Shifting Cultural Norms

As I mentioned in my last blog entry, I've been in Rabat this week. One morning, I was in the lobby of the hotel where I'm staying, waiting for my friend, a fellow PCV, to wrap up some business he had with the front desk. As he was standing at the front desk, he turned to his right and saw a Moroccan woman also standing at the front desk. He smiled at her. She smiled back at him.

It struck me how infrequently I've observed an interaction like that between a man and a Moroccan woman here in Morocco. Keep in mind that on most of the days I've been here in Morocco, I've been in my site, the town in which I live down in the Sahara. There, the vast majority of the time, women walk down the street and generally aren't interacting with men. Thus, they aren't smiling at men in response to men looking at them; indeed, they aren't even returning the gazes of men. After witnessing the exchange between my friend and the Moroccan woman in the hotel lobby here in Rabat, I was enjoying pondering how women here in large cities like Rabat can respond as she did. She's more likely to be seen as responding in an appropriate manner than Moroccan women in more conservative regions of the country would be viewed for such behavior.

Before I came to Morocco, I wouldn't have given much thought to such an interaction between a man and a woman. Of course, during my time here in Morocco, I've operated in a context with cultural norms different than those to which I was accustomed in the US. As I approach my COS (completion of service) date, I've begun to wonder how my experiences during my Peace Corps service are going to affect how I perceive and process interactions between men and women once I've returned to the US.

Unexpected Difficulty In Observing Cultural Norms

When the Peace Corps recruiter interviewed me nearly three years ago, he asked me whether I was willing to change my behavior, whether I was willing to adapt to the cultural norms where I would be living in a host country. In many ways, certainly I regularly act differently here in Morocco than how I act back in the U.S.

While I've been here in Morocco, I've changed how I interact with members of the opposite gender. Here in Morocco, Moroccans, especially those living in rural areas, including the town where I live down here in the Sahara, expect that men and women keep a significant distance from each other if they aren't married or related to each other. More specifically, it's not acceptable to host an adult of the opposite gender overnight in one's home.

Quite contrary to my natural inclinations to be hospitable and host visitors in my home, more than once I've told female PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) that they can't stay overnight at my home here in this town. I would love to welcome female PCVs to stay overnight at my place, but such hospitality would be poorly perceived by the community here. If a male PCV and a female PCV both come into town, then circumstances change. It's easier to explain, and thus to host, a group of people overnight than just one person of the opposite gender.

However, this week unfortunately my friend Samantha, a female PCV, came into town by herself after a long journey. She was tired, so I felt bad about having to send her quickly on her way. She had enough time to pick up the items from my home which I've been wanting to unload, including some spice containers, in anticipation of when I close my Peace Corps service soon.

So, as I've already said, I've altered my behavior while I've been living here in Morocco. I just didn't expect to have to change my behavior in ways which make me feel less hospitable!

Drink Tea

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

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

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

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

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

Poor Thing

At the end of the week, whether it's here in Morocco, or back in the US, I'm often ready to decompress. Sounds pretty normal. Except that when you're in a foreign country, the concepts of personal space might make it more complicated to relax than it would be back in the states. Every country has its own customs on how much time people spend with each other. Here in Morocco, when a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) wants to be alone, perhaps in order to rest and rejuvenate, Moroccans often don't understand.

Soon after I had first started living in this town down here in the Sahara, one of the boys who frequents the dar shebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center," where I do most of my volunteering as a Youth Development PCV here in Morocco), expressed his concern to me about how I live alone. He said to me in English, "You go home, and you are by yourself. This is very bad."

Here in Morocco, one's family is central to one's identity. Typically Moroccans live with their families until they get married, unless someone gets a job far away from one's family, perhaps as a teacher. Indeed, often a Moroccan continues to live with his or her family once he or she gets married. In such a case, his or her spouse is welcomed into the family not just with warm gestures and platitudes, but is further, literally welcomed into the home as he or she starts living there.

If one lives alone, at times one is called "meskeen," which, in Darija, means "poor thing." It was in this context that the boy from the dar chebab was expressing his concern for what he saw as my unfortunate plight of living by myself. I had a hard time trying to convince him that I was glad to be living alone. Facing the psychological challenges of life in a foreign country, I'm glad to go home and escape for a little while!

Living here in Morocco, I face challenges which many PCVs face, not only here in this country, but in other foreign countries. Even at this relatively late stage in my Peace Corps service, in my everyday life I encounter a lot of stimuli which still seem foreign to me. I certainly don't understand a lot of what's said during conversations. In many other ways, the modes of operation here are not only not the ones to which I was originally accustomed; furthermore, they're ones which still don't come naturally to me. When I'm trying to have a conversation with someone, and someone else arrives and interrupts, it still seems disruptive to me, and jarring. While I've adjusted somewhat to the lack of lines, including when I go to shop at corner stores, I'm still not entirely used to the practice of an unstructured mass of people waiting to be served at a store. So all of these customs can get to be a bit much to process at times. Of course, they don't seem that way to Moroccans. To them, it would be better to use the term cultural norms: such behavior is normal, and therefore not a source of stress for them. Thus with this gap of how acculturated they are to life here, as opposed to how unadjusted I am, one can start to better appreciate why they might not realize how life here can be difficult.

Thus at times here, as is often the case for me when I'm in the US, I feel that I have to recharge. To do so, sometimes I feel like I need to retreat into solitude. Or at least I need to be with people who aren't going to be too demanding of me in various ways, who won't be expecting me to make a lot of conversation with them, who perhaps will be OK with me being alone in the next room for a little while, who are comfortable separately and quietly doing our own activities in the same room for part of the day. Sometimes I feel that I just need to gather my thoughts without being asked to engage someone else.

I could go on, but I think that you get the idea. Sometimes it all gets to be a bit much, and I feel like I have to retreat.

However, I don't think that I take a better approach to spending time with people than Moroccans do. Sometimes I just happen to need a little time by myself, or at least with a little less social stimulation. It's just a personal need I have, and in taking some personal space at times, I don't intend to be implicitly making a value judgment on Moroccan culture. Rather, as I think about the matter of personal space, which leads me to think about the importance of family, I feel that I have some things to learn from Moroccans. In the US, often people don't take care of their family members, and even fall out of touch with them. Here people seem to cherish their family members. Perhaps one of the ways I can learn from life here in Morocco is how Moroccans value family as highly as they do.

Shame On You

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

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

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

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

Where Have You Been?

Yesterday I went to the home of a family I often visit here in the town in which I live in the Sahara in Morocco. When I run into them on the street, they invite me over to their home for meals. If I haven't gone over to their home for a meal in a while, usually they'll ask me why I haven't come to their home.

Before I went over to their home, I thought I might be able to get some shopping done before most everyone in town disappeared to have lunch. Between about 1 p.m. and about 4 p.m., most hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for the rough equivalent of corner stores in the USA) are closed while their proprietors are having lunch (and perhaps napping after lunch).

I headed out from my apartment a little before 1 p.m. and was glad to find the hanoot where I mostly frequently shop for groceries open. I stocked up on food, then returned home to drop it off.

Then I continued on to the family's home. When I arrived, I took off my shoes and joined the father on a mat, on top of which was a table with a teapot and glasses. Moroccans love to drink tea, and they always offer some to their guests.

As the father and I sat enjoying the fine weather, bounded by the beautiful blue sky and puffy cumulus clouds, he inquired about my family in the USA, as Moroccans typically do. He also asked me if I had been traveling. I mentioned that on some recent weekends, I'd been to the city which is about an hour north of this town where we live.

All of their kids were traveling, so I only ate with the father. In some conservative Moroccan homes, the women and girls eat separately from the men and boys. In their home, at times we've all eaten together, so I don't know why the mom didn't eat with us yesterday.

The mom brought out lunch, which included some fried fish, accompanied by some hot sauce in which to dip the fish. I enjoyed all of the food, but I enjoyed the hot sauce in a way I didn't enjoy the other food. I don't get to eat much spicy food here in Morocco, so I enjoyed the hot sauce as something which I don't eat too often here. We also ate a vegetarian tajine, or stew, which included potatoes and carrots, grabbing our morsels out of the communal plate with pieces of bread we broke off from the typically round, flat Moroccan loaves of bread.

After lunch, the mom brought us some small oranges for dessert. When we had finished eating the oranges, she came over to the mat and sat with us. She too asked me if I had been traveling. I finally realized that they had been asking me if I had been traveling because I was at their home for a meal for the first time in a month. They felt that it had been too long. They figured that since I hadn't come over for a meal, that I must have been traveling.

I must admit that I had been wary about overindulging in their hospitality. I had been concerned about going to their home too often. Now I know that they expect me to come over more than once a month. It strikes me as a bit notable that even after being here in Morocco for nearly a year and a half, that I am still learning the parameters of the customs and cultural norms here.

I Am Not A Tourist

Yesterday I bought an average-sized hard-boiled egg sandwich while here in the city an hour north of my town. It cost two and a half dirhams. I was surprised that it cost so little money. At another cafe, which is in the town where I live, I was always paying five dirhams for a hard-boiled egg sandwich. Then one day about eight months ago, I went to that cafe, and there was a man behind the counter who usually hadn't been behind the counter when I had eaten there on previous occasions. After I had finished eating the sandwich, I went to pay him five dirhams. He indicated that I had to pay ten dirhams. I told him that I had always paid five dirhams. He shook his head. Without one of the other guys who had always been behind the counter on my previous visits to corroborate my claim, I felt like I had to pay ten dirhams. So I paid him ten dirhams. I haven't gone back to eat that cafe, except in the rare instances when another PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) has been in town and has wanted to eat there.

One friend who's a PCV simply walks away after she has paid the correct amount and is asked to hand over more money. I've started doing that too.

I try to disabuse Moroccans of the misperception that I am a tourist by speaking to them in Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic. Tourists in Morocco generally don't know any Darija, and if they do know any Darija, it seems that they rarely know enough Darija to carry on a conversation.

I also try to avoid Moroccans having such misapprehensions by showing that I know how things work here, that I know the customs. Though it doesn't come to me naturally, I try to be in the habit of walking up to the counter of a business when there's someone already being served, rather than politely allowing that person some distance while trying to form a line, which tends to be a pointless endeavor: Moroccans generally don't stand in line when waiting to be served at a business. When I've provided space like that, a Moroccan just comes in after me and walks around me up to the counter. When I've tried to give Moroccans space like that in such situations, they haven't known why I was doing so. They don't feel offended if I don't provide such space. So by not giving Moroccans the space they don't expect or require, I'm showing that I understand the cultural norms, and seeming less like a tourist than I would by not being assertive.

It seems like I hear about other PCVs getting overcharged more than I get overcharged. Maybe I've just become more confident in dealing with Moroccans and less willing to pay the inflated prices that Moroccans sometimes try to charge me and other foreigners. In Marrakech, for example, petit taxi drivers are notorious for overcharging foreigners for cab rides. On one of my last two visits to Marrakech, a taxi driver tried to charge me more than 15 dirhams for a ride to the train station. I told him that I always pay 15 dirhams. When he still didn't accept that I would pay no more than that, I simply walked away. I can't help but suspect that some taxi drivers in Marrakech have had so much contact with unaware foreigners, and so few interactions with foreigners who know the score, that they don't expect a foreigner to be as unyielding with them as I am.

Even though I've gotten more skilled at negotiating with them, I still love it and appreciate it when Moroccans charge me the price that they would charge a Moroccan, as happened yesterday when I bought my egg sandwich here in the city. Partly because I try to treat others respectfully and honorably, I appreciate being treated honestly and fairly too. But I also appreciate being treated well aside from how I want to be treated well because I try to treat others well. I appreciate being treated well because if I am treated well, it is a reflection of how I hope everyone will be treated.

However, I've been reminded that not everyone treats other people well for the same reasons. Not everyone is operating under the same value system. Many people try to claim that there is more similarity and synergy between different philosophies and faiths than I think actually is the case.

Several months ago, I walked into the shop of this fellow here in this city and started speaking with him in Darija. I told him that I live here in Morocco and that I teach English here. He warmly received me. He told me that I only had to pay two dirhams for the postcard I wanted to buy. He said, "Berber price--not foreigner price." Later, I thought that the issue wasn't how much I had to pay. Rather, I thought, "There shouldn't be a Berber price and a foreigner price. There should be one price that we all have to pay." We're all people, and thus all due respect. We should all be treated the same: we should all be treated honestly and fairly.

Living In Exile

At times during my Peace Corps service here in Morocco, I've felt like I've been living in exile. I'm in a land which is foreign to me. I didn't grow up here. Although I've been learning about the culture and customs here, there is still much I don't know. And even when I do know of cultural norms, often I still am not naturally predisposed towards them. While I've been learning a language which Moroccans speak, namely Darija, that is Moroccan Arabic, I'm not fluent in it. In short, at times, I have felt as if I have been in exile here.

But then not too long after feeling like I'm living in exile here, it occurs to me that I am not in fact in exile. Generally, when one is living in exile, one doesn't know when one is returning to one's native homeland. I, however, am blessed insofar as I know when I'm going to be heading back to the US. Barring any unforeseen occurrences between now and November 2012, I am currently scheduled to COS (close my service) next November.

Also, when one is living in exile, typically one has been either forcibly removed to the country of exile, or has fled to the country of exile to escape persecution of some kind. However, I am blessed also in the sense that I did not come here to Morocco under such circumstances. Rather, I came here to Morocco of my own free will. As another PCV said to me months ago, when she experiences rough patches, she sometimes tells herself, "No one made me come here. I decided to come here."

Thus I too remind myself that I decided to come here to Morocco. And I remind myself why. To help people, and more specifically, to help impoverished people, and, even more specifically, to help them better themselves.

It was in this vein, of learning how to live well in a foreign land, with all of its attendant challenges, when reading the book "Run With The Horses" by Eugene Peterson, that I found a certain passage especially helpful. In the book, Peterson analyzes the prophet Jeremiah, and why he was as admirable as he was. Given the context in which Jeremiah lived his life, partly during the exile of the Jewish people to the land of Babylonia, Peterson discusses how one can live well in exile. Although there are some significant differences between life as a PCV in a host country, and the life of the exiled Jewish people whom Peterson discussed, there nevertheless still are some important words of guidance one can derive from his book as a PCV. Peterson writes:

Exile . . . forces a decision: Will I focus my attention on what is wrong with the world and feel sorry for myself? Or will I focus my energies on how I can live at my best in this place I find myself? It is always easier to complain about problems than to engage in careers of virtue. George Eliot in her novel "Felix Holt" has a brilliantly appropriate comment on this question: 'Everything's wrong says he. That's a big text. But does he want to make everything right? Not he. He'd lose his text.'

Daily we face decisions on how we will respond to these exile conditions. We can say: 'I don't like it; I want to be where I was ten years ago. How can you expect me to throw myself into what I don't like--that would be sheer hypocrisy. What sense is there in taking risks and tiring myself out among people I don't even like in a place where I have no future?'

Or we can say: 'I will do my best with what is here. . . . God is here with me. . . . It is just as possible to live out the will of God here as any place else. I am full of fear. I don't know my way around. I have much to learn. I'm not sure I can make it. But I had feelings like that back in Jerusalem. Change is hard. Developing intimacy among strangers is always a risk. Building relationships in unfamiliar and hostile surroundings is difficult. But if that is what it means to be alive and human, I will do it.'

Fenelon used to say that there are two kinds of people: some look at life and complain of what is not there; others look at life and rejoice in what is there. Will we live on the basis of what we don't have or on what we do have?

After reading these words, I felt that I was led to examine how they could apply to my life here in Morocco. As PCVs, some of us focus on what we don't have, and bemoan what we don't have. And I myself have certainly done that, so I find that tendency understandable. Especially during the first six months or so of living in one's host country. But it also certainly seems to be such a better approach to redirect one's attention and energies toward how one can live well in the present in one's host country. How one can best help people there, since, after all, that was the whole reason for joining the Peace Corps!

Watch What You Say

Yesterday I thought it best to make another run to a bakery or two, and hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery stores"), here in town. Here in Morocco we're on the verge of L'Eid Kbir, a major Islamic holiday (see my November 2010 blog post "Eid Kbir" for an explanation of this holiday, and my December 2010 blog post "Holidays," my August 2011 blog post "Summer Camp 2011," and my October 2011 blog post "Women Drivers" for more about Islam). Some shops and stores are going to be closed for much of next week, so I figured it would be best if I made sure that I have plenty of food at home.

At one of the hanoots where I was buying food, I noticed that the "mul-hanoot," the shopkeeper, had his fly unzipped. Immediately, I decided that I was going to inform him of this fact. Next I realized that I couldn't remember the word in Darija for "zipper." Next I thought, "Well, whatever I do, I have to make sure that I don't say the English word "zipper." Here you find one of those unfortunate linguistic intersections which can, and, at times, does, embarrass many an unsuspecting foreigner in Morocco. The word "zip" sounds perilously close to the Darija word "zib," which is the word for the male reproductive organ.

Added to this linguistic landmine was the awkwardness created in this particular situation not just by the presence of other customers in his shop, but women at that. And he was directly in their line of sight. Once I had his attention, first I partly zipped my jacket up. I hadn't thought of how he was also wearing a jacket. Of course he responded by zipping up his jacket. Once I got his attention again, I again zipped up my jacket, this time all the way up. Of course he responded by zipping his jacket up all the way. I tried to explain this gesture the second time by saying, "Lla; laxur," meaning, "No; the other one," but he just shook his head in confusion. 

At this point, the other workers in the hanoot were beginning to look at me, perhaps wondering what I was trying to tell the mul-hanoot. I decided to busy myself in loading the groceries which I had just bought into my bag. I glanced over at the mul-hanoot again. One of the other workers in the shop told me in English, "Just say it in English." For one thing, I didn't want to announce to the entire shop that a man's fly was unzipped. For another thing, I also knew that if I said it in English, it would probably be misfortunately misinterpreted given the Darija word "zib."

The mul-hanoot came over to me, this time out of view of the women in the store. This time I whispered to him, "Lla; taht," which means, "No; down below." He then looked down at his fly and understood.

Later that night, when I was at home, I chuckled, thinking that when I had finally successfully communicated to him that his fly was down, as he was zipping it up, he was yelling across the street to someone. In retrospect, I laughed at how I had been so concerned about embarrassing him, when it turned out that he wasn't self-conscious at all about it. It reminded me that just because a cultural norm exists in one's own country, it doesn't necessarily mean it exists wherever else you happen to be. You might think that this conclusion is a bit obvious, and shouldn't be that surprising, especially to a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV). But I think that to get more specific, I think that what was surprising to me was that the cultural norm here is to cover up. Given the potential risk of exposing oneself, and how poorly that would be viewed here, I would have thought that he would have been more concerned and/or embarrassed by learning that his fly was down. So I suppose that yesterday I was reminded that while I've learned that there are certain cultural norms here, I've yet to learn all of the parameters of those cultural norms, and how those are or are not prominent in a variety of different situations.

Asking a Woman's Opinion

This afternoon, I went over to my host family's home for lunch. As usual, when I arrived, the TV was on. In most Moroccan homes, if the TV is not on when one arrives, then shortly after one arrives for a visit, it is switched on. For a while, I was talking with some of the members of my host family. One of them was showing me some photos which she and her extended family members and friends had taken in Rabat, Casablanca and Ouarzazate on her cell phones (yes, she has more than one cell phone). After a while, my host family brought out some tea and sweets which we enjoyed together. Some time later, we ate lunch, which was a tajine, or stew, with bread, and drank the peach nectar which I had brought to their house with me.

At some point, we were watching a TV show about a group of Moroccan women who went to Marrakech for a weekend getaway. It seemed like a reality TV show. The footage was switching back and forth between their Moroccan husbands at home cooking and caring for the kids, and the Moroccan women enjoying their time in Marrakech, which included a meal in a Chinese restaurant as well as some time poolside.

I was struck by one thing which I've noticed before on TV here in Morocco which has always somewhat puzzled me. During the segment of the show at the pool, women in bikinis were shown. Yet I was watching this show not only in Morocco, but in the home of a fairly conservative family, in a conservative rural town, where the vast majority of women cover almost all of their bodies, except their faces, hands, and below their ankles. I've been repeatedly surprised by how conservative families here in Morocco watch TV programs showing scantily clad women, or women at least wearing clothing with low necklines, and baring most of, if not all of, their arms and legs. I suppose that I can discern that these viewers might be making a distinction between what they choose to wear themselves and what they choose to watch other women wearing on TV. Still, I am a bit surprised to see conservative women and men here watching TV shows starring women who are so uncovered.

In any event, when the TV show was over, I asked one of my host sisters (who, incidentally, in the last few months, has been to Casablanca and Rabat) what she thought of how these Moroccan women went to Marrakech for the weekend and left their husbands to cook in the kitchen and care for their kids. My host sister wouldn't answer.

After she wouldn't answer my question, I felt that I was led, by her failure to respond, to think a couple of things. First, it occurred to me that she wasn't used to someone asking her for her opinion, at least not on the topic which I was addressing. Which makes sense, given the cultural norm here in conservative rural Morocco, of how women are generally expected to stay at home, cook and care for their kids. Second, it occurred to me that perhaps she didn't feel like she could say what she really thought in response to my question... whatever it was that she thought. However, I still thought that it was important to ask her for her opinion...

Feeling Like a Goldfish in a Bowl

When my Peace Corps recruiter interviewed me at the Peace Corps office in Oakland just over two years ago, a couple of weeks after I had submitted my online application to be a PCV, he asked me a lot of questions, all of which were very appropriate. In the midst of those questions, he explained that in many towns and villages where PCVs live and serve, some people have never previously seen a US citizen. He added that a citizen of the US potentially might look very different to them than citizens of their own country. He then continued that, consequently, people might stare at PCVs. He then asked me something roughly like, "How are you going to deal with a lot of people staring at you as you walk down the street?" It was a very appropriate question, because when a PCV lives abroad, people often do stare at the PCV.

Indeed, I was led to write this particular blog entry because my experience here in Morocco provides a reliable example of the phenomenon which the recruiter described to me, of how a PCV might sometimes feel like a goldfish in a bowl, receiving stares. Last week the school year began here in Morocco. It reminded me of how I was very conscious, when I first started living here in my town, of how I received many stares as I walked down sidewalks and streets, amongst schoolkids who were loitering and going to and from school.

Not only have I not escaped stares here in my town, I have received stares here despite the presence of other non-Moroccans in my town. Tourists frequently visit my town, in order to see the palmeries and the rest of the desert landscape here. Further, I'm not the first PCV to have lived here in my town. Thus Moroccans living in my town have seen many non-Moroccans for years.

However, I have received, and still receive, stares here, from people of many different ages, because, in Morocco, it is not considered rude to stare at others. Without learning about such cultural phenomena as this one, one could potentially become quite unnerved and irritated. It's important to take the time to learn about cultural norms, so that one understands what is happening when it does happen. Of course, partly one learns about cultural norms while living in another country. But I suggest that upon arriving in a foreign country, it's best to deepen the understanding of the culture which, hopefully, one started to acquire through research one did before arriving in the host country, the foreign country.

One can then have a deeper, more educational and more satisfying experience in that foreign country. Regardless of the amount of research you've done before arriving in the host country, though, remember to consider the perspective of the other person, and how that person's life experiences have shaped his or her perspective. Having done so, you'll be in a better position to help achieve the third goal of the Peace Corps, that is, to help citizens of the U.S.A. gain a better understanding of people of other cultures.

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.

Guys' Purchases in Morocco

So I'm out of town, in a small city, this weekend for some training. After training sessions today, we all went out to get some things to eat, and to go shopping.

Tonight I was in a small supermarket waiting to make a purchase. There were many men waiting to buy cigarettes and alcohol. (Keep in mind that in Morocco, a Muslim nation, cigarettes and alcohol are generally forbidden. But not all Moroccans follow the religious, social, and cultural norms in Morocco.) I found it rather amusing that as all these guys were buying alcohol and cigarettes, I was waiting to buy a liter of milk to go with the cookies I had just bought at the nearby bakery.

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.