Reflecting On Nearly Two Years Of Peace Corps Service

I just finished my Peace Corps service earlier this afternoon, as today is my COS (Completion Of Service, or Close Of Service) date.  About nine other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) and I spent yesterday afternoon and this morning and this afternoon completing various administrative tasks.  In the last day or two, we've signed a lot of forms.  We also visited various offices at Peace Corps Headquarters here in Rabat, getting signatures of various Peace Corps staff members documenting that we've complied with various reporting requirements.  We had them verify that we've complied with assorted administrative requirements, including returning Peace Corps property, such as our medical kits and smoke detectors, and any books we took out from the Peace Corps library here at Peace Corps Headquarters in Rabat.

It feels good to have just finished my Peace Corps service.  Though I'm not sure how much I've helped here, at least I tried to help.  As a PCV, you'll never know the full effects you've had.

Although I won't know much about how I've helped here, there will be some interactions from my time here in Morocco and from the application process, and from the decision process to apply to the Peace Corps that I think I'll never forget.  Among them are:

* Sitting in church in August 2009 and listening to the pastor say that when we set out to help others and are worried about being lonely, that Jesus reassures us that He will be there with us.  That was the moment when I decided that I was definitely applying to the Peace Corps.

* Standing on the Sundial Bridge in Redding, California, in November 2009 and being approached by three middle-aged men who told me that they were on a treasure hunt.  They told me that they were looking for people who needed their prayers.  Immediately I responded that I needed their prayers, since I was applying to the Peace Corps to teach English in a foreign country, and was studying for the CLEP (College Level Examination Program) test to show my proficiency level in French to the Peace Corps.  We stood on the bridge, with our arms on each others' shoulders, praying, asking God to help me. 

* Driving north on Interstate 280 from San Jose to San Francisco on one particular afternoon in June 2010, knowing that the big blue envelope with the invitation from the Peace Corps was waiting for me at home in San Francisco.  As I drove home that day, I remember thinking that I was on my way to find out where I would be living for the next two years of my life.

* Driving north on 19th Avenue in San Francisco on that same day in June 2010, and, as I was only a few minutes from home, listening to the classical radio station play "Palladio" by Karl Jenkins.  I felt, and still feel, that its urgent, charged tempo and rhythm was apropos, as I only had a few more minutes to wait to find out to where I would be moving and serving in the Peace Corps. 

* Driving east on Interstate 580 right after I left the San Francisco Bay Area in July 2010 and sobbing as I left behind so many loved ones and the life I had lived there for years.  As I was sobbing, gasping for air, I was listening to the band Coldplay perform the song "What If."  As I listened to its message of being bold and taking the leap to live bravely, I reaffirmed my commitment to enter the Peace Corps. 

* Freaking out in early September 2010 as the time imminently approached for me to move out of the United States, in the only culture I had ever known. 

* Walking through the airport in Philadelphia where the other PCVs and I were meeting for our Staging date, when we had our orientation in the US preparing us to leave the US and fly here to Morocco.  As I neared the exit of the airport, I saw a poster advertising the Peace Corps which said, "Never have to start sentences with 'I should have...'"

* Speaking with my host brother, in whose home I lived during the first two months I lived here in Morocco.  In particular, I especially recall one conversation I had with him in which he was persistently apologizing for the attacks made in the US on September 11, 2001.  Despite my protests that he didn't have a responsibility to apologize for those attacks, he continued to apologize for them.

* Meeting a courageous young Moroccan Christian woman on the train between Marrakech and Fes in November 2010.  After she stated that it's illegal to be Christian in Morocco, she nevertheless shared her story of how she converted to Christianity despite the initial opposition of her family, who at first ostracized her and shunned her for deciding to be a Christian. 

* Leaving the cyber one day in November or December 2010 in the town in the Sahara where I lived for the better part of two years.  As I walked out into the Sahara sun, I despaired at how I felt that no one in the town would be able to understand how I felt, with the homesickness and culture shock I was feeling. 

* Crumpling emotionally in late January 2011 as I felt like I didn't have the strength to continue as a PCV, yet simultaneously feeling as if I had no choice but to continue with my Peace Corps service.  Feeling trapped, I cried out.  Soon after feeling so emotional, I found renewed fortitude as I thought of Jesus' words in Matthew 25:42-43.  I recalled His words there, how He reminds us that when we help the disempowered and disadvantaged, we are respecting Him.  Reminding myself of this teaching, I realized that I wouldn't be going anywhere, and that I would be finishing my Peace Corps service as scheduled, so as to help the people who I came here to Morocco to help. 

* Talking with a particular student at Spring Camp in 2011.  I was so glad to be discussing with him how God wants us to help each other.  I so enjoyed discussing the meaning of life with him, and even more knowing that he had been trying to live his life in a way to infuse it with meaning. 

* Meeting other expat Christians here in Morocco and attending Bible study sessions with them.  As I experienced spiritual community and fellowship with them, which I cherished very much, we supported each other as we tended to each others' spiritual growth.  Along with much of the spiritual reading I've done while here in Morocco, I felt like I benefited enormously from their support.

* Helping youths here in Morocco develop their critical thinking skills.  In the process, I feel that they articulated their ideals, what is most important to them, and how they want to live their lives.  In such creative writing exercises, they seemed to be describing the kind of people they admire and the type of people they aspire to be.  I hope that I helped them to be more conscious in how they choose to live their lives.

* Enjoying the magnanimous hospitality of Moroccans so many times.  I've been reminded that it is so important to be generous towards others and to take care of others.

Rather than bringing back a lot of new material possessions from Morocco, I'll be returning to the US with the insight gained from having lived in a markedly different culture.  I've learned, from different cultural norms, how I can benefit from approaching life in different ways.  I feel that I've learned how to be a better person.  I feel that during my Peace Corps service, God has taught, guided and directed me.  I'm so glad that I made the major changes in my life which were necessary to come here, since I feel that I am a much better person as a result of having so drastically changed my life. 

Be Like The Children

Last week as I was walking back to the apartment where I've been living here in the Sahara, I passed a few different groups of children. I was struck by how carefree they were, apparently not caring about their surroundings.

First I crossed paths with three little ones, perhaps three, four and five years old, who were snaking their way down the sidewalk, as they trotted along. The one all the way in back had his hands on the hips of the middle one, who had his hands on the hips of the front one. They were pretending to be some sort of motorized vehicle, making beeping sounds as they navigated their way around people and items being sold on the dusty sidewalk.

Later I saw a little boy, maybe five or six years old, who was rolling a bicycle tire down a dirt road. One often sees kids here in town setting a tire rolling and then running after it, keeping it rolling by pushing it along with a stick.  They find amusement and opportunities for play in what they happen to find around them.

During this walk back to the apartment, I was greeted by other little children. As is so often the case when I am greeted by little children here in Morocco, they cheerfully greeted me in French by declaring, "Bonjour!"

Soon after I had seen all these little children, playing and otherwise seeming to be so happy, despite the poverty in which they are residing, unbothered to be living so simply, without many material comforts, I thought of a particular teaching of Jesus. In considering how joyous these children seem to be in such circumstances, I pondered that such an approach to life perhaps is at least part of what Jesus meant, at Matthew 18:4, when he counseled, "Whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven."

Losing Fluency In English Redux

My COS (Completion Of Service, or Close Of Service) date is two weeks from today.  Consequently, I've been working on transitioning out of my service.  I've been preparing to leave the town where I've been living here in the Sahara for the better part of two years.  I've been looking ahead to the adjustments I'll be making once I finish my Peace Corps service.

Of course I'll be adjusting to life after Morocco as a result of how I've been living here in Morocco.  While I've lived here in Morocco, I've gotten used to operating in certain ways.  For one thing, I've been speaking English less than I did in the states.  It is true that many people here in Morocco know enough English that a good deal of the time, people speak with me in English, and, consequently, I speak with them in English.  Nevertheless, much of the time I'm speaking Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, or French.  Thus I've been speaking less English than I did in the states.

As a result of speaking English less often, PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) sometimes stumble when they try to speak English.  Yesterday I had exactly such trouble, as I was on my way back from this cyber, when I crossed paths with one of the students who often comes to the dar shebab (Darija for "youth center"), where I've done most of my volunteering as a PCV here in Morocco.

He asked me, "You was in the cyber?"

I corrected him, "You were in the cyber."

He posed his question rephrased, "You were in the cyber?"

I replied, "I was in the cyber," but then I immediately doubted whether I had correctly conjugated the verb "to be"!  Hopefully I'm not going to have trouble speaking English once I'm back in the US!

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.

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.

Enter

Today I returned to the Catholic church here in the city on the coast where I've been working with other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) for the last ten days or so. When I'd been there this past weekend, I'd learned that there was going to be Mass celebrated there today in honor of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. So I made sure to get up early enough this morning to walk to the church for Mass. Once I had nearly arrived at the church, as I was walking down the block on which the church was located, I heard the choir practicing their song, which came at least partially from the Congo. In retrospect, I considered that it was as if their song was like an invitation into the church, to enter and worship.

After Mass, the congregants gathered in the church building for refreshments, including coffee, soda, croissants and cookies. I joined in for their fellowship and conversation with them. I spoke with some Kenyan, French and Italian folks who were very friendly. I was also happy that I found out the national origin of some of the other parishioners. Some of them came from the Ivory Coast, Guinea-Bissau, Togo, Benin, and Cameroon. I was glad that I got to speak with at least some of them at least a little bit, partly because I'd enjoyed their singing so much, and because I felt that in a way, they invited me in, encouraged me as fellow Christians in my faith in God, and welcomed me into the church.

Accepting Transformation

When the Peace Corps recruiter interviewed me nearly three years ago, he asked me many discerning questions about whether I'd be able to cope with life in a country served by the Peace Corps. Amongst his questions, he asked me how I'd feel about not being able to attend religious services of my faith. I replied that I'd prefer not to be in such a situation, but that I would do it if invited to a post in the Peace Corps where I wouldn't be able to attend services. It's important to me to attend church services as a Christian.

As it turned out, I was invited to serve here in Morocco, where relatively few people are Christian. While some PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) live in sites with churches, I live in a town here in Morocco where there's no church. However, I live about an hour from a church, so I've attended Mass there. More often in that city, I've attended Bible study sessions with other expats there.

When I travel, I attend Mass in the various cities I visit. For the past ten days or so, I've been working with other PCVs in a city on the coast here in Morocco. On Sunday morning, a few other PCVs and I attended Mass at the Catholic church here in this city. As usual, the service was in French. I understood a bit more of the service, including the sermon, than I usually do, perhaps because the priest was speaking more slowly. My fellow volunteers and I also appreciated the large mural behind the altar, which seemed to include a representation of Adam and Eve and the serpent, and various parts of creation, including the globe and many animals, especially fishes of the sea. We also got treated to some of the glorious sub-Saharan African song which is often heard in churches here in Morocco. It truly felt like a blessing to attend Mass there, as it always is to attend Mass here in Morocco.

I've pondered that while being unable to attend Mass while serving in the Peace Corps seemed daunting when I was applying to the Peace Corps, there was an opportunity for spiritual growth even in simply being willing to serve without being able to attend Mass. When one accepts the challenge, one transforms oneself. And sometimes perhaps God just wants to see us exhibit that willingness. Maybe once we've shown that we're willing to make the sacrifice, as Abraham showed, then perhaps God has seen enough and doesn't always demand the extreme sacrifice which we had initially anticipated. And if we are called to make that full sacrifice, the sacrifice that we're called to make doesn't end up being that intimidating, because we've transformed our outlook. It's no longer burdensome, but liberating. It's no longer a tiresome chore, nor a heavy task, but a wonderful expression of love, and joyous service. As we realize that we are one with our experience, which defines us, our choices fill out our personality, and complete our Identity.

Bonjour!

I could have already written this blog entry on any of numerous days in the past year and a half, since in it I'm going to describe something which happens very often here. Typically here in Morocco, when Moroccans see a foreigner, they assume that the non-Moroccan either is French and/or knows French. Countless times I have been greeted in French by both Moroccan adults and children. Kids tend to address non-Moroccans in French slightly more than adults do so. I can't tell you how many times youngsters have exclaimed, "Bonjour!" to me. Even though I'm disappointed when youths greet me in French, still it makes sense why they do so, partly because they learn French in school.

For those of you who are more familiar with the process when I was applying to the Peace Corps, you might be puzzled. You might be wondering, after I spent so much time studying French during the year I was applying to the Peace Corps, why it irks me when I'm addressed in French.

It bothers me because often when Moroccans address foreigners in French, they assume that the non-Moroccans don't know Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, or one of the Berber languages of Morocco. Moroccans often assume that foreigners don't know Arabic or Berber because they're likely to be tourists. Morocco in general gets a lot of tourists. The town in which I live gets a lot of tourists. Wherever I am in Morocco, people often think I'm a tourist.

After having put in effort to learn Darija, it's frustrating when people assume I'm a tourist and don't know Darija. However, I realize that it's a reasonable assumption which Moroccans make. It's just that after a while, I grow weary of people figuring that I'm here on vacation, and then treating me that way. I just want to function regularly in my everyday life, and have people's behavior acknowledge that.

In processing these thoughts, it has occurred to me that in the US, we have so many people who have immigrated from so many different countries to the US during their lifetimes. We're used to people moving to the US. In tracing their ancestry, the vast majority of US citizens find that fairly recently, their ancestors migrated to the US.

While some foreigners live here in Morocco, there seem to not be that many. And while many people in the US have never been abroad, many US citizens have been abroad. The ones who have been abroad are thus likely to be able to empathize with people who are living in a land which is foreign to them. However, the vast majority of Moroccans have never been, and never will be, abroad. While I remind myself of this fact from time to time, I have to continue to do so. After all, how can I really expect them to understand, when they haven't lived abroad?

He Doesn't Know Me Very Well

Earlier this week, I went to the gendarmerie, or the headquarters of the gendarmes, where I live down here in the Sahara in Morocco. Since I live in a town, we don't have any police here in town like there are in Moroccan cities. Instead we only have gendarmes in this town.

Anyway, I went to the gendarmes to check on the status of my application to renew my carte de sejour (French, literally for "the card of one's stay"). Once a foreigner is in Morocco for more than three months, he or she is illegally staying in Morocco. To stay longer than that, one has to get a carte de sejour. After my first few months in Morocco, I obtained a carte de sejour. However, the carte de sejour is only valid for one year. Thus, at the beginning of this year, I applied to renew my carte de sejour. I gave the gendarmes passport-sized photos of myself, copies of the identification page of my passport, copies of my authorization to work here through the Peace Corps, and copies of my rental agreement for the apartment in which I live here in town. After I gave these photos and all of this documentation to them, they gave me a receipt indicating that I had applied to renew my carte de sejour. However, I figured that it wouldn't hurt to go back and check with them to make sure that they had everything they needed to process my application. It turned out that they indeed had everything that they needed, so I left the gendarmerie happy upon confirming that my application was indeed complete.

Later in the day, I headed over to the dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer). Usually when I arrive at the dar chebab, I visit with the moudir (director) in his office for a little while, to catch up on recent events which have occurred at the dar chebab, as well as to discuss upcoming activities there. When I arrived at the dar chebab on this particular day, the moudir was speaking with a computer science teacher in the office. A little while later, a boy, perhaps ten years old, came into the office.

During the usual banter of conversation, if a Moroccan thinks you're a little crazy, he or she is likely to say so. It's not only a common assertion, but also a relatively sure way of making Moroccans laugh, whether you call someone else crazy, or whether you claim to be crazy yourself. At one point, I told the computer science teacher that I'm crazy. He turned and asked the boy if he thought that I was crazy. The boy, certainly appearing to be a bit meek, said that he didn't think I was crazy. The computer science teacher turned back to me and said, "You see? He doesn't think you're crazy." I rejoindered in Darija, "Ah, but he doesn't know me," insinuating that if the boy did know me, he wouldn't say that, thus implying that I'm crazy. Unsurprisingly, the computer science teacher and the director laughed at my comment. It's a well-worn, but nevertheless reliable, source of laughter here in Morocco.

Moroccan Independence Day

Today, November 18, is Moroccan Independence Day. Before it gained its independence, Morocco had a long history of invasion, occupation and colonization, including by the Phoenicians, Romans, Greeks, Spanish and French. Arabs came to Morocco in the 7th century and stayed with the indigenous Berber population.

Under the Treaty of Fes in 1912, Morocco became a protectorate of France. Under that treaty, Spain took control of areas in northern Morocco. Also under the treaty, in theory Morocco retained its sovereignty, but in reality the French and the Spanish were exploiting it pursuant to the terms of the treaty. In 1956, after rising violence in Morocco accompanying discontent over colonial rule, Morocco gained its independence from France and Spain.

Because of the holiday, the post office and city hall are closed. Students also have the day off from school today.

Gone Food Shoppin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Electricity and Running Water

I count electricity and running water among the blessings I have in my apartment. Knowing that not all PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) around the world have electricity and running water, I feel grateful.

When the water or electricity goes out, it's usually only been for a day or two at a time, at least thus far during my time here in my town. And that's only happened a few times since I've been living here. So I essentially always have electricity and running water, virtually without interruption.

Most of Morocco has potable water. Indeed, one of the places I go to pay my water bill is the ONEP office, or the "Office National d'Eau Potable," which is French for the "National Office of Drinkable Water." I also sometimes pay my water bill at the same place where I pay my electricity bill, at Espaces Services, a company which processes payments of utility bills.

Either my neighbor, Ahmed, or I pay our water and electricity bills. I have only one neighbor in my apartment building; Ahmed is a French teacher here in town. He also lives on the first floor, right across the hall from me. Ahmed and I split both the water bill and the electricity bill, so we each pay half of each bill.

Last week, I went to pay the electricity bill at the Espaces Services office. By now, I've started to get a little bit better at positioning myself when I go to buy something at a store or pay a bill at an office. When I went to the Espaces Services office the other day, there was another guy standing in the office, and the woman working behind the counter had a few bills in her hand which it appeared she was processing. I walked right up to the window, rather than standing behind him, to avoid the risk that someone else would walk in past me up to the window. When another man walked into the office, I stuck my bill in through the window, so that he wouldn't stick his bill in through the window, so I wouldn't have to wait until he had paid his bill.

It has taken me a little while to get used to this practice of not forming lines in stores and offices here in Morocco. Not what I would do in the USA, but, obviously, I'm not in the USA!

Getting News Reports as a PCV

When I'm in a Moroccan's home, the TV is usually on. When I go over to my site mate Stan's host family's home, the TV is always on. Sometimes we'll be watching a telecast of a musical performance in Arabic, or perhaps the Moroccan news, which is broadcast in either Arabic or in French.

Sometimes, though, when all of the members of the family happen to be out of the room, Stan will put on the BBC World News channel. Thus in the last week or so, we've gotten to watch news in English, which we've enjoyed. Recently on the BBC news channel, we watched coverage of Hurricane Irene making landfall in the USA.

I read news stories in English on the Internet when I'm in the cyber. As far as newspapers go, even when I'm traveling, most of the newspapers available are in Arabic, and the rest are in French. While I have gotten some news from French language newspapers, I've rarely done so, since I only do so when traveling to and through large cities.

When the Dar Chebab (youth center), where I do most of my volunteering, is open, the moudir (director) often watches news broadcasts on his computer, which include video footage, which I sometimes watch with him. However, those broadcasts, being on Al Jazeera, don't convey much information to me, since they are in Arabic, so I understand virtually nothing of what is being said in them.

Until Stan and I recently watched the BBC news, I hadn't thought of how I rarely watch video news coverage in English in the cyber. It's interesting how sometimes I don't realize that a particular thing has been missing from my life until I re-encounter it. It makes me start to think about what we habitually do in our lives, which it turns out we don't miss once it's gone, and which therefore perhaps we don't actually need...

Joyous Song of Expats Living in Morocco

I was happy to attend Mass today here in Rabat. It was almost all in French. A moment after I stepped into the church, I was glad I was there, just being in a silent church.

I arrived very early, perhaps an hour before Mass was scheduled to begin. A little after I had arrived, people started gathering in the front pews and started singing. I really enjoyed listening to them sing.

During the service, they sang a couple of songs in a language I didn't understand when I heard it and also when I tried to read it on the bulletin for today's Mass. After Mass had ended, I approached one of the young black women who had been animatedly and happily singing in this other language. I asked her in which language these songs were written and sung. She told me that they were in one of the languages of South Africa. It turns out that there is a South African expatriate community in Rabat.

So, I enjoyed visiting a church today, and enjoyed attending Mass today. I also enjoyed listening to joyous, buoyant South African song today, for which I was most grateful.

Capital Improvements and Construction of Churches

I live on a short unpaved street; thus, it's a dirt road. When I walk out of the front door of my two-unit apartment building and turn left and walk a few hundred feet, I reach the second most prominent street in my town; it has many shops, including hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery stores") on it.

Last month, when I left my town to go to IST (In-Service Training), the town was preparing to pave that road. When I got back from IST, they had finished paving the road.

Although I've seen the workers using a steamroller when they are finishing a paving job here in town, the road isn't completely smooth once they're done paving. There are some loose bits of gravel on the road, which eventually make their way to the edges of the road. Even then, the rest of the road isn't completely smooth, because the bits of gravel which are molded to the road aren't completely flattened into the road. The more prominent road in my town, the main road, is paved a little more smoothly, since it's part of the road system which you see on a map of Morocco.

Earlier in the year, the town had ripped up certain roads and was making improvements to the sewer system. Once they had made the improvements to the sewer system, they then paved those roads.

In sharing these developments in my town, I'm led to point out some things about countries in which the Peace Corps places PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). Since some of you at times have sounded surprised about the level of development and infrastructure in Morocco, keep in mind that the Peace Corps sends PCVs to developing countries which are at different stages of development. Consequently, some countries in which PCVs work are more developed than some of you might expect.

Also, remember Morocco's history, which has in large part been influenced by its geographical location. Being at the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea, Morocco has long occupied a strategic spot. As a result, many peoples over time have tried to occupy and colonize Morocco. The Phoenicians, Greeks and Romans invaded Morocco. The Phoenicians established the port cities of Tangier and Essaouira, as well as Tetouan. Roman ruins remain at Volubilis in northern Morocco. Arabs also migrated to Morocco, bringing Islam with them in the 7th century. And of course, much later, the French colonized Morocco, resulting in the Treaty of Fes in 1912, which made Morocco a French protectorate until Morocco gained independence in 1956. Over time, 100,000 French nationals settled in Morocco. In the 20th century, the French built their "villes nouvelles," or new districts, in many Moroccan cities, in which the French lived. The French also made significant changes to the infrastructure of Morocco, installing electricity, paving roads, laying railways, and establishing Casablanca as a major port. So when thinking about the level of development in Morocco, remember the historical context in which this development is occurring.

Also, when noting that there are churches in Morocco, remember the historical context in which these churches arose, and who built them. European colonists set up churches in Morocco for their own use. These churches remain in many cities in Morocco, among them Tangier, Tetouan, Fes, Rabat, Casablanca, Agadir, Essaouira, Marrakech, and Ouarzazate. However, they are overwhelmingly attended by tourists and other non-Moroccans living in Morocco.

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.

Spring Camp 2011

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just enjoying the simple things in life...

Since my last post... there was New Year's Eve. Moroccans tend to think of the new year as starting at the beginning of the Islamic New Year, which does not align with the new year on the Gregorian calendar, as I mentioned in my last post. Nevertheless, on December 31, at the bakery in my town, I found, and bought, a cake which said "Happy New Year" in Arabic, French, and Tashelheit, a Berber language spoken in my town. So, one of my Moroccan friends and I ate some cake, along with a couple of pizzas from a cafe in my town, as we watched some musical performances in Arabic being broadcast from Casablanca. Ten seconds before the stroke of midnight, they started a countdown on the show we were watching. That was the extent of the fanfare of the celebrations on NYE.

Also since my last post, I moved into my own apartment. I have had the good fortune of not being the first PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) in my site, in my town, several PCVs having preceded me in my town. Therefore, I have also been fortunate enough to move into the apartment which my immediate predecessor PCV vacated earlier in the month when I arrived in my site, in November 2010. So I am benefiting from all of the amenities which my predecessor PCVs in my town accumulated over the years, including furniture, appliances and accessories like blankets and sheets. So I have been extremely and frequently thankful for such blessings.

I also was thrilled last week when I met a great family I hadn't yet met. They sought me out because they've been friends with PCVs in town over the years. And they knew where to find me since PCVs have taken over the same apartment from each other for years. I am so happy that I met them because of their hospitality, because they're so friendly and welcoming. As I sat in their home enjoying soda and snacks with them, I was struck by how, even though I had never seen them before, I felt so comfortable that it seemed that I already knew them.

Earlier this month, I was also pleased when I went on my first serious hike since arriving here in Morocco. While I had been sitting at the cafe which I frequent most often in my town, I had looked straight across at the mountains, and had decided to hike to the top of the highest one on the particular ridge I admired from the cafe. When I felt that I had finally recovered from the cold I had had for weeks, I headed out on the hike. I think that the hike probably entailed at least 1,000' of elevation gain, and starting from the trailhead, it was at least a couple miles of hiking to get to the top of the mountain. Before that, I probably walked about a mile from my apartment to the trailhead.

And I've also been happy to be continuing to be tutoring and teaching English classes at the Dar Chebab, which doesn't always happen exactly as planned. Yesterday, there was a reception at the Dar Chebab, after which a group of some students and adults asked me to teach them some English, so I started spontaneously teaching them English.

And I've also just been enjoying random occurrences... like when I was playing chess with a young lad at the Dar Chebab, and then a girl walked in, and before she left, she gave him her phone number, then left. Not too long after she left, I won the game of chess. Usually he wins when we play. I couldn't help but thinking that he lost because of how distracted he was by just having gotten her phone number!

I also recently enjoyed teaching the same two Moroccans how citizens of the USA ride bumper cars, slamming into each other. There's a traveling mini-amusement park which has been in town for a while. Once in my town, I saw a group of Moroccans riding a bunch of bumper cars in a line, looping around in a line, and I couldn't resist the urge to demonstrate the US way of enjoying bumper cars, with a couple of my teenage Moroccan friends.

And then this morning, I was on my way to visit a fellow PCV in his town, and the grand taxi in which I was riding had to stop for a herd of goats crossing the road. Just enjoying the simple things in life...

Final Site Announcement and Visit!

I've been meaning to blog a bit more in the last week. I've had a busy week!

On Friday, October 29, I found out that my final site in the Peace Corps is in the Sahara Desert! As long as I can remember wanting to be in the Peace Corps, I've wanted to be posted in the Sahara Desert, so I am excited!

Much of the ride south from Marrakech was beautiful. In fact, I thought that the further south we went, the more beautiful it became. And then once we arrived, in the region where I'll be, I saw that there's much to do outdoors. Mountains to hike, palmeries to explore, in which to walk and bike. So there will be great things to do in my spare time, when I won't be working.

The people are friendly. In the site where I'll be, the language predominantly spoken is Tashelheit, a Berber language. However, plenty of people speak Darija. And Darija is the language spoken at the Dar Chebab, or youth center, where I'll be working. And I used French a lot during my visit to my final site. And some people were speaking to me in English!

There has been a PCV at my final site for the last couple of years. So, I will benefit from his experience as a PCV over the last couple of years, and the guidance he gave me during my site visit. He'll be done with his Peace Corps service, having reached his COS (Close Of Service) date, when I return to the site, which is a bummer, because he is a cool cat, and rather hilarious, and I was enjoying hanging out with him and the other PCVs who my fellow PCTs will be succeeding in their sites in the region. But that's part of the nature of our job. New PCVs take the place of PCVs who are ending their service. But I am glad that there will be other PCVs in the region near me. There will be a half dozen other PCVs within a couple of hours of me by taxi. I'm thankful for their camaraderie and support and friendship.

Who's The Crazy One Here?

A couple of days ago, I explained to a petit taxi driver in Fes that "Daffy Duck" was the name of the stuffed animal hanging from his rear view mirror.  Actually, at first, it seemed that the chap didn't even realize that I was pointing to the looney tune.  He was looking in the other direction, out his driver's side window.  I had to redirect him to the rear view mirror.  Then, at first, I asked him in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, "Shnoo smeetoo?" meaning "What's his name?"  He looked quite confused.  Then I said, "En francais, il s'appelle 'le canard fou.'  En anglais, il s'appelle 'Daffy Duck.'"  

Then it occurred to me that this fellow probably had never seen our fearless cartoon character in action.  Then it also occurred to me that Moroccan taxi drivers probably don't name stuffed animals hanging in their taxis.  So, then I thought, "This guy is probably thinking, 'That duck isn't crazy; you are!'"

Then I quickly explained, "Ce canard est dans les bandes dessinees aux Etats-Unis!"  Once I had explained that Daffy is in cartoons, the cab driver said, "Ah, oui!  Les bandes dessinees!"