Mixing US Culture And Host Country Culture

Among the many culinary creations I enjoy are jelly doughnuts.  I've been looking forward to having some when I get back to the states.

In the meantime, while I've been living here in Morocco, from time to time I enjoy "shfinj," which are Moroccan fried doughnuts.  I've been glad that one shop here in the town where I live in the Sahara sells shfinj.

I'd been thinking for a while of buying not only shfinj again, but also some strawberry jelly and making some shfinj into jelly doughnuts.  Accordingly, yesterday some of us at the dar shebab (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "youth center"), where I do most of my volunteering as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), went and got some shfinj, strawberry jelly and granulated sugar.  Although the shfinj they sell here in town have holes in the middle, we cut open the sides and stuffed them with strawberry jelly.  Then we sprinkled some granulated sugar on top of them.

I explained to the dar shebab moudir (Darija for "director") and some of the kids there that some of the doughnuts in the US resemble the creations we were eating.  Thus we took a little bit of the culture here in Morocco, added in some elements used in similar cultural offerings in the US, and had a bit of cross-cultural exchange--in the form of some tasty treats!

Freedom From Things

I'm scheduled to finish my Peace Corps service in October, so I've been trying to pass on all of the things in my apartment, the vast majority of which I inherited from previous PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). David, the new PCV who lives here in town, and Ariana, the new PCV who lives a half dozen kilometers south of me, have already taken everything they want from my apartment. They took a lot, but a fair amount is left. Since I'm eager to unload this stuff, I was excited yesterday when a PCV who lives about 70 kilometers, and at least an hour south of me, arrived to take away more things!

I've been repeatedly noting that I don't miss things that people have taken. Consequently, I want to give away more things as soon as possible. I don't want a lot of things dragging me down.

After my fellow PCV left with a load of things yesterday, I went into the kitchen and went to grab the cinnamon jar to use some cinnamon on a snack. I discovered that many ants had infiltrated into the jar! While I'd latched the lid shut, I hadn't noticed that the lid hadn't evenly met the mouth of the jar, leaving an entranceway for the ants. Then I thought, "Well, I've been wanting to get rid of more and more things. Now I'm going to throw out this cinnamon, too!" I realized that the loss of the cinnamon in fact could be a gain: the gain of more freedom, freedom from another thing, which could enable me to live a simpler lifestyle.

A little later I went out to run some errands. I noticed that the folks at a shop here in town were making "shfinj" (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "fried doughnuts") as they sometimes do. I picked up a couple of doughnuts for a dirham, about the equivalent of 12 or 13 cents. I brought them home and enjoyed them after I'd sprinkled some granulated sugar on them. It occurred to me that I didn't need the cinnamon. I still had the sugar. Even if I hadn't had the sugar, I could have eaten the doughnuts plain, and they still would've been a great treat.

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.

Double Rainbow

So, to pick up where I left off in my last blog entry and to say a little more about the weekend on which I posted my last blog entry: I was away from my town for some training in another village which is a couple of hours away from my town. There were a dozen other PCVs at the training.

On one of the afternoons of the training, one PCV said that the moudir (director) of her Dar Chebab (youth center) had invited us over to his and his wife's house for kaskroute, or afternoon snack. Moroccans are quite hospitable, and certainly magnanimous with their hospitality. So, we went over to their home for kaskroute.

In addition to tea and coffee, some of the offerings included home-made doughnuts. Since some of you might be curious what the doughnuts, or shfinj, were like, if you think of the texture of the kind of doughnut in the USA which has a hole in the middle and which is powdered, they were of that texture, but without the powder. There were also some baked goods which seemed to be a little like brownies.

In addition to enjoying our hosts' hospitality, and the food, I also was enjoying how my fellow PCV's moudir was playing his guitar for us. Among other things, he played some Bob Marley for us, which was fun to hear.

When we emerged from their home, we were delighted to see a double rainbow. I only remember having seen one once before, in or near Yellowstone National Park, so I was happy to see that double rainbow earlier this month.

Upon arriving back in my town, I barely had enough time to shower, change my clothes and eat a very late lunch before I went to my Dar Chebab to tutor someone in English in one of my regularly scheduled sessions. He's actually a teacher of Arabic. Since he asked me to tutor him in English, I have been tutoring him twice a week. I find it very satisfying, as he is very attentive, and takes a lot of notes, and asks me questions, and comes up with new sentences to test his understanding of English.

It could be that I didn't feel down upon arriving back in my site because I immediately got to work. And, more than just getting straight to work, I immediately set out to helping someone. I have often found that when I feel down, I often feel better after helping someone else.

However, I can say, now that a couple more weeks have passed, that I also am just feeling more comfortable. I feel that I am coping better with being away from family and friends in the USA. And I feel more comfortable not being in the USA, being in a foreign country, in a foreign culture, being in Morocco, and living in my town. I'm here. I live here. This is where I'm living my life. And I'm enjoying helping people here. I'm happy doing this work.

I'm appreciating actually seeing and hearing Moroccans express themselves about what is important to them, instead of just reading about it. I was teaching an English class earlier this month about family trees. When I was teaching the students the words "aunt," "uncle," and "cousin," one of them incredulously asked me in Arabic, "What?! If I want to tell someone about my Emmi, Emmti, xali, or xalti, what am I going to say?"

(In Morocco, in Darija, speakers say "Emmi" for "my father's brother," and "xali" for "my mother's brother," whereas in English we say "uncle" for both of these people. In Morocco, in Darija, speakers say "Emmti" for "my father's sister," and "xalti" for "my mother's sister," whereas in English we use the word "aunt" for both of these people. In Morocco, there are multiple phrases for cousin, namely "wld Emmi," for "son of my father's brother," and "bnt xalti," for "daughter of my mother's sister." Through this greater vocabulary regarding family, you see that Moroccans place a high value on family. Islam plays a prominent role in leading Moroccans to value family; for example, Islam provides that children should take care of their elderly parents.)

I told the students that if one of them wants to tell a person that someone is his or her "wld xali," for example, he or she could say that that person is the son of his or her mother's brother. And then I added that in English, we typically just use the word cousin.

So while I was teaching English to the kids, we were actually teaching each other about our respective cultures. This little story, I believe, reflects how PCVs not only have different roles to play, among them both teacher and student (that is, that as PCVs we not only have things to teach, but also to learn), but also how we often end up quickly shifting between these roles. To phrase it differently, while the "first goal" of the Peace Corps is to "help the people of developing nations meet their need for trained men and women," in the process of doing exactly such work, simultaneously PCVs also often inextricably work on the second and third goals of the Peace Corps. That is, while PCVs are helping to train host country nationals, PCVs often at the very same time help them better understand US citizens and also gain a better understanding of those same host country nationals.

Not wanting to stay too theoretical, however, I sometimes deliberately try not to be too wrapped up in my own thoughts, so that I focus on my interactions with others, and open to what may come along. Yesterday on my way here to the cyber where I check and send e-mail around the corner from my apartment, a couple of the kids who play soccer on my dirt road where I live, called to me after I had passed them. I spontaneously played a little soccer with them, which was fun. I was a little amused by how one of the kids reacted with approval when I blocked the ball he had vigorously kicked to me.

To continue on, and to close on, a lighter note, yesterday I was amused for various reasons about how, during a tutoring session, I was teaching my student the difference in pronunciation between "dessert" and "desert." Of course, I was amused partly because we live in the Sahara Desert here. But also, I found it appropriate that I was educating on this point, because there is no paucity of sweets here in Morocco! And lastly, I was enjoying teaching on this point, because I myself love dessert, as those who know me well can testify.