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.

Watching The European Cup Soccer Games As A PCV

In the last week or so, I've used up the last of my vacation time. As I've been traveling around Morocco, I've been enjoying watching the European Cup soccer games.

When I was visiting one of my friends, a fellow PCV who lives near Marrakech, we watched the game between Portugal and Germany. So I got to watch one of the games with another citizen of the US. Not only did I get to ask him in English, a more avid soccer fan than me, questions about the rules of the game, we also got the benefit of commentary on the game in English. My friend gets ESPN, so the commentators were broadcasting in English.

The next day, after I visited the town of Imlil, I headed back into Marrakech. After asking at nearly a half dozen other cafes in the big square, Jmaa El Fna, I found a cafe there in the square which was showing that afternoon's game on a couple of TVs. Since I was experiencing digestive difficulties, which I attributed to the scrambled egg sandwich I had eaten in Imlil, I figured it would help to settle my stomach if I drank some Coke. The waiter took a while to come over and take my beverage order. I told him I wanted a Coke, and, as I've gotten in the habit of doing, asked him how much it would be. He said it would be 15 dirhams, so I asked him how much a coffee would be; a coffee also would've been 15 dirhams. Either a Coke or a coffee usually would cost half that amount. By the time he asked me, the game had started, so I didn't want to go and try to find another cafe where I could watch the game. Especially in the larger cities, I've been finding that the cafes showing the games have been the nicer cafes which charge more for their drinks. I figured I would've had to pay more than average even if I was able to find another cafe showing the game. So I just stayed and watched the game there.

In that game, between Spain and Italy, I felt so much more tense than I'd been when I had been watching the game between Portugal and Germany. On the one hand, I had been figuring it would be an intense game given that Spain and Italy were playing each other. But I think that I may have felt more tension while watching the game because the other three dozen people, both men and women, in the cafe were also very interested in the outcome of the game. The rest of the people in the cafe audibly groaned at plays they didn't like, and cheered when they were seeing plays they liked. When Italy scored the first goal of the game, I thought that there were probably equivalent numbers of fans for both Spain and Italy there in that cafe. Then Spain scored a goal. I don't know if more people cheered, but it certainly was louder. And fans of Spain started chanting! And at some point I heard one person say to someone else, "Look, most of the people here want Spain to win."

Just as I had had a different experience watching the first game with my friend, a fellow PCV, in his home, from watching the second game in a cafe in Marrakech, I had a different experience watching the third game I watched, between France and England. I was watching it in a cafe in Agadir, which is a major city, but only with a half dozen other guys. Hardly anyone was making any sound in response to the game! I was watching it in a fairly upscale cafe, since it was the first one I'd found which was going to be showing the game.

Later in my trip, I watched the game between the Czech Republic and Poland, but in Sidi Ifni, a smaller, more affordable cafe in a town, not in a city. I finally ordered a drink I'd been wanting to try, cold milk with mint syrup mixed in it, which I enjoyed. Interestingly, it seemed that overwhelmingly, the guys in the cafe were cheering for the Czech Republic. So presumably they were happy when the Czech Republic won the game 1-0.

I've been enjoying watching the European Cup games. One of the many fun things to do in my free time here!

Your Money's No Good Here

Yesterday as I was walking to the dar shebab (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, I ran into one of the boys here in town who's especially warm and hospitable. I've eaten lunch with him and his family at their house. He said that his family has been asking where I've been. I explained to him that I'd been traveling for a few weeks, since I'd been working at Spring Camp in northeastern Morocco. He said that I should come over to their house again soon.

Moroccans seem to enjoy having me over for lunch. So we started talking about me coming over for lunch. So I said to him in Darija, "Waxa, l-gda?" meaning, "OK, lunch?" However, given that my pronunciation in Darija is not the best, it occurred to me that perhaps he thought that I just meant sometime the next day. The word for lunch, "gda," is very similar to the word for tomorrow, which is "gdda." You use the same letters when you say each word, but when you say "gdda," you're merely stressing the letter "d" more than when you say "gda." Wanting to be clear, I figured I would just see if lunch the next day would work, so I said, "L-gda, gdda?" He agreed that lunch the next day would work.

After we parted ways, I soon arrived at the dar shebab. There's been less activity at the dar shebab since I returned from Spring Camp last week. Moroccan schools follow the same academic year as schools in the US, starting in September and finishing in June. Thus kids are starting to spend a lot of time studying for their exams at the end of the year, and with good reason. They have to do well enough on them to be qualified to continue on to universities. If they don't pass these baccalaureate examinations, they won't be allowed to enroll at universities. I must say that I wholeheartedly agree with their decisions to spend less time at the dar shebab, and more time studying for these exams, since these tests greatly affect the course of the rest of their lives!

Given how relatively few youths were at the dar shebab, it was fairly good timing for the renovations being done at the dar shebab yesterday, including on some of the flooring. Once the floors had been fixed, the dar chebab moudir (Darija for "director") was getting ready to close the dar chebab for the day, since he wanted the floor tiles to set and not be disturbed by people walking on them until the next day. As he was about to close the dar shebab, he asked me if I wanted to join him for a beverage at one of the cafes in the center of town. That seemed like a nice idea, so we walked for a couple of minutes to the cafe. On the way, he said in English that it was seven o'clock. Since his English is not the best, and since he therefore doesn't always say the correct words, I thought that he might have been giving the wrong time. I thought it was six o'clock. I looked over at his wrist and his watch indeed showed that it was seven o'clock. I suddenly realized that he had in fact given me the correct time. I told him that I'd forgotten that we were supposed to set our clocks an hour ahead. He reminded me that because we've jumped forward an hour, here in Morocco we're now one hour ahead of GMT (Greenwich Mean Time). So, we're now on what Moroccans often call "New Time." When someone has forgotten to switch his or her clock ahead, or is simply operating on the old timeframe, often we say that that person is operating on "Old Time."

Soon after we discussed the time, he told me that he wanted to go to a shop on the far side of the square in the center of town. He told me to go to the cafe and wait for him there, so I got to the cafe first and got us a table. When he arrived at the cafe, he gave me a chocolate-covered wafer which was the size of a candy bar. He'd also bought one for himself. When the waiter came to see what we wanted to drink, the moudir ordered a "nus-nus," which is a glass half full of coffee, and half full of milk. Since it was so late in the day, and I was concerned about caffeine keeping me up, I ordered a glass of hot milk. The moudir and I sat for a while, enjoying our beverages, speaking about past PCVs who had lived here in town, and a little about the PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) here in Morocco who soon are going to become PCVs. When the time came to leave the cafe, I reached for my pocket to get some coins, fully expecting the moudir to gesture to me not to get my change, which is exactly what he did. I didn't press the point. I knew that when a Moroccan invites you out to a cafe, he intends to pay. Indeed, it would be bad etiquette to try to insist on paying for the drinks in such a situation. While I felt somewhat uncomfortable about him paying not only for the candy, but also the beverages, given how little money he probably has, I also appreciated that one has to respect the local customs where one finds oneself.

Later, pondering our time at the cafe, and how he paid for the food and drink, and how I felt a bit uncomfortable about it, I considered that we should let others give to us, even when they don't have a lot. I don't want to stifle people being generous. The real issue is not whether I am getting something, and, if so, what I am getting. Truly it is important if someone feels in their heart the need and desire to be generous. It's also important how we respond when they try to give to us. We want them to feel that they should be giving. We want them to feel that they are living at their best when they are being magnanimous.

It also occurred to me that I can not only reciprocate his kindness by continuing to bring food to the dar shebab to share with him as I've done, but that I can also simultaneously share a little of the culture in the US by sharing some food from the US with him. It pleases me when, after an interaction has made me uncomfortable in some way, through it I find a way to try to help people. I love helping others to give, and giving to others, thus hopefully bringing them joy.

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.

Time Speeds Up

Months ago, I noted to my friend and then fellow Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) Ben, that it seemed like time was passing more quickly than when I had first arrived in Morocco. He responded, "Yeah... time speeds up."

Yesterday I was reminded of this phenomenon. I was sitting at a cafe here in town with some friends who are also expats, but who aren't PCVs. One of them asked me if there are any other PCVs living here in this town. I told him that there aren't any other PCVs here. I explained that there used to be another PCV living here during my service, but that he decided to put an early end to his service. Then I added that about 120 new PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) will arrive here in Morocco in March. I said I figured that there's a good chance that another PCV from that stage, or group, will be assigned to start living here in late May or early June.

Then I noted to him that at this time last year, I was finding life here so much more challenging, and thus time seemed to be passing so much more slowly then. I thought of the blog post I had written in late January last year, and of how distraught I was then. I remembered how, at times, I would cope by asking myself if I could make it until the end of the day: of course the answer was always "yes." And then I said to my friend, "And now, I think about when the new PCTs are going to arrive in March, and I think, 'Wow, that's just right around the corner!'"

Second Visit Back to the USA, First Visitor From the USA

For the last nine days of December, I was back in the USA to celebrate Christmas with my family. It felt great; in fact, it was a relief to be there, in many ways, for various reasons.

For one thing, I've found being a Christian in Morocco to be more challenging than I would've expected it to be. During my conversations with Moroccans, sometimes they ask me if I'm Muslim. I reply that I'm Christian, and often they reply that I should be Muslim, or with some equivalent sentiment. In this context, I often feel like they're not interested in learning why I'm Christian. Indeed, I had one such conversation on my way to this cyber today, which underscores the very feeling I am trying to express in this paragraph. Being around people who don't share my faith, and who aren't interested in learning about it, consequently I feel like I'm not part of a faith community in the town in which I live. Consequently, when I'm in the town, I don't feel supported in my faith by the other people in the town.

It was in this context that I was quite emotional at Christmas Mass on Christmas morning. I was beyond relieved to be around other Christians. People, I'm sure, often say and do things, and think that in doing those things, that they have no effect on others. And I suspect that some of the people singing in that church on Christmas morning didn't think that their song could have been as supportive as it was. But just listening to others singing Christmas hymns on Christmas morning, I felt so supported and nourished, as a result of knowing that I was surrounded by people who share my faith in Jesus Christ. I was reminded, in an immediate sense, that I am part of a Christian community, even though while living in my current residence in Morocco, I am geographically removed from it.

I also was as emotional as I was on this visit because of other restrictions in my life here in Morocco. Life here in Morocco is challenging for women. How, you might ask, does that affect me, since I am a man?

For one thing, insofar as Moroccan women are expected not to interact with men in the same ways that American women interact with men, I have altered how I interact with women here in Morocco, from how I interact with women in the USA. I interact with women differently here in Morocco than I did in the states, but that doesn't mean that I'm used to the restrictions--or that I endorse them. In the states, many women supported me emotionally in ways which women cannot do so here. In the states, I would meet up with female friends for coffee or meals. Here in the conservative town in which I live, Moroccan women are rarely seen in cafes. In fact, unless they're going to someone else's house, going shopping, or to the hammam, they're generally not going out, but instead staying home. In the states, I was used to female friends greeting me with hugs, and I was used to greeting them with hugs. Here in Morocco, men are expected to wait to see if a Moroccan woman extends her hand to shake hands, a gesture short of a hug. In this context, I certainly don't have the type of conversations with Moroccan women, with the attendant emotional trust, confiding and support, which I enjoyed in the states.

In another sense, I'm affected emotionally by how women here are treated. I don't enjoy hearing about women being harassed. Usually when I hear about a woman being harassed in Morocco, it's a female PCV who has been harassed. Female PCVs are called "gazelles" and other demeaning terms by men who catcall them. One female PCV was treated like a prostitute: a car would roll up next to her and she was asked to get into the car. Not only am I disturbed just hearing about what is said to these women; I'm also disturbed by how they're affected by being treated in these ways. At least one female PCV left Morocco because of such harassment; another confided to me that she is considering leaving Morocco, and ending her Peace Corps service early, partly because of such harassment. While I listen and try to lend support, I feel that there is little I can do to actually make the situation better. Accordingly, at times PCVs deal with frustration over such treatment.

Add in the homesickness. Yes, I still get homesick, homesickness which is brought on in large part by living in a culture which feels as foreign as it does, homesickness which is brought on also by not being able to communicate that well in one of the languages here in Morocco, and which is brought on also by being the only American living here in this town. I feel that no one else living here in my town can really understand my situation.

Consequently, I don't have the emotional support here in my town which I feel that I need. And in addition to the challenge of a lack of emotional support, it's also culturally inappropriate for me to show my grief or sadness around Moroccans when those emotions arise in me.

Thus during my visit back to the USA for Christmas, I was emotional at times. I was letting out a lot which had been pent up in me, even though when I am alone in my apartment here in Morocco, I cry whenever I feel that I have to cry.

I have thought about why this visit was so much more emotional for me than my visit back to the USA in July last year, when I returned to the USA for my friend Rob's wedding. I've thought that just before that visit, I'd had about a month where work was slowing down at the dar chebab, or youth center, where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. Thus, when I returned to the USA in July last year, I had had a dry spell of work which lasted only one month. However, when I returned to the USA five months later, in December, for Christmas, I'd had a long, slow patch workwise: except for Summer Camp, which lasted about ten days in the end of July and the beginning of August, I had very little work to do for a period of five months. For that reason, I think that this visit was more challenging. Just before this visit, insofar as I had been less busy, I had been facing the challenges in a more direct, and less distracted way, since I hadn't been working as much as earlier in the year.

I've also thought about how I have been living here in Morocco for 15 months. Despite how I have been living here that long, I still feel conscious of how foreign and different life here feels to me. I still feel so challenged by it for the reasons I've mentioned above. Perhaps it is as hard as it is because I know that it is still challenging, because I know that it hasn't gotten as smooth and easy as I would have liked it to be.

Given that I have been experiencing these challenges, I am all the more grateful to have gone back to the USA twice during my Peace Corps service. Some PCVs don't go back to the USA for a visit at all during their 27 months in the Peace Corps.

I think that because of all these challenges here in Morocco for me, my visit back to the USA at Christmas flew by. The time with my folks and my sister down south went quickly. Then my time up in New York with more family members also sped by.

Before long, I was back on planes flying back here to Morocco. I was glad to have a long layover in Zurich. I left the airport and walked around the city, taking in the wonderful sights of architecture there in the city, including some magnificently constructed churches. After four flights, I landed back here in Morocco.

I was very glad that when I landed, my friend Melanie from the USA was here in Morocco, where she had already been vacationing for several days. She drove us south in a rental car she was renting, and we visited Cascades d'Ouzoud, a spectacular series of falls northeast of Marrakech. She drove us down to the town in which I live, and she stayed here in town for one night, at a hotel I had helped her to find some weeks ago. Then she drove us up to Marrakech, and we parted ways the next morning, as she drove north to continue her vacation, and I headed back down south to the town in which I live.

In retrospect, I think that her visit brought into sharper relief many of the aspects of life here in Morocco which I find challenging. Hearing about how she was treated during her travels before I met up with her, I was reminded of ways in which I find life challenging here in Morocco. She told me of how, rather than speaking with her, Moroccan men would speak to her traveling companion, who was a man with whom she had been traveling before I met up with her when I landed back in Morocco. She also related how some Moroccans had been very aggressive with her in asking her for money: one woman in Marrakech, who had drawn henna on my friend's hand, pushed her body into my friend when my friend didn't want to give her more money for the henna. For one thing, I didn't enjoy hearing about how my friend had been treated. But also, listening to her, I was reminded of much of what I don't like about life in Morocco.

How have I been reacting to feeling these emotions? I've been taking my own advice, partly as I set out in a previous blog post, entitled "Tips for PCVs and PCTs," which I wrote in August 2011. In that blog entry, among other things, I wrote about how I deem it important to immediately acknowledge one's feelings. So, once my friend and I parted ways and I returned to town here, when I was feeling down, I thought about how I was feeling. I thought, "I am feeling homesick and sad." Next I thought, "It is completely normal for me to be experiencing these feelings." And after that, I thought, "Literally thousands of other PCVs around the world are either feeling this way right now, or they have felt this way at other points during their Peace Corps service." Once I had evaluated my situation in these ways, immediately I felt better.

And then I thought, "OK, this is great that I feel better; but what am I going to do about going forward? From where am I acquiring my strength as I move forward? How am I going to derive meaning in my daily life amidst these challenges?" And when I asked myself these questions, I was reminded that even though I may not see entirely why I am here, there are reasons why I am here which I cannot see. I thought of a Scripture passage which I especially like, 2 Corinthians 4:18, which advises, "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen..." There are so many ways in which we, as PCVs, just like everyone else in life, can have positive effects on others' lives. Yet we won't see all of those beneficial effects. Thus there is all the more reason to go forward in faith. We have our own ideas about how we can be helpful, and productive, and good; and then God has God's own ideas about what we can do, how we can help others. As Abraham Lincoln noted, "The Almighty has His own purposes." So I remind myself that events sometimes might not unfold in my life exactly as I had envisioned or hoped they would occur. I also remind myself that there are beneficial reasons, often unknown to me, why events happen the way that they do.

Language Learning Strategies

I've received guidance from other PCVs, Peace Corps staff and Peace Corps recruiters on how to effectively learn a host country language. I figured that those tips could help others, so it recently occurred to me to share them here on my blog, so here they are.

Notebook.
It can be helpful to have a notebook in which you write new words and phrases you learn. By writing them down, you're likely to be learning them better for a couple of reasons. First, you're practicing them, or imprinting them onto your brain, by writing them out. Second, you'll be less likely to forget them if you write them down, partly since you can go back and look at them later.

You're also more likely to get more out of the notebook if you carry it around with you. Then when you hear a new word or phrase, you can write it down and not run the risk of forgetting the new word that you learned (or how to spell it, since you can write down the spelling when someone tells it to you, rather than later--or not at all).

Some people also suggest copying similar and related words and phrases over into new lists so that similar words and phrases are grouped together. If you do so, you might better remember the new words and phrases for a couple of reasons. First, again, you're imprinting them onto your brain by writing them out. Second, you'll be reinforcing the meaning of the words by making associations between similar words.

Tutor.
By having a tutor, you can benefit for various reasons. First, by having a consistent tutor, you'll get help from the same person, which can be efficient. Second, you'll have someone whom you can not only ask questions about the language, but also on a consistent basis. Third, you can set up usual times to meet, so that you are regularly spending time learning more about the language. Fourth, you can ask a tutor more technical questions, such as about grammatical rules, the answers to which you might not be able to discern from just having conversations with others.

Often a tutor is only as effective as you help him or her to be. While a tutor can help you spot your strengths and areas in which to improve, the primary responsibility of benefiting from your experiences with your tutor rests with you. Let your tutor know in which areas you are struggling, and how you feel he or she can help you. If you rely on the tutor to develop material for your meetings, you might end up focusing on areas which don't best use your time.

Language Partners.
Of course, the more you practice speaking the language, the more likely it is that you'll get better at speaking the language. Even though this point is obvious, people often don't think of having people with whom they regularly meet to practice speaking the language. You can do so just on a social basis, hanging out with a shop owner, in a barber shop, with people at a cafe, or just at someone's home. Often PCVs fall into the trap of not being social and sequestering themselves in their homes, which, of course, causes them not to be social, and thus not to practice their language skills. Because they have lower language skills, often PCVs then further avoid social contact. It's important to force oneself to get out there and be in the community, for various reasons, including to develop one's language skills.

It Could Be Much Worse

When faced with a situation which I find difficult, sometimes because I have to wait longer than I had originally expected for something to happen, or because I can't get what I want right away, I often cope by telling myself that it could be much worse. It was in this vein that I found it very appropriate that I was reading some writings by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton as I was waiting over an hour for a grand taxi in a small town here in Morocco last week. In these particular writings, Merton describes how certain Christians coped with the crimes being committed by the Nazis during World War II, and how they coped with expectations that they participate in such atrocities. In particular, Merton writes about the Austrian Franz Jagerstatter, who was executed in 1943 for refusing to serve in the Nazi military forces. I believe that because I was reading about Jagerstatter, and about his refusal to serve in the Nazi forces, and about how he instead adhered to what he felt was a pure form of Christianity, even though the Nazis executed him for it, I gained a good deal of perspective, and was filled with a great deal of patience. I realized that what I perceived to be a problem, namely waiting for what seemed to be a long time for a taxi, if it actually was even a problem at all, was relatively minor, mundane and unimportant, compared with the challenging moral questions which many people have faced in other, much more stressful circumstances.

And soon enough, as if to validate my acceptance of the true nature of my situation, a bus stopped on the main road, dropping off some people, some of whom wanted to travel on the more minor road on which I had been waiting. Consequently, with these new arrivals, a taxi filled up and was ready to leave.

I was in a full taxi, riding to my destination, the town of my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) Ben. He is finishing his service as a PCV this week, so I wanted to visit him in his town before he leaves. We had a good time during my visit. A Peace Corps staff person was visiting his site that day, so as to be more familiar with the town if and when a new PCV starts living there. So we spent part of the day walking around his town, and at times in the process enjoyed great views of the palmerie, the massive grove of palm trees there. We had great meals. One was a tajine with Ben's host family. Another one was at a cafe, and included tomato and onion salad, omelettes, French fries, olives, bread, and olive oil.

When I left his town the next day, I thought about how I was sad that he was about to leave. But then I thought that because he's leaving, that also means that I'm that much further along in my service. Which means that I'm in the thick of being able to help people here in Morocco. And learn things here.

And as I type this, I also know that things could be much worse. Because I have been blessed by God with the freedom which accompanies so many opportunities to give, and in the process, to grow. And thus live the life of love which I aspire to live.

There's A First Time For Everything...

Earlier this week, I met Stan, the other PCV who lives here in the same town where I live here, at a café for some coffee. As we were sitting there, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I told Stan that, in my ten months of living here in this town, while I have seen foreign female tourists sitting at cafés here in our town, I have never, not even once, seen Moroccan women or Moroccan girls sitting in a café here in town.

When we got up to pay for our cups of coffee, we saw two Moroccan teenage girls sitting at a table in the café. There's a first time for everything... Literally one or two seconds later, I looked further towards the front of the café, and saw three Moroccan women sitting at another table. There's a second time...

Role Reversal

This past weekend, I met Stan, the other PCV who lives in my town, at a café which I hadn't visited in months. I had suggested that we meet there because I had had some delicious banana juice there on previous visits. I had accidentally stumbled into discovering that that banana juice was good without sugar. On a previous visit, the waiter there had asked me, rather atypically for Moroccan waiters taking an order for juice, if I wanted it with or without sugar; it hadn't even previously occurred to me that there would even be sugar in it. Without the sugar, it tasted much more like a milkshake, with the predominant quality being creaminess rather than sweetness. Unfortunately, when we asked the waiter this past weekend if he had banana juice, he said that they no longer make it at that café. Stan and I decided to have some coffee there at that café.

As he and I were sitting at that café, we shared our musings about our lives here in Morocco. At one point, I thought that I am doing the same things here in Morocco that I would do if I was in the U.S. I noted to Stan that if I were in the U.S., I would be going to cafés, where I would be drinking coffee, and at times, reading. Then, as I was looking out at the mountains and hills in front of us, I added that if I was in the U.S., I would also be hiking and enjoying beautiful views in nature, much as I have done here in Morocco. It made me think of phrases here in Morocco, "bhal bhal" and "kif kif," which one uses when one wants to say that two things are the same thing. One also sometimes communicates that sentiment by outstretching only one's index fingers next to each other. I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are the same. However, my realizations at the café made me think that my life here in Morocco and the life that I had in the U.S. are more alike than I have been thinking.

After Stan and I parted ways soon after leaving the café, I walked into the center of town. On the way, I crossed paths with one of the students who is a regular at the Dar Chebab ("youth center") where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV. We hadn't seen each other since the beginning of the summer, since we both had been traveling over the summer. Given that he and I had not only interacted a lot over the course of the previous academic year, but also that he and I appreciate each other, he greeted me by not only shaking my hand, but also by kissing me alternately on both cheeks, twice on each cheek, for a total of four kisses. Though really, the word "kiss" is technically a misnomer--actually we just touched cheeks, as many people do. Sometimes people make the kissing sound even though their lips are not touching the other person's cheeks. We updated each other on our travels. He asked me if the Dar Chebab had re-opened yet after being closed for the summer. I informed him that it had re-opened the previous week, so when we parted ways, we told each other that we would see each other soon at the Dar Chebab.

As I continued on my way into the center of town, a man greeted me as I approached him. I returned the greeting, and we stopped to speak with each other. I learned that he is a teacher of Arabic and French, and that he just moved to my town to teach in it. I asked him how long he has lived in my town. He replied that he has lived in my town for five days! I found that the usual roles, in my interactions with Moroccan teachers in my town, had been reversed--rather than the Moroccan teacher welcoming me to the town, instead I was welcoming him to the town!

Losing Fluency in English

After I bought the cookies which I mentioned in my last blog post, Stan, who is my site mate, who is the other PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) here in town, and I walked to a café here in town, where we sat down to have some coffee. Seeing as it was nearly 8 p.m., and knowing how sensitive I am to the effects of caffeine, I resolved to make sure to order a beverage which would be unlikely to keep me awake. Thus, I told myself to make sure that I was saying the right thing to the waiter. After the waiter asked for my order, I thought to myself, "OK, 'qahwa mhersa' means 'coffee with a little milk,' so that's what I want to make sure that I order." I then quite confusedly asked him for a qahwa mhersa. When it arrived, I looked at it, and how it appeared darker than I expected it to be, and kind of just shrugged in my mind.

Later that night, lying in bed, eyes wide awake, I began to think about how I was so alert, and not at all sleepy. Usually before 10 p.m., my eyelids begin to get a little heavy. Then I realized that I had not ordered milk with a little coffee (which many Moroccans order), but rather the opposite, coffee with a little milk. I couldn't believe it. I thought of how I had translated the Arabic words into English in my head. I didn't fail to correctly translate them. I correctly translated them in my head; I just didn't process the English words well.

I have to imagine that, as a PCV specifically here in Morocco, where many Moroccans know English to varying degrees, I am less prone to this phenomenon of stumbling with English than PCVs are in other countries where natives speak less English than they do here in Morocco, or even no English at all. Then again, I don't know. I've heard stories of PCVs in countries where the PCVs never speak English with the natives. After being in such countries for months, those PCVs burst into a room of other PCVs, and immediately start randomly and quickly spouting English, borne of a lack of opportunities to speak English for months.

Maybe it's just that whenever one lives in a foreign country where one is speaking less English than one was accustomed to speaking back in the U.S., one will experience displacement of English abilities, no matter in what country one currently resides. I have to imagine that that is why another PCV here in Morocco asked me and other PCVs earlier this year, "Does 'E-Y-E' spell a word?"

Calling Home as a PCV

I had a great day yesterday. I got to introduce Stan, the other, newer PCV living in my town, to more community members. The moudir (director) of the Dar Chebab (youth center) where I do most of my volunteering, walked with us around town, so Stan got to see a little more of the town.

After that, I wrote my blog entry yesterday, which brought me much joy to write. If you've got a message which can be a source of strength, support, learning, joy and community, don't keep it inside you; share it, so that others may benefit from it.

Stan and I met to have dinner to celebrate the one year anniversary of my arrival here in Morocco. At first, we went to the cafe here in town which serves pizza, but unfortunately the guy who makes the pizza wasn't there. Instead we ate at a cafe in the middle of town which serves rotisserie chicken and French fries, with a small accompanying plate of diced tomatoes and onions, and also with bread. By the end of the meal, I was surprised that the cats there at that cafe hadn't asked us for some of our chicken. I told Stan that the other time when I had that chicken meal at that cafe, the cats repeatedly and vocally solicited me for some food. There are many feral cats in Morocco!

Then I called my parents in the U.S. A while ago, I got hip to how it's cheapest to call the U.S. from Morocco using a calling card. I pay 20 dirhams for a card which gives me about 12.5 minutes of time to the U.S. It's roughly 8 dirhams to each dollar; thus the calling card lets me call at the rate of between 17 and 18 cents a minute. I say this mostly so my readers in the U.S. will have an idea of what the calling rate on a calling card here is.

When one PCV says to another PCV how much something here in Morocco costs in U.S. dollars, the other PCV often responds, "Remember, we get paid in dirhams, not in dollars." Essentially we usually remind each other to evaluate expenses in the currency of the host country, not in U.S. dollars, for at least two reasons. Usually the same item won't cost the same in each country; also, since we're getting paid, and spending, in the host country currency, we should evaluate our expenses in the host country currency. And, we're here in the host country, not in the U.S.! So we try to think in terms of the host country currency.

Earlier in my time in Morocco, I called the U.S. using my cell phone, which was quite expensive, costing between 8 to 9 dirhams per minute. So those of you in the U.S. have an idea of how much that is, it costs the equivalent of a little over a dollar per minute. Hence I stopped using my cell phone to call the U.S.

At this point, I mostly use my cell phone to call within Morocco. Every other PCV in Morocco has a cell phone. There was a PCV here in Morocco who didn't have a cell phone, and the Peace Corps here in Morocco told him to get a cell phone. He replied that he didn't want one. Peace Corps Morocco told him that they needed him to get one for security purposes. In other words, they needed him to have one so that they could contact him quickly in an emergency, just like the rest of us who already had cell phones. So, in the end, he got a cell phone.

There are some PCVs in Morocco who have contracts for cell phone service. They're signed up to have cell service for the rest of their terms as PCVs.

Rather than signing up for a contract for cellular phone service, I decided to use my cell phone with "recharges," which I buy at cell phone service provider stores, or at grocery stores or electronic gadget stores. I visit such a store and tell the person in the store in whatever amount I want to recharge my phone. The vendor then sells me a card for that denomination of money; I scratch the back off of part of the card, and send a text message containing the code which I just uncovered to the phone company with which I have cell service. That phone company then recharges my phone for the amount of the credit which I have just bought.

In Morocco, a few different companies provide cell service. One company often has specials giving credit double or triple what one has just paid. If they're having a double dirham special, someone can pay 20 dirhams, but get 40 dirhams of credit. Another company, however, always gives someone triple dirham credit if someone pays for a recharge of at least 50 dirhams. Thus if someone knows they're going to use the minutes in the long run, then it pays to recharge for a larger amount.

I just told you in a long-winded way that I used a calling card to call my parents in the U.S. When using these calling cards, I go to public phones to place the calls. So I took a brief walk to a public phone, waited a little while for a woman to stop using the phone, then called my folks. I'm certainly grateful that I can call the U.S., cognizant of how technology now exists that PCVs didn't have in years past. I'm also thankful that I can call the U.S., because I know that not every PCV today has that luxury.

However, I also know that while I have luxuries and conveniences here that other PCVs don't have, other PCVs also have conveniences which I don't have. I think that the key during one's service as a PCV is not to bemoan what one doesn't have, but rather to appreciate and enjoy whatever one does have.

Eve of an Anniversary

In the last few weeks, I was helping Stan, who is my site mate, that is, the other PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) living in my town, as he looked at potential apartments in which he was considering living. Last week, he moved into his own apartment. He is very happy to have his own space. I'm glad he found an apartment.

I've also been introducing him to Moroccan teachers who live here in town, as they arrive back in Morocco after traveling for the summer. Last night, I introduced him to a Moroccan who teaches Arabic in a primary school here in town. We met at a cafe here in town, where we enjoyed some coffee for a couple of hours. It's not uncommon for men in Morocco to sit at a cafe table, each having just one cup of coffee, over the course of a couple of hours.

While the teacher was asking me about what I had done during my summer, and I was asking him where he had traveled over the summer, for a significant portion of our time together, we were having impromptu language lessons. He was explaining words and phrases in Darija to us, and we were telling him about words and phrases in English. I learned some new words in Darija, but I think that Stan, being newer to Morocco than me, learned more new words than I did.

Given that this teacher is so friendly and helpful, I was glad that I was able to introduce Stan to him. Which, I suppose, is a reflection of how I am glad to be helping Stan in general, as he gets to know the town and the people here in it. And it occurred to me that I am helping him in the context of me having been here in Morocco nearly one full year. Just a few days shy of one full year in Morocco, actually. And I feel pretty good about being here almost one year. I feel relatively well-adjusted, glad to be here doing the work and helping the people I'm helping, and feeling competent at knowing how to cope and handle certain challenges.

Which got me thinking, on the eve of my one year anniversary of arriving here in Morocco, about how I got to where I am mentally and spiritually now, through all of the challenges, many of a type which I had never before faced before the last twelve months. I've tried to learn from what others have tried to tell me, even when it was something I very much didn't want to hear. I've tried to pay attention to what my experiences here have been telling me. I've tried to follow my own advice (which, in my particular, individual case of being here in Morocco as a PCV, has consisted largely of the tips I listed in my August 2011 blog entry entitled "Tips for PCVs and PCTs"). I've tried to take responsibility for how I contribute to what happens in my own life, to try to avoid going down paths where things go seriously awry. It hasn't always been easy. It has involved taking a hard look at myself sometimes, sometimes learning things about myself I didn't expect, and realizing I need to adjust my image of myself and my approach, which often demands humility. But I certainly think that I'm a better person for having done so, and for that, I am very glad.

It's been even easier for me because I have faith that I am trying to do what God wants me to do, to help impoverished people try to better themselves. I have been strengthened by having that vision, which has made this journey considerably easier than it otherwise would have been.

The Luxury of ATMs in My Town

In writing my blog, I've been trying to think of things in my life which, for various reasons, don't even strike me as noteworthy, but which would interest folks living in the USA. I've been asking myself this question since my family and friends back in the USA have said to me that they want to be able to visualize my life here in Morocco, and learn about Morocco. It was in this line of inquiry that it recently occurred to me that I should mention ATMs (and, yes, this acronym does, in fact, stand for the same things which you almost certainly just envisioned, "automatic teller machines").

Not every PCV in Morocco has an ATM in his or her town, and there are certainly PCVs posted in other countries who don't have ATMs in their towns. I'm fortunate to have two ATMs in my town, which has a population probably of around 9,000 people living in it. When you add in the people living in the surrounding douars (villages), that figure probably rises to over 20,000 people living in the immediate, contiguous area, to provide a little context for my commentary here.

Thus, I think that I have a couple of ATMs in my town because of the size of my town. By contrast, my friend Ben, living in a smaller, nearby town, has no ATMs in his town of less than 5,000.

Last night, Ben was here in my town, since he needed to stay overnight at my apartment on his way up north. We went out in the early evening, first to a cafe, where we ordered a couple of small pizzas. Given that the cafe worker said that the pizzas wouldn't be ready for another hour, Ben suggested we go for a walk. I suggested this particular hill here in town, which is fairly close to that cafe where we ordered the pizzas, and which I visit from time to time for some pleasing views. We completed the short walk to and up the hill in perhaps ten minutes. As we sat on top of the hill, we were enjoying our view of the town and the palmerie, the huge grove of palm trees which extends through and beyond the town on both sides, as the sun was setting. We were talking about a variety of things: the hike we had done months ago to the top of a mountain here in town; what we could see from the top of the hill on which we were currently sitting; and how often we leave our towns. He explained to me that he always has to leave his town at least once every four weeks, to withdraw cash at an ATM, to be able to pay his rent and his other monthly expenses. I can count ATMs among the conveniences which I have here in my town, which I wouldn't have had, had I been placed in a different site here in Morocco.

However, I also thought of blogging about ATMs for another reason other than that they are a convenience I have here in my town. A few blog entries ago, I had mentioned that Moroccans tend not to stand in lines when they go to a store. People just walk up to the store and ask for what they want, regardless of whether there are people already standing there, rather than forming a line. However, Moroccans do stand in lines when waiting to use ATMs. I find it an interesting exception to the general practice concerning lines, or lack thereof, in Morocco.

Easter in Morocco

This past weekend, I came to the site of a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) and friend of mine who lives in a bigger site than mine. She invited me to her home for Easter dinner. I made sure to arrive early in the day so I was able to join a few other PCVs in going to an American couple's house where we had a Bible study. I hadn't previously been with that many Christians since arriving here in Morocco. It made me very happy.

Some of them are here in Morocco for a week-long basketball camp. Others of them are working here in Morocco long-term providing greatly needed various forms of medical attention. Yet others of them are here in Morocco on vacation.

After the Bible study, some of us went out for lunch together, where we were asking and telling each other about our respective work. At the end of the meal, one of my fellow PCVs got up to pay for her part of the meal. We found out that the owner of the cafe said that there was no charge for the meal. He had said that we didn't have to pay because it was Easter Sunday, which I thought was very nice of him, and which I certainly appreciated.

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.

Revisiting old friends, visiting new places

At the end of last week, I started traveling north. Since three weeks had passed since the big storm here in Morocco, thus giving the high elevation snow ample time to melt, I didn't expect the bus ride through the High Atlas mountains to be more spectacular than usual. However, I was thrilled to spot five waterfalls created by snow that was still melting. I also enjoyed the sight of dozens of goats walking toward us on the other side of the road, obediently staying on their side of the road under the skilled care of a shepherd as we continued further north through the mountains.

In Marrakech, I doubted the accuracy of one of those screens outside a bank which claimed that it was 42 degrees Celsius, which would've meant it was 107 degrees Fahrenheit. I continued north and I visited Casablanca for the first time. While there, I slaked my thirst at the bar named Petit Poucet, where Saint-Exupery used to relax between runs delivering mail across the Sahara.

The next morning, I caught a train and headed further north. Later that day, I had much fun visiting old friends in the community where I trained as a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) during my first couple of months in Morocco. When I first saw this one boy, who's a wonderful friend of mine, for the first time again in months, he literally jumped through the air into my arms. I was joyous spending time with my friends there.

The next morning, I continued even further north, since I am up here this week for work activities as a PCV. Yesterday I spotted a cafe high on a hillside and made a mental note to return to check it out. After exploring the older part of the city, known as "the medina," I was exiting the medina on an old brick staircase which led me through the middle of what I thought was another hillside cafe with remarkable views of the Rif mountains. I continued on to the newer part of the city, where I finally ate a meatball sandwich, and walked across the street to eat a delectable eclair and another delicious dessert at a patisserie. I then continued back to my lodging for the night.

Today some other PCVs and I met with some Moroccans to discuss logistics of activities we'll be doing here later this week. Toward the end of the day, I headed back out and came to this hillside cafe, with its amazing views. Once I was sitting here enjoying some fresh squeezed orange juice, I realized that the cafe in which I was, and still am, sitting, is both the one I spotted from below as well as the one through which I walked when exiting the medina. It is very pleasant here. I have been very much enjoying the views of the Rif mountains from this spot.

In the last couple of days, I've also been enjoying seeing a different region of Morocco. Given that this city is so far north in Morocco, many people speak Spanish here. Also, cultural norms are different this far north than they are in southern Morocco where I live. Thus far since I've been here, I've seen couples sitting on benches openly displaying affection towards each other, which would definitely be "hshuma" (considered shameful) in the region in which I live.

Also, there have been women sitting here in this cafe. In my town, as in many small towns in Morocco, you don't see women in cafes. So this is another change which is noticeable as one travels to different parts of Morocco.

So it's interesting to see a new part of Morocco, and see what changes, whether it be cultural norms, or the landscape, or the weather. Right now it is getting noticeably hotter in the town where I live way down in the Sahara Desert. But here in this northern city, it is quite cool, with a constant breeze and the sea air, the Mediterranean Sea being a scant dozen miles away. The environment is most definitely different here. One sees, in the contrast between where I live, areas through which I have passed on this trip, and where I am as I type this post, some of the meteorological diversity of Morocco. In my town where I live, I have considered retreating inside a cafe when winds were blowing a lot of sand and dust at me. Up here, there are most definitely different weather concerns. While it was barely sprinkling on and off in the early afternoon here, by the early evening, it had started raining slightly more, so I migrated inside the cafe, where I still have been enjoying views of the mountains as dusk has been falling.

In addition to admiring and loving the scenery, I was also amused when this young Moroccan woman ran inside here, squealing and waving her arms. She rushed into the bathroom. Once she had emerged, and breathed a sigh of relief, I asked her in Darija, "Kulshi mzyan deba?" which means, "Is everything good now?" She affirmed that all was well. It turned out that she had had a close encounter with an insect.

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...

A Kaleidoscope of Emotions

Wow. A lot has happened since my last blog entry, even though it has only been a few weeks. I had intended and had hoped to write a blog entry a couple of weeks ago, but I have been quite busy!

To take things in order... A few days after my last blog entry, I started making the rounds, saying my farewells to new, Moroccan friends I made in the community where I spent PST (Pre-Service Training) with four other PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees). A couple days before we left town, I went into my favorite cafe there, and the waiters walked right over to me, shook my hand, and bid warm farewells to me. All of us PCTs there in town had a party with our host families the night before we left town. At the end of the party, when we were saying goodbye to each other, many tears were shed. 

At my own host family's home later that night, I spent my last few waking hours with my host mother and my host brother, and his sisters who were visiting from out of town. I started crying as I told them that soon after I left the USA, I was sad because I was leaving my family and friends in the USA. Then as I was crying, I told them that it was difficult again because I had to leave them. I thanked them for being so kind, generous and considerate to me. I again said, as I had already told my host brother, that I appreciated them so much, and how they treated me so well and warmly. Having traveled far from home, having left everyone I knew, being in a foreign country, not knowing any Moroccans when I arrived, not knowing how to speak the language and not being accustomed to the culture, I appreciated their generosity and hospitality all the more. They told me that I am a part of their family, which I feel like I am. I felt bad about having to leave.

The next morning, I and the four other PCTs in my local CBT (Community-Based Training) group took a grand taxi to Fes, where we had been storing our excess baggage for the previous two months. The other YD (Youth Development) PCTs also came to Fes that morning to retrieve their excess luggage from storage. We, the 30 or so YD PCTs, then took a bus to the beach town where we had had our first few days of training in Morocco, in September.

There in the beach town, we met up again with the SBD (Small Business Development) PCTs who traveled here to Morocco with us in September. In that town, we had more training sessions, including on health and safety, emotional well-being and coping, and Peace Corps procedures and policies, among other topics.

While we were there, we also had our LPIs (Language Proficiency Interviews). Essentially, during the LPI, for about 15 minutes, an interviewer, who is fluent in Darija, speaks with a PCT in Darija to gauge how well the PCT speaks Darija (one CBT group of five SBD PCTs learned a Berber language instead of Darija, so those PCTs were interviewed in that Berber language). The interviewer then decides how proficient the PCT is in speaking the language. At that point, at the end of PST, the Peace Corps expects PCTs to have attained a certain level of proficiency in the language which they have been learning. I was glad to find out that the Peace Corps thinks that I am speaking Darija at an appropriate level, considering how long I have been in Morocco.

After a few days in that beach town, all of us YD PCTs and SBD PCTs traveled on a couple of buses to Rabat so we could be sworn in as PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). In Rabat, the US Ambassador to Morocco administered the Peace Corps oath to us, at which point we became Peace Corps Volunteers! It was definitely a high point thus far in my time here in Morocco. I felt so glad, happy, satisfied and fulfilled knowing that I had become a PCV, which I have wanted to do for over a dozen years. And it felt great to be surrounded by over 60 other brand new PCVs, as we congratulated each other. Immediately after the ceremony, at the reception, it was also notable that I ate some of the yummiest cookies in my life.

While we were happy about becoming PCVs, at the same time, we were disappointed that our Director of the Peace Corps in Morocco, David Lillie, was about to leave us, as he was moving on to another position with the Peace Corps outside of Morocco. He is very kind and thoughtful, and we greatly appreciated how he took the time to get to know us and speak with us as much as he did.

Often the case while being in the Peace Corps, there are juxtapositions of disappointments and low points right next to joyous events and high points. Later that day, dozens of us brand new PCVs celebrated at the American Club in Rabat with each other.

The next morning, we started heading toward our final sites where we will live for the next two years as PCVs. That morning, I caught a train from Rabat to Marrakech with a dozen other PCVs. We stayed in Marrakech for the night. The next morning, a couple groups of us split apart, each group heading in different directions. I continued south with a few other PCVs who are posted in the same region as me.

That afternoon, I arrived in my final site. I arrived back in the home of my new host family. I started getting things done here in town. The first couple of days, things were fine.

After being here a few days, I thought that there will not be any other citizens of the USA here. Upon thinking that, I felt a loneliness unlike any I had ever experienced before. After being in PST with other PCTs around me every day of the week, I was now in a site by myself. Also, during PST, we had our LCF (Language and Culture Facilitator, which is the Peace Corps lingo for our teacher), who helped us immensely in communicating, explained to us Moroccan ways of doing things, and just generally served as a fantastic source of support and encouragement to us.

I also thought, in shock, that I will be here for two years. I despaired. I couldn't believe that I had put myself in this situation. I didn't see how I would be able to be here for two years.

An adjustment was in order. Or, rather, adjustments were in order. Sure, in terms of getting used to living here, learning how things work, how to get things done. But not just in terms of accomplishing tasks.

Also I had to adjust my approach to my own life. While I was still a PCT, a PCV told me, "Don't think of it as putting your life on hold for the next two years. Just think of it as your life." I didn't really understand it at the time. Sure, I was able to conceptualize it, explain it intellectually. But I didn't feel it. No, it was more than that: I wasn't yet living it.

I've been here in site for more than a week now. I've started making new friends. I've been enjoying spending time with Moroccans I've been meeting here. And as a result of that, I feel much more comfortable than I did that angst-ridden day a few days after I arrived here.

The Moudir (director) of the Dar Chebab here in town is fantastic. He is very patient, which I especially appreciate because I can't yet communicate well in Darija.

The kids at the Dar Chebab here are great. They are very friendly, and good-natured. I enjoy going to the Dar Chebab, which of course is great since I will be spending much of my time over the next two years there. I enjoy having laughs with the kids and the Moudir.

I am enjoying living here, and I am looking forward to more of the same. More good times are ahead.

After A Couple Of Weeks

So I've been in Morocco for a couple of weeks now. The first week, it was hitting me pretty hard being here in light of having left everyone I knew before entering the Peace Corps. By the end of the second week here, I was less in withdrawal. The whole time I've been here, though, I've been glad to be here, to be doing what I've wanted to do for so long, being in the Peace Corps.

It feels right. So much so that I somehow don't feel all that much like I'm in a foreign country. Sure, I notice what's different from the US. I've been following cultural norms, like eating with the right hand, wearing long pants in public, even when it's humid, and speaking Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, even if just a little at this early stage.

I think that I feel as comfortable as I do here because I'm doing what I've wanted to do for so long. But I also think that a big part of it is that people are very welcoming here. I feel like I am developing a friendship with my host brother who is hosting me in his house. A worker at the cafe very near home is very welcoming. I thanked him in French for being so welcoming. He responded, "J'aime que tu soies ici," or "I like that you are here." He then taught me a somewhat complicated handshake, which I appreciated.

I came here hoping to form these kinds of connections, and I'm glad to be developing relationships like these. I feel strengthened by them. And in becoming closer to Moroccans, I feel validated in my decision to enter the Peace Corps, as beginning confirmation of part of why I chose to go into the Peace Corps. I'm looking forward to what else can develop over the next two years.