Be Like The Children

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

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

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

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

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

Accepting Transformation

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

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

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

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

Will You Marry Me?

I was happy to attend Mass at the Catholic church in Marrakech this past weekend. On the vast majority of the days I've spent here in Morocco, I haven't knowingly interacted with other Christians. Consequently here in Morocco I often crave spiritual community and fellowship with other Christians. Given my usual lack of interaction with other Christians, I'm grateful whenever I get to worship in a church.

In addition to getting to worship in a church, I was also happy to hear the choir there in that church. Although I'd attended Mass at the Catholic church in Marrakech before this past weekend, I'd never heard the choir there. I so enjoyed hearing them sing, since they sounded so light and free, so joyous and celebratory. After the Sunday morning service, I asked about the origins of the music. They had been singing songs from a variety of locations, including the Congo.

After the service, the priest said that there were a couple of announcements. Then a Frenchman who was in one of the front pews walked up to the lectern. He spoke for a short time in French, and when he stopped speaking, I heard some of the female choir members up in the balcony gasp. He had just asked his girlfriend to marry him. The choir erupted briefly into apparently spontaneous song. Once they had finished singing, she walked up to the altar and the priest blessed their engagement.

When I had been in the church the previous day for the Saturday evening service, in the back of the church, I had seen photos of European couples getting married there in that church. When I arrived for Mass on Sunday morning, I saw rice scattered on the ground outside the church. I suppose I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was to hear his marriage proposal to her!

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.

Security Checkpoints

After Spring Camp ended, I visited the Mediterranean coast. I figured I should capitalize on being so close to the coast. In the town of Saidia, I went for a pleasant stroll on the beach. After thoroughly assessing the beachside cafe and restaurant options, I settled on a place where I could get a fish sandwich for a low price. I paid for what I got. The baby shrimp panini for 35 dirhams wasn't that good. However, as I ate it, and after I ate it, I watched the waves crashing on the beach, which, in soothing splendor, thankfully eclipsed how lamentable the sandwich was. After enjoying the view, I caught a taxi back south.

The next day, I headed south from the city of Oujda. Until the turn for the town of Jerada, the landscape was verdant. After we passed the turn for Jerada, the landscape was stark, brown and barren. Consequently, it was a long bus ride to the town of Figuig, where I was staying for the night.

Soon before arriving in Figuig, our bus was stopped a couple of times by the gendarmes, who are the local law enforcement officers. The first time, the gendarme who came onto the bus asked me to step off the bus with him. Then he asked me for my passport. He asked me the purpose of my visit to Figuig. I told him that I wanted to walk in the palmerie, which is the massive grove of palm trees there. I'd heard it's a beautiful town and area, and had been wanting to visit for a while. The gendarmes asked me some basic identifying information in addition to that which they could glean from my passport. Then they let me get back on the bus. The second time we got stopped by the gendarmes, I had a similar interaction with another gendarme. While there are security checkpoints in various places here in Morocco, these gendarmes were more inquisitive than gendarmes usually are at security checkpoints here in Morocco. Why? Figuig is very close to the border with Algeria; in fact, it's so far east in Morocco that Algeria is only a few kilometers away. Figuig is surrounded on three sides by Algeria. And, the border between Morocco and Algeria has been closed for years now. So, it seems that the gendarmes are conducting checks to ensure border security. Anyway, the gendarmes were agreeable and professional enough, so I didn't have any complaints about those interactions with them, also considering that the delays in our voyage south were minor.

When I arrived in Figuig, I was happily surprised by the price for my room at Hotel El Meliasse. Based on my research about that particular hotel, I had expected to pay 60 dirhams for the room. That hotel indeed charges 60 dirhams for some of its rooms--if two people stay in those rooms. Since I was staying in the room by myself, I only had to pay 30 dirhams. For those of you who aren't familiar with Moroccan currency, 30 dirhams is the equivalent of about 4 US dollars. And no, the room was not disgusting. While the paint on the stairwell walls is peeling, no paint was peeling in the room in which I slept. The floors seemed reasonably clean. Some of the blankets seemed old, and others seemed new. I was glad to be paying the price I was paying for the room I had. I've paid more for rooms which were not as nice here in Morocco.

While I was there in Figuig, I enjoyed one of my favorite Moroccan culinary offerings, shfinj, which are deep-fried doughnuts. Given how Moroccans love to add sugar to things, I'm a bit mystified to report that there's usually no sugar of any kind, either powdered or granulated, on these doughnuts. Despite my sweet tooth, I always enjoy these doughnuts, which have no sugar on them. I've had them in various locations in addition to Figuig, including the town in which I live, as well as Marrakech, and also on the Atlantic coast of Morocco.

After enjoying one of these doughnuts, I headed off for a walk into one of the villages of Figuig. After a little while of walking on the narrow streets, the passageways became covered. Overhead were ceilings formed by palm tree trunks, which also served as floors for the buildings which extended over the passageways. On my way back to the main part of town, I walked through the palmerie, past the irrigation canals channeling water through that desert territory, making arable but dry land more fertile.

The next day I headed out from Figuig on an early morning bus, then caught a late morning bus for a longer segment of my voyage west. At one point early in that second part of my journey, our bus had gotten detoured onto a dirt and gravel road. Given the terrain of that road, the driver was driving quite slowly. Once we had gotten back onto the main, paved road, the driver sped up. It occurred to me that perhaps my journey that day could serve as a microcosm of my Peace Corps service. Early on I seemed to be moving slowly, but later time seemed to be passing more quickly.

Later that day, I enjoyed visiting a friend and fellow PCV in his site. We always have laughs together, so I'd been looking forward to spending time with him. On my way back south, I've enjoyed seeing some new countryside. However, I'd been looking forward to spending time with people again. While I enjoy seeing new landscapes, I've been reminded of what brings me most joy: enjoying the company of others and giving each other mutual support. After all, that's why I came here.

Teaching English As A Means To Other Ends

The Peace Corps tells PCVs to teach English not just as an end in itself, but additionally to educate host country kids about various issues while also teaching them English. This week I've realized that one can do so more easily and quickly than I had been previously doing.

Here in Morocco, as a Youth Development volunteer, I teach and tutor kids in English at a dar chebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"). Moroccan kids receive their main form of formal education in Moroccan schools, which, for most Moroccan kids, are public schools. Sometimes kids want a little extra help with what they've been learning in their English classes in school, so they come to the youth center to ask me questions about English.

Earlier this week, some boys asked me to explain trafficking in women. One of them had opened his English textbook to a lesson which was discussing trafficking in women. Often in the youth center, Moroccan youths ask me what certain words mean. In this particular case, though, I not only defined certain words in the textbook lesson for them, but I also described how trafficking in women occurs. I related to them how some women are intimidated or deceived into going with men who actually kidnap them. I also explained that some women go with such men because the women feel under economic duress, in the context of the severe economic challenges they face in their lives. It certainly seemed beneficial to not only be telling them the meaning of words, but also to be educating them about how many women are exploited, so that they can be more informed individuals.

Sometimes the youths ask me to teach them vocabulary about topics which, at first blush, don't seem immediately to relate to any urgent current issue. However, often in retrospect, I've realized that when this appears to be the case, one can discuss such vocabulary in the context of the greater societal phenomena in the particular culture and country where one is. More specifically, earlier this week at the youth center, some girls asked me to teach them in English about professions. I seized upon their request to additionally educate them about women working in professions where they might not expect women to be employed. For example, while I wrote the sentence "My father is a lawyer" on the board, I also wrote "My mother is a doctor" and "Her sister is a university professor" on the board. I wrote these sentences on the board partly to remind these girls that women can work in these professions. However, I also wrote these sentences on the board as reflections of how prevalent female doctors and female university professors are here in Morocco. One-third of doctors, attorneys and university professors in Morocco are women. However, these girls might not envision so many university professors being women. Not only are these girls not yet enrolled in universities, but as far as I know, every primary school teacher, middle school teacher, and high school teacher I've met here in town has been male. Thus, in teaching English, one can introduce to youths that not only do things not have to be the way that they see them, but perhaps things are in fact different in other countries, or even elsewhere in one's own country.

In teaching English, one can show youths not only that their worldview assumptions are not necessarily accurate, but similarly, also one can help them gain logical reasoning skills. Last night at the youth center, some boys asked me to teach them vocabulary in English about family. Again, on the surface, one might not see any opportunities to transform a common English lesson into a more challenging activity for youths. However, after introducing the words "mother," "father," "parent," "son," "daughter," "child," "brother," "sister" and "sibling" to them, I then presented them with some sentences, including "All mothers are parents" and "All parents are fathers," and asked them which sentences were true. We continued until they understood that all mothers are parents, but not all parents are fathers.

I very much enjoy teaching English. It brings a lot of joy to me to help others, including when I teach English. But I've found that I spend my time even better when I not only teach English, but while doing so, also help youths learn about important current affairs, help them gain new perspectives, and develop their logical reasoning and critical thinking skills. While it's helpful to know how to speak English, youths will be even better prepared for the rest of their lives if they are more aware and if they seek to more critically evaluate the choices which lie ahead.

Jump For Joy

A couple of days ago, when I left this cyber:

Another gorgeous day here in the Sahara.

Clear blue sky. Not a cloud in the sky.

I was walking down an alley here in town. A Moroccan man was walking in front of me.

Walking towards us was a bright-eyed Moroccan boy, likely 3 or 4 years old.

As the Moroccan man passed the young boy, he tousled the boy's hair.

The boy's eyes widened, and he spontaneously hopped forward, his day brightened by the man's affectionate gesture.

Being a Foodie in the Peace Corps

I love food. I am, most definitely, a food lover, or, as some say, a "foodie." Back when I lived in the states, I lived in, and visited, towns and cities which offered so much great food. I began to realize that with so much great food around, there's no reason to settle for mediocre food. Even a burrito for less than 4 dollars could be a real treat when I bothered to go to the best taqueria in the city, rather than just uncreatively opting to go to the nearest place.

So this week I was happy when I had some of the best tajine (essentially a kind of Moroccan stew) at some Moroccans' houses for lunch. And during one of those visits, my host told me that his spouse had baked the cookies we were eating, which were also some of the best cookies I've eaten here in Morocco.

There at his house, we ate the tajine of sheep meat, prunes and almonds out of a communal dish, breaking pieces of bread off from large, round, flat bread, and using those pieces of bread to grasp food from the communal dish. When we had finished eating, the host's son arrived with some of the tajine oil, or sauce, and poured it into the communal dish out of which we had been eating. I was shocked that no one else leaned forward to mop it up with some bread. I gladly did so. There was still a good amount of oil left in the dish when his son took it away. The sauce was so delicious, that I was glad to get to have more of it!

Later that night, when I was back at home, lying in bed in the dark, soon before falling asleep, I thought of my day. I thought of how I had gone to their house for lunch. I thought of how much of a foodie I am, and how delicious that meal was earlier in the day. And then I laughed out loud, gratefully and joyfully, as I thought, "Even in the Peace Corps I eat well!"

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.

Exodus: My One Year Anniversary in Morocco

"Open your eyes,
and look within:
are you satisfied
with the life you're living?"
- Bob Marley

I have long loved the above quotation, from the song entitled "Exodus" by Bob Marley. For two decades, in fact, I have tried to live by it, which has meant asking myself the above question at different points in my life. This has been an inquiry which has been easy for me.

It has been easy for me to see when I am happy as well as contented, when I feel fulfilled, when my being is joyous. I try to pay attention to, and thus it's fairly easy to see, what elicits and fosters these feelings in me. It's easy to ask myself these questions. Years ago, it became clear to me that I feel best when helping others. And it didn't take me long to figure out what my skills are, and thus to ascertain how I can best help others.

Thus I came to the conclusion that I should leave the job which I left last year. Although I felt fulfilled in that job, was grateful to be helping others, considered my co-workers to be blessings in my life, and respected them and the work which they were competently, compassionately, and passionately doing, I felt with a good deal of clarity that I had to move on, because my answers lay elsewhere.

Hence the inquiry was easy. And the general conclusion to leave was easy, despite, for so many reasons, how comfortable I was there with them.

Accepting the answers, on the other hand, at times has not seemed as easy. I consciously use the verb "to seem" rather than the verb "to be" in the previous sentence. As I've tried to suggest in previous blog entries, I have been coming to realize that my feelings of contentment, fulfillment and joy have largely depended on how I choose to perceive what happens in my life. And, now, in this paragraph, I am suggesting that it's up to me how easy the answers seem to be. If I choose to perceive the answers as being difficult to accept, then they will be difficult to accept. If I choose to perceive the answers as being easy to accept, then they will be easy to accept.

While I did not feel especially challenged in my inquiry into whether to leave my job last year, at first the answer of what specifically I should do next did not seem as easy, as I suggested in my very first blog entry, entitled "Up Until Now." I grappled with the idea of joining the Peace Corps, and finally accepted this path one day as I was sitting in church. I changed my perspective, and accepted God's way, rather than resisting it. I knew that there would be difficulties, and challenges, and I chose to confront them, knowing that I would be strengthened in meeting those challenges, because I was accepting God's way, of love and truth.

Perhaps because I approached the Peace Corps from this direction, I appreciated how the Bob Marley song "Exodus" spoke to me about my spiritual journey which has included joining the Peace Corps. When I was on a bus on my way to Spring Camp earlier this year, I was listening to this song. At that point in my time here in Morocco, I had adapted a good deal to life here in Morocco, thus I had just started to feel that I could survive my two years of Peace Corps service here in Morocco. Hence I was listening to the song with a sense of exhausted relief and gratitude, the kind of gratitude one feels after having completed an especially harrowing part of a journey, when one feels that although there are further challenging parts of the journey ahead, that the worst of it has passed, that one has, in effect, been safely shepherded through the stormiest, most trying periods.

Having felt resonance with this song as I listened to it during that bus ride, I later began to inquire why it especially resonated with me at that particular moment. At first, the most basic associations arose in my mind.

Having started to read the Bible with the first chapter of Genesis on November 27 last year, which was my first full day living in my town here in the Sahara, and having read some of it every single day since then until I read the last chapter of the Book of Revelation on August 29 this year, I thought of how I had read the Book of Exodus. Then I immediately began to think more of this association, guided, in part, by Bob Marley's treatment of that book in his song of the same name. In that song, Bob Marley sings, "Exodus: Movement of the People." The Book of Exodus describes the exodus, or movement, of the Jewish people out of slavery in Egypt. I thought of the similarity of their leaving Egypt, and my having left the U.S. I also thought of how they left Egypt and went into the desert, and how I left the U.S., and came into the Sahara Desert. Of course, my inquiry did not end there.

I thought of how God delivered them out of slavery and out of the desert. And I thought of how I have trusted in God, how he has safely delivered me thus far, and how I know that He will continue to safely deliver me. And in continuing my inquiry further, I thought of how I am on a journey of faith, just as the Jewish people were, when God delivered them out of Egypt. I took a leap in starting a new life, just as the Jewish people took a leap and started a new life when they left Egypt. However, to state it merely so, and not explain it further, would be incomplete, since it was a leap of faith which I took. As the Jewish people had faith in God when He delivered them out of Egypt, so I had faith in God when I took the leap of faith to enter the Peace Corps.

And as I've previously noted, God has provided for me. For that, I have been extremely grateful. For that, I thank God.

But what if tragedy struck? What if dire, calamitous circumstances, on a scale which I have never before experienced, arose in my life? Unfortunately, in such circumstances, some people lose their faith. Or, if they are not already believers, they justify their disbelief by asking how God could allow such misfortune to occur. However, what it seems that they fail to realize, is that we gain strength through adversity. It is exactly when times are hardest, and test us most, that we have the best, most promising, most valuable opportunities to grow. In his book "The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence For Belief," Francis Collins asks, "Have you learned more about yourself when things were going well, or when you were faced with challenges, frustrations and suffering?"

It was in this vein that I have tried to learn from the unexpected and tragic deaths of loved ones. My friend Liz died nearly eight years ago, when she had been married less than a couple of years, and when she was five months pregnant. As if that didn't make her passing tragic enough, she was an extremely caring and giving person. A couple of decades ago, before I met her, she was a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) in Niger. Later in her life, she and I worked together at both of the jobs I held just before I joined the Peace Corps. She was my mentor, and my friend. I was shaken up by her death. I began to ask myself more and more how I was spending my life, to evaluate more often my life choices. Thus, in this vein, I applied to the Peace Corps.

As my friend Maral said at Liz's memorial service years ago, "She's only dead if we let her die," meaning that we must not forget her. Meaning that because I admired her so much, I choose for her to live on, by trying to emulate her in her generosity and kindness. Thus I found it immensely appropriate that it was on her birthday last year that I boarded a plane to fly here to Morocco to enter the Peace Corps. And thus, as I am writing this blog entry on the one year anniversary of my arrival here in Morocco, I am conscious of, and grateful for, and choose now to honor, her service as a PCV, her kindness and generosity as a human being, and her guidance of me.

Since Liz played such an important role in my life, I have been conscious each year of her birthday and the date on which she died. Consequently, at some point, I thought about exactly how old she was when she died. Very soon after I thought about exactly how old she was when she died, it occurred to me when I was going to be that exact age. On June 16 this year, which was the day when I became exactly as old as she was when she died, I thought a lot about her that day. And I realized that none of us should expect to live for any particular amount of time. I was yet again reminded of my own mortality. I was again spurred to evaluate how I am living my life.

Since I always try to take this approach in my life, I appreciated it when, in the last few days, I just read a particular passage in Jon Krakauer's book "Into The Wild." In that book, Krakauer explores the life of a young man named Chris McCandless, struck by a severe case of wanderlust, uninhibited by society's expectations about how he should live his life. In his book, Krakauer includes a letter from McCandless to a friend, in which McCandless urges his elderly friend:

I'd like to repeat the advice I gave you before, in that I think you really should make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future.

Some of you may have read "Into The Wild"; others might not have read it. For those of you who have read it, please keep in mind that I am quoting McCandless because, when he was pondering how he wanted to live his life, he was brave enough to think outside of the confines of societal expectations. Tragically, he also was careless, and did not sufficiently prepare for his adventures. However, one can define one's own life, which can be contrary to societal expectations, and also plan properly to avoid unnecessary danger. So, please know that I am not quoting him for the purpose of endorsing a reckless, imprudently unsafe lifestyle; rather, I am quoting him for his uncommon ability to boldly define his own life. I am quoting him for the purpose of illustrating that anyone can bravely choose to define the parameters of their own life, perhaps unconventionally so, in order to live a more generous, loving, kind and compassionate life than a life which society generally encourages people to lead.

And in the context of my life experiences, which has included unexpectedly losing loved ones, I choose not to wait to make adjustments to my life, when those adjustments occur to me. I remember that a few years ago, I went with a friend of mine named Liz (not the Liz I mentioned above, but rather, another friend named Liz) to a concert in the splendidly art deco Paramount Theatre in Oakland, California. The main performer of the evening, Madeleine Peyroux, at one point, in between musical numbers, while commenting on a song which she and her fellow musicians were about to perform, advised us in the audience, "Don't wait too long."

When I recalled this advice which we received from Madeleine Peyroux that evening years ago, I thought how appropriate it was that Vienna Teng was the opening performer that evening. Vienna Teng left her comfortable job in Silicon Valley to pursue her passion of being a singer-songwriter. In that sense of making a bold change in her life to pursue her passion and develop her talent, she was one of the people who implicitly supported me, and inspired me, to decide to quit my job and enter the Peace Corps.

So, I try to live my life now. I ask myself what I want to do before I die. Which includes thinking about my values, and trying to live according to my values, conscious of my own mortality, conscious of how I don't know how much time I have. Conscious of how, in Mark 13:33-36, Jesus said:

Be alert!
You do not know when that time will come.
It’s like a man going away:
He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge,
each with their assigned task,
and tells the one at the door to keep watch.

Therefore keep watch
because you do not know
when the owner of the house will come back—
whether in the evening,
or at midnight,
or when the rooster crows,
or at dawn.

If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping.

Humility as a Reflection of Love

I just finished reading "The True Solitude," which is a collection of excerpts of different works by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton. In this book, Merton offers his thoughts on finding peace, both from the values one exhibits, and from spending time in nature. He also shares his musings on the value of solitude. He also writes of how one can receive, accept and reflect God's grace, which can help one to weather difficult circumstances.

In one passage in the book, Merton explains, "Despair is the absolute extreme of self-love." He goes on to say that one sinks into despair when one refuses help from others, instead choosing to be lost. Pride gets one there, since as soon as we fail, we pity ourselves. And despair comes from pride so large and stubborn that one chooses misery over the happiness that comes from interdependence and reliance on God. And then he emphasizes, "But a man who is truly humble cannot despair, because in the humble man there is no longer any such thing as self-pity."

In digesting Merton's words, I thought, "This teaching is perfect for PCVs." As Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs), we despair for various reasons, but so often it's because we are not getting what we want. Sometimes it's because we're living in an physically isolated site, and we want to be geographically closer to other PCVs in the country where we're serving, or because we desperately miss our families and friends back in the USA, or we're overwhelmed by living in a foreign country, or we're frustrated because we feel that we can't speak the host country language well, or we're frustrated because we feel like we're not accomplishing much as PCVs, and for many other reasons. So much of the time we despair as PCVs because we don't have what we want during our service as PCVs.

But why did we decide to become PCVs? To help others. Consequently, we shouldn't be focusing on what we want, and thus we shouldn't be focusing on what we don't have, but instead we should be focusing on how we can help others.

And who are we to be thinking that things should be a certain way? Hopefully we didn't have such expectations about our Peace Corps service before we got to our host countries. We don't know why we've ended up in certain countries, and in certain communities. Nor do we know all of the effects we're having as PCVs.

But if we try to stop focusing on what we don't have, and focus instead on what do we have--including opportunities to help others--then in those interactions, motivated by love, we can find the joy that is felt when one helps others.

Not knowing all of the effects we're having as PCVs, potentially one can choose to feel uncertain, or even despair by assuming that one is not having much of a positive effect on others' lives. One can combat this uncertainty and despair by changing one's focus. For myself, ideally I always try to trust in God, who brought and guided me to where I am today. Essentially we can choose to respond to God in kind: by striving to show God the love which God has shown to us. I don't know God's ultimate plan. But I have been learning to trust God. And it has worked very well, I must report. God has been providing me with everything I need. Beyond superficial material needs, God has given us tremendous opportunities to help others, and in those possibilities, we can choose to help, and thus love others, which brings us a wondrous joy, and a far better result than the alternative course of action.

Joyous Song of Expats Living in Morocco

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

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

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

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

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.

Time Out

Just as a coda to my last post: I spoke with a friend in the U.S. after I had posted my last blog entry, and told her that I feel the best that I have felt since arriving here in Morocco. She sounded surprised.

After getting off the phone with her, I thought that my difficult process last week, of emerging from the depths of despair, was perhaps a spiritual equivalent of going to the hammam, what is essentially a Moroccan bathhouse. In the hammam, people use an exfoliating glove, or kis, to scrub themselves. So with a kis, someone is essentially scraping the dirt off himself or herself, unlike when someone just rubs a bar of soap on themselves. Consequently, people wind up getting very clean. I and other Americans I know who have gone to hammams here in Morocco are astonished by how much dirt comes off of us. Analogously, it was surprising, in retrospect, to see how far up I had climbed emotionally last week. Having thrown off the shackles of despair, I have been feeling great.

Experiencing pleasure of people and things more with joy. I was walking through town yesterday and came upon a soccer match. As I drew nearer to the field, I saw a young Moroccan friend of mine. He waved, getting my attention. I was happy to get to spend some time with him. The young lad, probably in his late teens, is always so welcoming and friendly. When he shakes my hand in greeting, he often takes my shoulder with his other hand, as if to offer additional support and warmth to me. After watching the match for a little while, when we parted ways, I told him I was going to go to a hanoot (basically the Moroccan equivalent of a corner store). As always, he immediately took me by the arm and started to lead me there. I love how he automatically takes it upon himself to show where I can find what I need. It's so wonderful to experience such warmth, generosity and caring.

And, again, I am enjoying just simple things. During the soccer match, I was amused when the referee had to halt the game temporarily, in a sort of "time out" when a man drove his donkey-drawn cart through the middle of the dirt field. (I guessed that the man drove through the field because the adjacent road on which he normally would have driven was, at that moment, being paved).

This morning, as I was walking through town, I was reveling in the blue sky and sunshine of a gorgeous day, as I appreciated some warm bread I had just bought from the boulangerie, the bakery, in the middle of town. Life is good.

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.

Placement Officer Makes Contact

This morning, upon logging into my e-mail account, I saw that I had a message from the Peace Corps. When I opened it, I saw that it was not from the general e-mail account at the Placement Office, from which I had received previous messages from Placement. No, this was the actual Placement Officer. This is the final person with whom I will be in contact during the application process.

Now, the Placement Officer can say very different things to different people in this initial message, depending on the timeline for which they're considering someone. Some people, initially being contacted by the Placement Officer, receive an e-mail asking them something like, "We're considering you for a position in X country, leaving in six weeks. What do you think?"

In her e-mail message this morning, the Placement Officer asked me a half dozen general questions to help her evaluate me for a placement. That makes me think they're evaluating me in a less rushed fashion. So, it seems unlikely that she's going to contact me tomorrow, saying something like, "We know it's short notice, but would you be interested in departing for Benin (or Madagascar) in the middle of July?"

FYI, I've been regularly (but I honestly don't think obsessively) visiting the site www.peacecorpswiki.org and reviewing departure dates for various countries. That site contains information contributed by Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, as well as current applicants. It also has some information obtained from formal FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) requests to the Peace Corps. So, it's a helpful source in terms of trying to look at where and when a potential invitation could invite me to go. That's where I came up with the theoretical invitations to Benin and Madagascar in July. But I digress.

So, the Placement Officer sent me some questions this morning. I felt that some of them were following up on questions I had been previously asked. For example, in my interview last September, I told the recruiter some steps I was going to take to prepare to enter the Peace Corps. In my response to the Placement Officer this morning, I told her the various things I have been doing to continue preparing to enter the Peace Corps: studying French; volunteering; attending Peace Corps information sessions, which, BTW, I have found to be probably my best source of information, since at them, I hear from former Returned Peace Corps Volunteers; reading about the Peace Corps; and figuring out what I'm going to do with my stuff, which will mostly be getting rid of it.

I have to say that it felt good to get that e-mail message this morning. When I posted a cryptic status update on Facebook today about being contacted by the "P.O.," my friends were jokingly writing that perhaps it meant "parole officer." I feel like I am about to embark on a grand, joyous, wonderful, beautiful adventure. By contrast, I also feel like I'm about to leave behind a line of work which I don't think I'm going to miss. Hence, I was happily amused at those jovial comments expressing symbolism of an escape out of something which I want to leave behind, and into an experience which I strongly suspect I am going to find incredibly liberating, empowering and enlightening.