What a weekend

My tobis (bus/transit/van) leaves my site only twice during the day: once at anywhere between 5:30 and 6 am and once at around two. That being said, every time I leave site, I pretty much get up at 4:45 and pray either I or someone in my "family" will hear the bus and I won't miss it. It's not even seven yet and yet I was actually able to find somewhere that has internet that, though not technically open, let me come in and use it before going to the provincial capital. I'm waiting for my next-nearest health volunteer to come into town so we can catch a taxi together. Enshallah.

What a crazy last few days. I'm really, really overwhelmed. The last few days have had so many highs and lows, I don't know where to begin. I, miss gung-ho-Peace-Corps-2007, have had so many fleeting thoughts of "I should go home; I should ET (early termination: quit), I can't do this, I don't know what I'm doing here..." but then have an amazing experience that gives me strength. It's hard. I'm not going to lie and pretend everything is easy and wonderful. It's hard, I'm confused, and I sometimes question myself whether I have any business being in Tamazitinu.

To recap the last few days: I had a little disaster on the way back "home" from last time I was in town on Friday. Did I talk about carte de sejour stuff? It's not settled yet, but when I'm back in town on Wednesday, if there's problems, the head of the gendarmes is going to personally walk me to the place where they should stamp my papers and then I can come get my recipt and be in Morocco legally for the next month. Enshallah. So, not resolved, but I feel better because there is a plan.

On the way back, though... okay. So there is the tobis I was telling you about. To make a long story short, a woman told me to sit a seat next to her, but when we left, a man said it had been his seat. I was overwhelmed, once more felt like the arrogant, ignorant, entitlement-happy American I don't ever want to be, and started crying in an entire bus full of people. Crying is seen as a sign of weakness here, and the man assured me it was okay, but he had been a bit accusatory and I was exhausted. Oh, well. Live and learn. Later, a very nice old man who speaks fluent French who I will talk about later said that the man had been kidding. Who knows. I was vulnerable, and looked like a fool, but I felt better after crying. It's cleansing sometimes.

Saturday, I sat at home a lot of the day and just kind of moped around. I was stressed and didn't know what to do. I killed time by washing clothes and taking a bucket bath, and I tried to study some Tamazight on my own, but became antisocial. One of the veteran volunteers said that the first few weeks or months, the best thing to do is to get out of the house and walk around, so later in the afternoon, I forced myself to and it did a whole world of good for me. I practiced some language, I developed a little group of six giggling girls who followed me around and just laughed, I talked to some women coming back from the field about how I can drive a car but not a heavy wheelbarrow full of wheat, and saw some "friends" I've made who asked where I was going and what I was doing. I only left about an hour, but it was rejuvenating. It's also just peaceful to see the fields. If you've seen pictures, you know how beautiful they are: an oasis of green and palm trees against the stark, rough, dry mountains and yellow rocks.

Yesterday... well. Another day that started off pretty mopey but ended up on a very, VERY high note. My host mother got me out of the house after watching a few hours of Star Academy. Now, a word about Star Academy: take the Real World and American Idol, put it in Arabic and French, imagine not-as-amazing video editing skills, and have it run 24/7. Literally. All day, every day. On the bottom of the screen is a ticker like the news tickers or stocks going across the television, but it's text messages from people all over North Africa and France texting about the show and sending shout-outs to their friends or habibas. It's interesting, to say the least.

A very nice woman came over and I liked her instantly. I think they could tell, because I was sent to eat lunch at her house and really had a good time talking to her and her husband. Her husband is a teacher at the madrasa and gave me some very helpful if negative information. He's from out-of-town, a big city, and he's college-educated, so he can relate to my being new to such a small community. He also speaks fluent French, so communication was easier than most other interactions I have here. Apparantly, there are lots of people who think I am a spy. The thought is ridiculous to me, but I understand why, I guess. I had heard PCVs have problems with this sometimes, but it didn't really sink in that people would think that about me because, as I said, the thought that I'd have the strength and skills to be a spy is just ridiculous. I cry when I take someone's seat on the tobis. There was more that was said about working in Tamazitinu that I think was helpful but at the same time, I need to keep in perspective that he's not happy there. He does have impeccable taste in music though: in a row, I heard Tellement je t'aime, then the kiss kiss song from Tarkan, then bailamos by...enrique iglesias? and then another song that I love. Some of my favorite songs...two doors down from me. Unexpected but brilliant.

Well, the rest of the day was incredibly empowering and uplifting in a few ways. An old man whose family all lives and works in France offered me his house to "rent" but for free, and it's a more beautiful house than I would have even dreamed of in the Peace Corps. Posh Corps to the max. There are a few kinks in the whole situation, so I'm not getting my hopes up (ie: I have to pay for it; there is no way I'm using a house for free... and I don't know where they'll stay when they come back from France on vacation), but holy crap. Amazing.

The house has a western toilet and a turkish toilet, a bathtub, a shower, a water heater, a bidet (!!!), a kitchen, a few beautiful salons/bedrooms, and a terrace. But the best part is the garden. It's huge, with three or four pomegranate trees and other vegetables and an irrigation system and flowers, and it's just breathtaking. There's also what they call a swimming pool, but it's more the size of two or three hot tubs and has no lid or chlorination system, so the idea of using it is not really feasable. But I probably won't be able to afford to rent a place like that in the states for years.

He invited me and the woman next door who I like even though she's an ornery old woman to dinner, and, of course, I accepted. He's definately one of the richer people in town. The house has to be at least 4,000 square feet and so nice I don't want to get bogged down in the details, but wow. Just...wow. Not what I expected in PC. I keep saying that, but it's true.

Well, just as I spilled soup on my lap, the local official who had intimidated me so much over the last few days walked in. Great. Another wonderful impression: look at the American with soup all in her lap.

The conversation started badly. In Tamazight, he said, "Oh, it's the American who doesn't speak Berber or Arabic or French." The old man came to my rescue and said I spoke some French and I piped in with some French. We started talking, and I said if he wanted we could meet and I could answer any questions about why I was there. He invited me to his house sometime, and I said not in the next few days because I'm going to the provincial capital.

He didn't like that. "Why are you going? What's the point of the meeting?" I explained, and he, right then and there, called to confirm that I was going. Okay. Breathe. You're not doing anything wrong.

He said that people thought I was here for espionage, and I told him I'd be as transparant as I could. He asked if I had to write reports because reports are political. I told him that I'd show him any report I wrote if it made him feel better, and that if there was any other information he needed about me or my work or organization, I'd be happy to give it to him. Then, he started quizzing me on Tamazight. What's this? How do you say sun? Moon? Door? Give me? Take? To be? Teacher? Window? Car? People? Woman? Bride? Cow? Teeth? Hand? Arm? Floor? Upstairs? Neigbor?

I probably knew 90% of what he asked (granted, it was all basic vocab) and he started to relax and so did I. I told him again that I really wanted to learn Tam, but had only studied it for two and a half months, and he started to seem impressed. He asked about what my mother did and what my father did and said I needed a Tamazight name. I said I'd think about it. It came up that I knew his name, first and last, as well as that of the local officials in town and he seemed surprised that I remembered. By the end of the night, he finally turned to me and said "You are intelligent. I know you are."

I felt like I had passed a test. Relief flooded over me. I passed. This was a far cry from the "insufficient" that he had told me on Thursday. I think I earned some of his respect. Maybe just a little, but I feel like I earned it.

So it goes. Earlier that morning I had to remind myself that I couldn't go home because I made myself promise to at least make it to in-service training in six months. Twelve hours later, I felt like I had accomplished something because I had been pushed, really I had been. Everything about me had been questioned: my intelligence, my intentions, my family, my culture, and I had held my own. I think I can do it. It's going to be a tough two years, but I think I can do it.