My Peace Corps Service As An Investment That Has Been Paying Off

With less than two weeks of my Peace Corps service left, I've given away most of the things which had been in the apartment I've been renting. Yesterday a couple of my fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers), who are much earlier in their service than I am, came here to town and took away some of the last few remaining items. One of them got a grand taxi to drive her to my residence, where the refrigerator I've been using got loaded on top of the taxi and tied down with rope. Another PCV got a grand taxi to come to my place. She took away the ponj, the lightweight foam rectangular cube-like sofa on which I'd been sleeping for the last three months while I've been here in town.

Later in the day yesterday, I emptied the bedroom and swept it. Then I set up a sleeping space in the bedroom, composed of a heavy winter blanket as padding on the floor, covered by a fitted sheet, with a heavy winter blanket to cover me in the slight overnight chill which has started to descend upon us here in the Sahara. In light of how I've been recently enjoying giving away more and more possessions, I viewed this new, simple sleeping arrangement in a satisfying manner, and thought, "All right, now we're really starting to get somewhere!"

Having given away the fridge, now I need to drink all of the milk I buy in one sitting. Thus, I stopped buying one-liter boxes of milk, since I normally wouldn't drink that much milk all at once. Although a one-liter box of milk only costs 9 dirhams, which is equivalent to a little more than one US dollar, since I got rid of my fridge, I've started buying small cold bags of milk which cost 3 dirhams each. Thus, yesterday after my friend and fellow PCV took away the fridge, I went and bought a small bag of cold milk. I was bringing it back to the apartment to eat with an amlou and strawberry jam sandwich. I recently blogged about amlou, which is essentially Moroccan peanut butter. However, I don't think that that amlou I'd previously bought contained argan oil. The amlou I'm currently using contains argan oil, almonds, sugar, salt, fennel, and vegetable oil. So I suppose that it's really like almond butter rather than peanut butter.

In any case, I was arriving back at the apartment to enjoy an amlou and strawberry jam sandwich with some cold milk when I noticed that my neighbor, a Moroccan fellow who teaches French here in town, was also arriving at the apartment building with some of his friends, who are also teachers here in town. My neighbor invited me into his apartment to have tea with them. It was in the late afternoon, or perhaps already the early evening, at that hour of day when Moroccans have kaskroute, which is like an afternoon snack.

I joined them for kaskroute. We sat on the floor around a low, round table in my neighbor's living room, drinking tea and eating dates and peanuts. When I finished my tea, my host filled my tea glass. When I finished the second glass of tea, I kept my tea glass by my side. I didn't want him to fill it again. The teapot was rather small and no one else had yet enjoyed a second glass. Despite keeping my glass at my side, nevertheless my host noted that I had again drained it. He asked me if I wanted more tea. I politely declined.

After we had finished having kaskroute, we were standing in the hallway of his apartment. Two of his friends started wrestling with each other. Moroccan males sometimes wrestle standing up, seeing which of them can best the other in the friendly contest. Soon after the brief wrestling match, I took my leave of them, glad that I had snacked with them.

Today I made sure to visit a family here in town whom I've visited from time to time while I've lived here. I wanted to be sure to see them again before I leave town. First we had tea and peanuts. A little while later, we had lunch, sitting on the floor around a low, square table. For lunch we had lentils and beef, each of us ripping apart pieces of bread to grab lentils and beef from the part of the communal dish which was closest to each of us. For dessert, we enjoyed grapes and apples.

After we had had dessert, I bid adieu to most of them. As I was walking back to my apartment, their son was walking with me for part of the way. At one point he asked me if I go to church. I told him that whenever I can go to church, I do indeed go to church, since it's important to me to do so. Then I added that at times, it's been hard living here in Morocco, because I haven't always been able to go to church here; there's no church here in town, and I'm not otherwise always near a church. However, I shared with him that we learn more when we're having a difficult time than we learn when we're comfortable. I suggested to him that I believe that God allows us to face trials and tribulations because in such trying circumstances, we learn and grow and develop. I've been grateful for such opportunities to learn and grow while I've been a PCV. Indeed, I became a PCV so that I would learn through facing difficulties. I'm glad to say that I feel like I have benefited from living in certain trying circumstances here. For that reason and for others, I feel like my decision to enter the Peace Corps has been an investment which has been paying off.

What Did He Want?

I arrived yesterday in Essaouira, a small coastal city, with a half dozen other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). After we got out of the grand taxi, we were collecting our baggage from the trunk amidst a flurry of activity. The parking lot was crammed with grand taxis; people were asking us if we needed lodging; people were moving through the lot with pushcarts.

In Moroccan towns and cities, Moroccans use pushcarts to move a variety of items, including fruits, vegetables, and animals. Yesterday morning in the grand taxi parking lot, I saw a Moroccan man with a large pushcart facing me. I stepped closer to the taxi so he could pass by me. But he didn't move.

Next I thought that he was looking for alms. But he didn't say anything. Nor did he put out his hand as if to implicitly ask for money.

My fellow PCVs had collected their bags, and we'd paid the taxi driver, so I walked away from the taxi with my fellow volunteers unsure what the man with the pushcart had wanted. One of my fellow PCVs said that she sometimes feels bad when she doesn't use the services of the men with the pushcarts. I'd never seen people transporting travelers' luggage in carts, so it hadn't occurred to me that he was waiting for us to hire him to move our baggage.

What Are You Going To Bring Home?

This past weekend, I was up in the city that's about an hour north of the town where I live down here in the Sahara. In the morning, I was at Bible study with some friends who are also expats living here in Morocco. As our Bible study was starting, I sat down on a ponj, which is like a long sofa without a back. It appeared to me as if I had taken the last place in the room. A moment later, one of the young children entered the room and was looking for somewhere to sit. My friend, who was sitting next to me on the right, and I seemed to have the same idea at the same time. She called to the child as I scooted over to make some room for the youngster. A little while later, another of the kids entered and sat in the small space between me and my other friend who was on my left.

I was immediately reminded of how I've had to adjust my conceptions of space while I've been living here in Morocco, in different ways, at various times. We pile into grand taxis here, cramming them more full, with more people, than many US residents would expect to be in such a vehicle. I've considered that I should not be hostile to sharing space, for many reasons. For one thing, I made a conscious, voluntary decision to come here. Therefore, I decided to submit myself to the customs here, including those which demand that I handle space differently than I typically did in the USA. Insofar as I invited such external changes in how I conduct myself, implicitly I further chose to explore what internal transformations might occur. How am I going to allow these experiences here affect me? How am I going to change as a result of living here? Surely change is a necessary by-product of being here, including by aspects of life here which I've found uncomfortable and which I haven't liked. Otherwise I run the risk of merely complaining about what I haven't liked here, of not learning anything about myself and others. And if I go down that road, then I'm traveling down the road toward being the arrogant and closed-minded American who comes here, criticizes the people and the culture here, and leaves, not having gained anything, and consequently, likely not having given anything, of lasting value. So at this relatively late stage in my Peace Corps service, I've been thinking about what I can take back to the USA with me, not just in terms of physical, material goods, but also, and far more importantly, in terms of what can help me conduct myself better, what can help me be a better human being, and treat others better.

Heed Traffic Signs

After the travels I described in my last blog entry, I was continuing on my way back here to the town where I live in the Sahara. I took grand taxis between the towns; each time I arrived in a town, I would pick up another grand taxi to the next town. Generally between these particular towns, as is often the case here in inland, rural Morocco, there wasn't much in between one town and the next one. It's usually an undeveloped, even desolate desert landscape.

At one point, we passed a traffic sign which had a camel on it. Not too much later, we encountered a flock of camels. Some of them were right next to the side of the road. The grand taxi driver had to stop since some of them started walking on the road. He beeped his horn at them, which didn't prove to be all that effective in getting them to move faster than the leisurely strides they were taking. They were on their own schedule!

One Way To Avoid Overpaying

Last week, after visiting the town where I had first lived here in Morocco, I spent a day in Fes.  I took a grand taxi to the city.  When I arrived in Fes at the grand taxi stand, I caught a petit taxi into the center of the city.

When I got a petit taxi there in Fes, I followed the advice of my friend and fellow PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), Jack, whom I had visited the previous week near Marrakech.  He had told me that when he approaches a petit taxi driver in Marrakech, he asks the driver if the meter is working.  If the driver says that the meter isn't working, my friend takes a different petit taxi.  Last week after my friend had shared this advice with me, I asked him how much he usually pays for petit taxi rides in Marrakech.  I acknowledged that one will pay varying amounts on different petit taxi rides, because the final amount you pay depends on the length of the trip, and every trip is of a different length.  But I also noted that he and I probably often travel between the same places.  He said that he usually pays about 10 to 12 dirhams per petit taxi ride in Marrakech.  I noted to him that I'd been paying 15 dirhams per ride, such that I'd probably been overpaying, but not by a lot.

Nevertheless, I don't want to be paying more than I have to be paying, especially on a relatively meager budget.  Thus, I was sure not only to remember his advice, but also to put it into practice.  When I got a cab in Fes last week, I asked the driver if the meter was working.  He said it was working, which I confirmed, and we were off on our way further into the city.

I must admit that I felt a little silly upon considering that I hadn't been making sure that the meters were working when I had been taking petit taxis in Marrakech.  A little later, however, I considered how I often visit Ouarzazate.  In that city, the petit taxis always charge 4 dirhams per ride during the day, and 6 dirhams per ride at night.  Thus I'd gotten used to not making sure that the meter was working and on.

Still, I thought about how I'd used the MP3 files of recorded language lessons which the Peace Corps provided to me and to others once we'd accepted invitations to serve as PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) here in Morocco.  I'd started using the MP3 files before arriving here in Morocco, so that once I arrived here, I'd had some exposure to basic Darija, that is, Moroccan Arabic, including numbers and subject pronouns.  Once I had started living here, I continued using the MP3 files, since the more advanced ones cover some very common, and thus very helpful, conversational phrases.  Among them are "Wesh l-kuntur xdam?" meaning "Is the meter on?" and "Xdam l-kuntur, Eafak," meaning "Turn on the meter, please."

I've devoted some thought to my experiences with petit taxis here, and how I'd forgotten those phrases from the language lessons.  I came to such a basic and elementary conclusion: I've considered that I have to remember what I've learned.  

Space Is At A Premium

I've mentioned previously how Moroccan taxi drivers jam passengers into their taxis. Two in the front passenger seat. Four in the backseat, which would seat three in the US. During my travels in taxis in the past week, I've once again experienced such cramped traveling spaces. However, last week I think I might have been more impressed during my trip back into Marrakech from my friend and fellow PCV's town. On the return trip back into the city, I caught a ride in a transit van (which the locals shorten to "transit," and which they pronounce with a French accent, as "transeet." The other transit passengers and I weren't partly sitting on top of each other like we would have been doing had we been riding in a grand taxi. I was just impressed by how they fit so many of us into the van. Although the van was so crowded that it was difficult for me to get a clear view so that I could accurately count how many people were in the van, I was pretty sure that there were at least 20 adults, including the driver and me, and 3 kids younger than 10 years old in the van.

After I'd arrived in Marrakech and gotten out of the van, I thought about how jam-packed grand taxis and transit vans are here. I compared transportation phenomena here with those in the US. It made me consider that while people in the US might consider a certain vehicle as being full, others elsewhere in the world might not view it the same way. It depends on your perspective.

The Long Goodbye

My friend Ben just COSd (closed his service) as a PCV last month. After he COSd, he was traveling around Africa for a few weeks. He recently returned to Morocco during the course of his travels, but I'd already bid him farewell more than once, each time thinking that I wasn't going to see him again before he left Africa. As I was on a bus on my way back to my town yesterday, I received a text message from him. He asked me if I was still planning on not being in my town that night. I texted him back and told him I'd be there in 20 minutes. I didn't expect to see him again until sometime after I COS myself. I'm currently scheduled to COS in November 2012, so I didn't expect to see him again until sometime after that, and I didn't expect to see him until we were both back in the US.

When I arrived back in my town, I learned that he was immediately trying to get on a bus. I knew that he had been planning on leaving the province that day to make his way north out of Morocco, on his gradual way back to the US. However, once I received the text in which he said he was in my town, I thought that he would just want to stay the night in my living room, and leave the next morning. He quickly ascertained that all of the buses were full, so it became clear that he would be crashing at my place last night.

We took all of his belongings to my apartment, and I got to host him one more time before he heads back to the US as a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). This morning, on our way to the town square, he stopped at the post office and bought a large box. He emptied some of his belongings into the box. During the process, he gave me a couple of things, including a backpack! I was grateful for it, and thanked him for it. Then he sent the box to his family in the US, so he would have fewer things to carry on his circuitous travels back to the US. Once he had finished dealing with the box, we continued up to the town square, and, more specifically, to the taxi stand for folks headed north. After we loaded his bags into the grand taxi, we were waiting for the taxi to fill up. The guys running the taxi stand, as always, asked how many places he wanted. Ben replied, "Wahd," meaning "One," since he was traveling by himself.

He and I then passed the time while waiting for the taxi to fill up partly by taking pictures, including of his stuffed teddy bear. Ben is making an adventure picture book for his young niece in which he is chronicling the adventures of his bear, Jillabo, during travels around the world. As Ben travels, he places Jillabo in various locations around the globe, making it appear as if Jillabo is doing a variety of things such as climbing towers, sitting on sidewalks, and traveling in taxis. During our wait for Ben's taxi to fill up, one of the guys at the taxi stand again asked Ben how many places he needed in the taxi. Ben again replied, "Wahd." The Moroccan guy replied, "Lla; juj," meaning, "No; two," as he pointed first to Ben, and said, "Wahd," and then pointed to Jillabo and said, "Juj." When you like a joke someone tells here or some other humorous comment, often you shake the person's hand, so I shook the guy's hand for that one.

And a little later, "Safi, baraka." That's it, enough. The driver said it was time to go. The taxi had filled up. Ben and I hugged each other and he got into the taxi. It promptly pulled away as he finally headed out from the province.

Prioritizing

Last weekend, I went to the city that's about an hour away from my town. I had very much wanted to return there for Bible study with the group of Christians I had met there earlier this year.

Before last weekend, I had had the idea in my head that if I was going to go to the city, I had to stay overnight there for at least one, if not two, nights, to make the trip worthwhile. Last week, I realized that I could take a bus or a grand taxi there on Sunday morning, and take a bus or taxi back here to my town on Sunday afternoon.

Essentially I realized that I had to prioritize. It's not a priority to have a weekend outside of my town. In fact, one of my priorities is to make sure I don't spend too much time outside of my town.

I concluded that by going there for just part of one day, I'm focusing on what's most important, tending to my spiritual health and well-being. I spend time doing what's most important, while at the same time not spending a night outside my community. Taking care of everything, while being sure to do what's most important.

So, last weekend, I went into the city just for the day. That day, I felt, as I do now feel, supported and encouraged in my faith by the other Christians there; I'm very thankful to have the spiritual community I have with them. After the Bible study session, we had a potluck barbeque lunch there in one of their houses. In the meal, I especially appreciated the barbequed chicken, the barbequed sausages, and the potato salad. All of the desserts were great; we had German chocolate cake for the birthday of one of the women there in the group; we also had chocolate brownies, which were enjoyably gooey; and we also had some yummy peanut butter brownies with chocolate chips in them.

After the barbeque, I headed back here to my town. I was sad to be leaving them after having had such a good time. At the same time, I'm glad that they're so nearby.

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.

First Visit Back to the USA

So, in the last couple of weeks I made my first visit back to the USA since I started to live in Morocco in September last year. It was a lot of fun!

To take things in order: the morning I left my town, I showed up to the office of one of the bus companies here in my town and found out that the early bus out of my town was going to be full. I always go to the bus company office the day before I catch a bus to buy my ticket for the bus I'm going to catch the next day. But the day before I left my town to head to the USA, the bus company office was closed both times that I went to it that day. So that morning that I was leaving my town, after finding out that the bus was going to be full, I headed to the grand taxi stand in my town. Given that there are multiple ways of leaving my town, I wasn't concerned about making it to the airport in Marrakech for my flight the next day. Nevertheless, as I was waiting for a taxi to fill up, I appreciated how I saw a truck drive by with a large sticker on its windshield that said, "Don't Worry."

In fact, once I got out of a taxi at a stop about an hour from my town, I managed to get on the bus I had been told was full when I had still been in my town. Apparently the bus was only full until that stop where I got on the bus. I was thankful to be on a bus and not crammed into a grand taxi during most of the ride to Marrakech.

Later that day, I arrived in Marrakech, which provided the context of the blog entry immediately preceding this current one. I was glad to be on my trip!

Early the next morning, I checked out of my hotel and began walking toward the nearest petit taxi stand there in Marrakech. Before I got to the taxi stand, a middle-aged guy approached me and asked me if I wanted a taxi. I replied in Arabic, "Yeah, but it's going to be expensive." He replied in French, "No, seventy." I had heard from another PCV that a taxi driver in Marrakech had told him it cost 100 dirhams to get to the airport. Further, after dusk and before dawn, taxi drivers in Morocco charge one-and-a-half times the regular fare for any particular taxi ride. So, when this driver told me it would only cost 70 dirhams, I figured I was being charged less than the usual price, and took him up on his offer. On the way to the airport, I was thinking all of this, especially in light of how some taxi drivers in Marrakech clearly had tried to overcharge me on previous visits to that city. So after I paid him, when I was getting out of the taxi, I told him in French that he was an honest man, and told him in Arabic, "God be with you."

I was very glad that my flight from Marrakech to Casablanca, and my flight from Casablanca to Brussels, Belgium both went without incident. I happily ate some delicious food in Brussels, stayed overnight there, and the next day continued my journey to the USA. Finally, after one grand taxi, one bus, two petit taxis, one train, four trams, one metro, five planes, and one car ride, I arrived at my parents' home in the USA, 72 hours after I left my apartment in the Sahara.

I was very happy to spend time with my folks, and also with my sister, who was also visiting them at the same time. In addition to enjoying their company, I also was very happy to eat food I can't eat, or at the very least, can't easily come by, in Morocco. My mom made some delicious lasagna. I loved having bacon for breakfast (remember that Morocco, being a Muslim country, does not have a lot of pork, bacon and ham in it, except in cities, and more likely in the larger ones, and even then, it's not ubiquitous).

Another stark difference of which I was very conscious: though I hadn't forgotten, nevertheless, on my visit back to the USA, I was very conscious of how women are not covered up like women are in my town here in the Sahara. As I visited restaurants and shops, and walked around on sidewalks in the USA, I was repeatedly struck by how women in the USA often wear clothing which shows all of their arms up to the tops of their shoulders, their legs well above their knees, and, from time to time, exposes their midriffs. I was taking this all in in contrast to the women in my town here in the Sahara, who are covered sometimes literally from head to toe (that is, everything except their faces and their hands). If they're not that covered up, then they are only exposing below their ankles, even now, during the hottest part of the year, here in the Sahara. If a woman is exposing herself any more than that in my town, it is rare (unless she is visiting this town from a larger city and/or is a tourist).

I suppose that I was struck on my recent visit back to the USA by how relatively uncovered women in the USA are, even though in my everyday life in Morocco, I have been very conscious of how covered rural Moroccan women are, because throughout my life, I've been used to women dressing as they like. In other words, I was raised under certain customs, and those are still the ones to which I am most easily accustomed. Which brings me to a larger observation I had during my trip back to the USA. As I was processing my thoughts about what it was like being back in the USA, often out loud, in conversations with my parents and sister, finally my mom paraphrased my many observations, and said, "So, being here feels normal." And I said yes, that it just felt normal being back in the USA. I wasn't experiencing reverse culture shock, since I must say that I don't feel Moroccan. While I've adjusted to life in Morocco, I still feel like a citizen of the USA living in Morocco. So while it wasn't a gigantic relief to be spending time in the USA, it just felt good because it felt natural.

That is to say, I haven't adopted the customs of Morocco as my own. While I feel like I've adjusted to living in Morocco, I don't think of it as my own culture. When I got back to the USA, having been constantly faced with rural Moroccan women so covered up, it was a major change to see women so relatively uncovered, as I have for most of my life. I felt like I was returning to a culture which felt more natural for me, and for that reason, among others, I was enjoying my visit.

After a good visit with my folks and my sister at my folks' place, I flew to New York, where I again met up with my sister. When we had our first lunch there, I had such a good pastrami on rye sandwich. The pastrami melted in my mouth! At that meal, I also had some of the best cheesecake I had ever had.

I continued onward and then spent time with more of my extended family. The next day, a relative threw a barbeque where I got to spend time with a good number of my relatives. It was great to see them. They had a lot of questions for me about my life in Morocco and in my town, and about my work. At that barbeque, I loved eating a variety of things I don't get to eat here in Morocco, among them pulled pork.

The following day, I attended the wedding of a friend of mine to his sweetheart. I see their wedding as reflecting another difference between culture in the USA and Moroccan culture. My friend is Jewish, and his wife is Christian. By contrast, over 98 percent of Moroccans are Muslim. And on top of that, many of the relatively small number of Moroccans who are not Muslim are not that recognizable.

At the wedding, as throughout my visit back to the USA, people were asking me a lot of questions about Morocco and my life here. So of course I was talking a lot about life here.

On the rest of my trip, I was happy that I had the chance to see other friends. Among them, I met up with a mentor of mine, who had also been a teacher of mine years ago, and who had been a PCV himself before me. While we had previously spoken about our Peace Corps experiences, we spoke more over brunch about being PCVs. He told me that when he was a PCV, he left his town twice in one year, since it was so isolated, and since there were so few transportation options. While I have many times thanked God for the many blessings which have been bestowed on me, including during my time as a PCV, I became even more grateful for my current living situation once he told me how isolated his village was. I was also thankful and appreciative of his guidance and support.

It was great to get to see my friends while I was back. I feel recharged after spending time with them and receiving their encouragement. And, I was happy that, during the last couple of days of my visit in the USA, I shared great food with them, including more bacon, ice cream, and cupcakes, among other tasty morsels.

Once I split off from my friends and started heading for the airport, though, I was looking forward to getting back here. As I was on the way to JFK, I was thinking that since I wasn't going to get to see any more of my family or friends, and since I wasn't going to visit anywhere else in the USA or do anything else there, I just wanted to get back to Morocco. To get the long trip back done.

After I landed on the last of my three flights back from the USA, and was about to exit the airport in Marrakech, I decided to utilize the information desk at the airport. As I approached the desk, I saw a few Moroccan girls huddled together in conversation. I asked them in Arabic where I could catch the bus. They directed me to where I would find it, expressing surprise and smiling as they commented that I was speaking Arabic.

Having gotten the tip from a second-year PCV to take the bus from the Marrakech airport into the city of Marrakech, rather than being charged more for a taxi, I was happy to only pay 20 dirhams to take the bus to my hotel. And, it didn't even take significantly longer than a taxi would have taken.

The next day, I woke up late, exhausted from so many days of traveling over the previous two weeks. I caught a morning bus back down here to my town. Traveling through the High Atlas mountains, I was again surprised and pleased that in the summer month of July, with no snow visible on the mountains, I saw waterfalls flowing down some of the mountains.

I arrived back in my town late that afternoon, exhausted, but happy to have spent time in the USA with my family and friends, including at the wedding of one of my best friends.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it any sooner, but I was all tied up."

Some words about transportation in Morocco. I think I've already mentioned buses and trains in previous blog posts. One can also get around in Morocco by taking both petit taxis and grand taxis. Petit taxis travel within cities and sometimes within some bigger towns, and typically take no more than three passengers, two in the back seat, and one in the front passenger seat. Grand taxis, which are usually Mercedes, travel between towns and cities, and carry six passengers, in addition to the driver, cramming four people in the back seat, and two in the front passenger seat. Each passenger pays for his or her own place. If a passenger in a grand taxi wants more space, that passenger can pay for an additional seat or for additional seats. But usually each passenger only pays for his or her own seat. Grand taxi drivers ideally want to fill up the taxis because they don't want to miss out on money they can make, so even if a passenger is ready to go, usually the driver waits for the taxi to fill up before leaving town. Sometimes after waiting a little while, a driver will leave with a taxi that isn't full, after making a judgment call that it's better to get going and at least make the money from the passengers who are already there, rather than keep waiting for more passengers, who may take a while to show up.

I was sitting at the grand taxi stand in my town last week, waiting for a taxi to fill up so I could get to another PCV's site to attend an exhibition of talent of local youths. As I sat waiting there, in front of me lie a sheep with three of its legs tied up. And then I thought that that sheep and I were more similar than I had previously thought: neither that sheep nor I were going anywhere until each of the guys transporting us decided that it was time to go.

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.