, if ever, since who knows what the future holds.

And then Chris Martin started singing about choices you make in your life, and whether they’re mistakes. And then he sang the encouragement to take the leap. To be bold, and courageous, and jump into what lies there waiting for you. And that helped me transform my deep sorrow, over having left so much behind, into renewed commitment to make the change of entering the Peace Corps.

As I drove across the country toward the east coast, I got used to the idea that I would no longer be living in California. During my cross-country road trip, I also got more used to the idea that I will be going away.

Toward the end of my three-and-a-half week long road trip, I coincidentally drove through towns and areas where I spent a lot of time when I was growing up. When I was a high school student, I was a member of an improvisational theatre troupe, in which I had helped write and act in short plays addressing social issues affecting teens, including drug abuse, HIV and teen pregnancy. Years later, when I was on my cross-country road trip last month, as I was driving through certain towns, I remembered how I had performed in those plays in those particular towns with my high school peers. Driving through those towns, I thought of how I had told the Peace Corps of that theatre experience, since it could be relevant to my job as a Youth Developer in the Peace Corps. Then I thought that I started gaining experience relevant to my upcoming position in the Peace Corps back when I was in high school. And that made me think that I have made a wise decision to go into the Peace Corps, because long ago I started gaining experience relevant to serving in the Peace Corps.

And then, not too long after that, it became a little more real and unavoidable. As I finished my road trip and since I've started spending time with family members, it has hit me, in a more urgent and thus undeniable way, that I'm going to move outside the country. Don't get me wrong; I'm not reconsidering my decision. I know for certain that I'm going into the Peace Corps. I'm just starting to realize in a more immediate, and inescapable, way, that my life is going to change in some major ways. Ways which I had previously realized, but now it's just hitting me more, and it’s being brought to my attention more.

And then, with a little more time, I have begun to feel that, yes, I’ll be leaving everyone I know, but that I’m OK with that. On the flip side of being deprived of the company of, and frequent communication with, so many people I now know and love, I’ll be welcoming so many new people and experiences into my life, and my life will be forever transformed. In ways that it would not be shaped if I had not made the very recent and major changes that I’ve made.

So, it was with great gratitude for the love of many wonderful people I now know, as well as with confidence that I’m making the right decision, and that all will be well, that I recently celebrated with my extended family. Less than a week ago, my dad threw a fantastic celebratory going away dinner for me, mostly with our extended family, and also with some friends. It was wonderful to see so many loving and caring people, who are all so supportive of me entering the Peace Corps. In a way, I think that the “bon voyage” send-off message I received this past weekend will be mirrored by the “bienvenue” greeting I will receive when I arrive in Morocco. Both characterized by genuine love, support and encouragement. Which is why, in the end, I’m not all that worried about going into the Peace Corps: because there’s love where I’m leaving, as well as where I’m going.

This is turning out to be harder than I expected it to be...

So, I've been sifting through my belongings and papers for months now, in anticipation of the day when I receive my invitation from the Peace Corps. I've been trying to get prepared, so that when the invitation comes, I'll be ready to go.

In the last couple of weeks, though, I've cut down into depths I haven't touched in over a decade. Both physically and emotionally. I've looked at papers I haven't read in a dozen years. And that has elicited feelings in me I hadn't anticipated. There are reasons why I hadn't looked at these papers in so long: because I've been out enjoying my life; out doing things I've wanted to do for years; out having fun; out enjoying the present; out there looking forward instead of backward.

I've been sifting through these old things, only because I'm forcing myself to do it, to minimize what my parents and sister will store for me until I return, whenever that is. So by making myself sort through these things, I'm placing my choice, to uproot myself, squarely in front of myself. This decision is becoming more real, and less avoidable; thus the effects of it are becoming real, and less avoidable. I'm getting ready to move out of the country for some amount of years. And now that that choice is starting to become concrete, I'm feeling anticipation of the withdrawal that I'm going to feel. A profound sadness. I've told some of you that it's not just because I'm going to be away from my family and friends for so long. Also not just that I'm leaving the San Francisco Bay Area, California, and the west coast, of which I am so fond.

I've realized that I'm going to be ripping myself, in a rather jarring way, out of the only culture I've really ever known. The culture which has shaped me since before I was even aware of my own consciousness. So I've realized that I'm going to be leaving behind almost everything which is familiar to me. It's not so much frightening as it is making me realize that I'm going to be leaving behind so many people, places, institutions and things which I find comforting. I had certainly thought before now about how much I would miss people I love. But I hadn't really thought that I would significantly miss the cultural comforts to which I'm accustomed. Foolish of me not to have expected it, but the truth nevertheless.

As I type this blog post, I'm realizing that the end results will be so worth the discomfort, withdrawal, and pain I'm going to feel. I'm going to learn about, and teach, and help, people I've wanted to meet and know and befriend for many years now. I'll be adding cultural richness and exchange to my life. And perhaps, in time, I will come to be comforted, welcomed and warmed by some of the new customs, traditions and practices which I am going to learn through another culture. Maybe come the day, years from now, when I board my transport to leave my village in which I will have served in the Peace Corps for years, I will feel a separation anxiety which will rip at my heart just as painfully as what I feel now. And if that is how I feel upon completing my Peace Corps service, then one of the goals of the Peace Corps, to improve U.S. citizens' understanding of other cultures, will surely have been met.