A few basic things.

In provincial capital for the weekend. Yes, yes, I know, two weekends out of site in a row, but I need it! Last weekend was incredible, even if it was just one short night, and this weekend is proving to be a lot of fun. We found a cheap hotel...with a pool! In the land of no ice and no air conditioning, there's nothing like jumping in a freezing cold swimming pool. Oh, I want to go back right now.

It's been an interesting week. The most interesting day by far was Wednesday, site visit day. I went to my souk town and after catching up with another volunteer I haven't seen in a month, our Program Assistant came and we all chatted for about three hours. We got posters that we can use with health lessons (the same posters we made in training, but big and laminated and beautiful), and I got a brand new, beautiful, shiny bike delivered right to my house. Awesome.

I also got two care packages and a letter, so it was really like Christmas had come early. So, YES, my address works, so let me know if you don't have my address.

I'm being lazy right now and don't feel like updating. Hopefully next update will be more substantial. Until then, take care, much love, etc.

a long few weeks

6.13.07

I just watched the video that a friend of mine somehow was able to film of our program assistant singing Old McDonald in Arabic. Funny stuff. I told him in training that whenever I was sad or stressed out during the first few months in site, I’d watch it because it’d make me laugh, and it has.

I didn’t watch it because I’m sad today. I watched it because I told people about it this evening and it made me want to see it again. The next-door neighbor women (there are five of them from the age of 23 to, oh, probably fiftyish, with two kids) were joking that one of them was marrying a man named Si Mohammed, which is the name that’s used in Old McDonald in Arabic. I started singing and cracked myself up. I think they thought I was nuts, but it was the beauty of the situation. There I was, sitting in a green jabador with bleach spots and tea stains in the alleyway on a rock under about a million stars with saffron painted on my face and a bright blue clashing necklace around my neck singing Old McDonald with a bunch of Berber women.

It’s been a good day, which is a relief, because yesterday got a little rough. I wouldn’t call it a bad day, but yesterday was definitely trying at points.

I woke up yesterday and went to the sbitar, something I’ll do every Tuesday for awhile. My nurse was glad to have me and was about to do a lesson on water treatment and how it’s bad to drink from the taragua (I don’t know the direct translation but that’s what they call the spring and the irrigation ditches it feeds) but to boil or bleach the water. He also introduced me.

Great! Exciting! It was wonderful that he had a lesson for the probably fifteen or twenty women that were waiting, but it made me feel somewhat useless. I’m delighted that they are focusing on education, but what does that mean my role is? Am I really needed?

I soon found out what he thought I could do. “Katy, did you prepare a lesson for today?” What?! I didn’t know I was supposed to prepare a lesson. I thought I’d just go observe like I did last week. We didn’t talk about any lessons, at least that I know of. Then again, our conversations are mainly in French with some Tamazight and English thrown in occasionally. Maybe he did bring it up and I didn’t understand. It’s a real possibility.

“Um…no… I will for next time?”

“No, you can just do the one I did and talk to the women about that. Did you understand it? Here are some quick vocabulary words. Now go.”

There’s nothing like being thrown into things. I’m big on preparation before I just jump in. I read blogs and met with a RPCV from Morocco before coming. I prepare a lot for things. My first lesson, I thought I’d spend hours making a poster, coming up with a script, having everything written out, and practicing with my host family or friends or the nurse. Apparently not.

So, armed with an orange scrap of paper with a few vocabulary words, I headed for the waiting room and took a deep breath, and sat with the people who looked the nicest and had seemed the most engaged when my nurse was talking.

“Salaamu aleikum.”

“Wa aleikum assalaam.”

“So… did you understand what the nurse was saying about water?”

And I started. I talked to the women about it, reiterated some points about water, explained why water from the irrigation ditches will make you sick, and then had a nice conversation about the douar they were from. They wanted me to visit them and stay and were really nice and held my hand and it was encouraging. In fact, after I made my rounds and talked to all the women, I came back and sat with them and chatted some.

Hamdullah, it only got easier. I was able to come at it from a less preachy method: “Where are you from? Do you go to the fields a lot? It’s so hot that I know every time I go to the fields just to walk around, not even to work, I get really thirsty…”

Of course, this is really sort of what I think I’m saying. I’m probably sounding more like this, “Water irrigation ditches bad. Has germs. You understand germs? If germs, get sick. Stomach problem. You understand? Water irrigation ditch germs inside. You know this?...”

That was the morning. Despite feeling rather lazy for having not prepared a lesson (even though I didn’t know I was supposed to), I felt rather empowered for just doing it, and talking one-on-one or in a small group to 24 women. I’m grateful that I was forced into it as well, because I feel that even with my limited language skills, I can come up with a new lesson/demonstration each week and use it Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday with the women in the waiting room. Maybe family planning is too complicated, but I may be able to scratch the surface on some of the issues that are driving me crazy as a health volunteer. Is it sustainable? Probably not, but it gives me something to do as I get to know the community and it doesn’t hurt.

The afternoon got worse. I spilled bleach on my brand new jabador, one I had bought on Monday and was really excited about. Everyone kept commenting on it. “Did you know you have bleach on your pants?” Yes! But I can’t afford a lot of clothes, let alone clothes that are appropriate here. I have to wear them! I was so sick of people pointing it out. They’d say “Wow! You have Moroccan clothes! BssaHa (to your health)! But there’s bleach…”

Then, as I was taking a bucket bath, I heard a man at the door but didn’t think much of it. I later was told something about the Khalifa by my host mom, but I didn’t understand, so she got the TaHanut owner who is also the water association president and speaks a bit of English to come translate.

“It’s not a problem, so don’t worry, it’s no problem, but the Khalifa wants you to tell him whenever you leave site, even if you just go to another douar.”

Apparently, word had gotten out that I had gone on the equippe-mobile and hadn’t told the Khalifa, because he never told me to tell him. The gendarmes want to know when I leave the province, and Peace Corps essentially has to know where I am at all times, but I hadn’t heard anything of the sort from the Khalifa. I stewed as to what to do about it for about an hour, then called him at home. He said he just wanted to check in on me since he hadn’t seen me for awhile, then said the same thing about letting him know when I was leaving, even just to the douar that is 5k away.

Now, I’m much better about this. I’ve come to terms with Peace Corps policy and am more than okay with the gendarmes policy, but at the time, the Khalifa just seemed to be a bit excessive. Really, if I go three miles down the road, I have to let him know? Three miles?! This is still considered my “site.” I could walk there pretty easily. It took some getting used to the fact that by joining the Peace Corps, especially Peace Corps Morocco, some of my freedoms would be taken away, such as the freedom to go wherever I want when I want. I feel like I’ve finally come to terms with accepting PC Morocco policy and vowing to follow the policy, despite pressure to do the contrary and the fact that I know I’ll miss out on some great get-togethers. It’s just not worth getting sent home for and letting down many people, including myself. I know that.

But to think that each time I leave, I need to let someone else know, even if it’s in a place considered part of my site? As I said, today, I’m calmer and more rational, but yesterday, I was pretty outraged.

The straw finally broke the camel’s back yesterday when the man who wants me to rent his house came by as my hostmom and I were sitting outside next door at night chatting with the neighbors, and I asked him about the house. “Why do you want to know now? You have almost two months before you would move in. Don’t worry about it yet.”

Telling me not to worry is like asking someone here not to drink sugar in their tea: it’s not going to happen. In any case, everyone in town, even the officials, are talking like I’m going to live there and whenever I ask about places in town to rent, they say “What’s wrong with the place behind your house?” as if it’s a done deal. However, there are people living in it right now who are working on the road that I’m sure will not be done on schedule. I need to make sure when August 1st rolls around, I have somewhere to live. As much as I get along all right with my host family, every day I dream about what I will do when I have my own place and can cook for myself and choose what I do each day and not have any crying kids around or have to worry about coming back to a locked house. The thing is, as much as I’d love that house, I don’t know how realistic it is, and if I can’t figure that out soon, I’m not going to have a place to live come August and I will be in my host family’s house for much longer.

For my own sanity, I need to NOT do that. It has nothing to do with my family: they’re lovely people. It has to do with this strong desire for me to have my own place, a bit of privacy, and a little more control in my life. As you can probably tell by the conversation with the Khalifa, having control is a bit of a sore spot right now.

So, I excused myself and cried a little in my room and went to bed under the stars for the second night in a row, which is absolutely delightful.

Summer nights, it’s much cooler outside than it is inside; I’d say at least a good 10-20 degrees (F) cooler. Most families in my region pull out an agotil (plastic “carpeting” that’s really useful), pile blankets on like mattresses, and sleep on the roof or in the courtyard.

I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it, but the last two nights, I’ve slept with my family out on the agotil, under the millions of stars, and with a deliciously cool breeze. It’s not comfortable at all, but it’s better than being hot and dousing myself with water every few hours, which is what I’ve been doing inside. Tonight, I think I’ll try to sleep inside, just because my back hurts a bit from the hard stones in the courtyard, but in general, outside is phenomenally peaceful and cool.

Now, today was a much better day than yesterday. Before leaving the sbitar, my nurse had talked to me about maybe going today to the town that is 5 k away: we’ll call it Mashi Kif-Kif for now. I’ll explain that later. It’s not quite like the equippe-mobile, but similar: he goes on his motorcycle alone with a box of medical supplies and sets up shop in a room near the primary school and stays there all day. However, there’s not enough room on the motorcycle, and if I got caught, I’d get sent home for riding a motorcycle anyway, so the question was whether or not we could find me a ride. I didn’t want to be a hassle, but he said we could probably find me a ride, no problem and that he’d text me when he found out. I asked what time we’d leave and he said around eight.

I got up at seven (well, woke up with the sunrise and crawled inside; then slept until seven), got ready, and waited to hear. Eight rolled around and nothing. I watched the women make bread. I’m really slow myself and the oven is sweltering hot, so I don’t mind just watching. I’ve never really talked about the process though, and now’s as good a time as any.

Most women in rural areas in Morocco seem to make bread on a daily basis: at least in the areas I’ve been in and some of my friends here in PC. In Tamazitinu, there are a few varieties. The most common I just call aghrom (bread), though it might have another name. The dough doesn’t have eggs: just flour, water, salt, yeast, oil, and maybe a little sugar. After it’s kneaded and given time to rise, it’s beaten into large round flat sort of pancakes and let rise again.

Then, the women take it to the outdoor wood-burning oven. The oven is made out of clay and looks sort of like ¾ of an igloo: round, dome-shaped. The bread is placed on a metal tray that has probably a hundred pebbles on it and then cooked on the rocks for 5-10 minutes. Two metal sticks are used to turn it and to manipulate the kindling and brush used for firewood. At one point, the bread swells like a balloon, but it’s eventually punctured. The final result: a large round flat-ish piece of bread a few inches thick with a bumpy bottom from the rocks and a top with a few bubbles that detaches easily from the bottom.

In any case, nine rolls around. I guess I’m not going to Mashi Kif-Kif. Oh well. Yesterday was a productive enough day for me to be satisfied with a day off. Maybe something else fun will roll around… or I can go for a walk in the fields… or someone will invite me for tea… or maybe I’ll be stuck at home watching Star Academy because I’m too lazy to get out of the house. Sad, but honest.

I head to my room and talk on the phone to my friend here who has a phone plan and therefore, has unlimited talk time to any two numbers: mine and another guy from my stage. It’s been a lifesaver being able to beep her and have her call and talk without worrying about eating up minutes.

As soon as I get off, around ten, someone’s calling me. It ends up there’s a car waiting to take me to Mashi Kif-Kif. Great! Two hours later than expected, but at least I got to go. My nurse was waiting nearby on his motorcycle and we headed off.

Since it’s so close, I was struck most with how similar it was in some ways to Tamazitinu. It’s a bigger douar; I think around 1800 people live there, and there’s a primary school on the same side of the main road that made me feel like it was a dream version of my town: same terrain, same atmosphere, but slightly different. It’s certainly not as well-off as Tamazitinu.

We got there, waited for the key to the room, and I talked to some friendly women until others came with their babies to be vaccinated. Today was mainly observation, but I’m beginning to feel familiar with the process, as well as see some recurring themes among patients.

Around lunchtime, my nurse sent me with a random man to go to a house to “rest and get to know the women and talk to them some.” At this point, I usually just go with the flow for these things. I think his plan was to go hang out at another family’s house with the men. Whatever.

It was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about the cultural pattern of Moroccan hospitality, but today was a prime example. People are so loving and giving and welcoming here, it’s absolutely mindboggling. I went to a house, and made conversation with three women for an hour or so, then ate lunch there, drank tea, drank coffee, they gave me a pillow and told me if I was tired I could take a nap, when they saw I was restless on the floor, they gave me a chair from the other room, they took me to the bathroom, they brought out bread and honey and homemade butter, they showed me their animals, they welcomed me back any time I want, they offered for me to stay the night. I met 5 or 6 women in the family who would come in and stay for an hour or so, then leave, and they were all kind and gracious and curious and welcoming.

It felt comfortable. These women owed me nothing. There was no logical reason for me to be there. I don’t know I was there, they probably don’t know why I was there either, but they complimented my language, told me to say hi to my family at home (and asked all their names and tried to pronounce them properly), and were patient when I didn’t understand. Nobody paid them and I don’t know if they’ll ever come to my town at a time when I can have them over for tea, but it just is something I’ve experienced over and over and over again here.

I felt good about language today as well. I was probably at the womens’ house for three or four hours and had conversation most of that time. I didn’t know I knew a few hours worth of Tamazight. Most of it is things I recycle pretty much every time I get to know new people: talk about marriage, how old I am, why I’m here, my family, where I’m from, where I learned Tamazight, where I’m living and who my host family is, why I like Morocco, what’s grown in the local fields, what foods we have at home versus Morocco, how expensive things are in America, if I believe in God/am Muslim, why I don’t wear a scarf, and asking about their family and kids. I also find myself teaching a few words in English often when people ask. I start with the easy words:

Tbla= table
Qahwa= coffee (but they know Nescafe = café= coffee)
Atay= tea
Computer = computer
Telefon= telephone
Kas = glass
Aghrom = bread (“bred” is a word for teapot)

Then go for a few harder words:

Afoos= hand AND arm (in Tam, afoos refers to both)
Toughmas= tooth/teeth
Rman = pomegranate
Tafunast = cow
…

and so it goes.

But eventually, just as I was starting to run out of words and conversation-worthy communication, a man came to say the nurse wanted to see me and I went through the winding alleyways to find a man with a van ready to take me home and my nurse on his way.

We passed by some sheep and goat nomads in between Mashi Kif-Kif and Tamazitinu: let me tell you how much I love their tents. They seem to be made of any sort of cloth attainable: the ones we saw today had purple scarves, black traditional wraps common in my area (taharuyt), grain bags, and other colored fabrics. I really hope I can do some sort of outreach to that community.

And the rest of the night was fairly benign and nice. I had a great conversation with my next door neighbors while my host-mom went somewhere that has to do with wheat. I talked to them and some of their extended family members and my host mom about brushing your teeth while sorting rocks and twigs from a large sack of wheat. I stayed most of the time in the alleyway as the women were talking, and I even let my next-door neighbor adorn my face with a mixture of saffron, sugar, and water.

I think this is just a beauty mixture, and I know it’s used sometimes in weddings, but the last few days I’ve seen more and more people with saffron on their faces. I think it’s a sunscreen, but my hostmom only wears it at night. It’s bright yellow-orange, and I currently just have dabs of it on the corner of my eyes, right below my widow’s peak, star-like shapes by my ears, and a line in the middle of my nose, but some put it all over, and some women next door put it on in big circles around their eyes. I wanted to take a picture, but haven’t pulled out my camera since I’ve been at site. Nobody wanted me to take their picture, and I tried to get my hostmom to take one of me but she couldn’t figure out my camera, so I took one of me holding out my camera myself. Ha. Not the best picture in the world, but if I’m able to upload it, you’ll get the idea.

So there you have the last few days. It’ll be interesting to see where the next few take me, and where I’ll go and what’ll happen in the next two years.

Oh, and why call the neighboring douar Mashi Kif-Kif? Well, as you know if you’ve been following my blog, I don’t write about place names here for security reasons. I was talking about my trip to my hostmom today and she asked if I liked that douar. I said I liked it and that it was a lot like Tamazitinu, thinking about the terrain and the houses and the eeriness of driving through and seeing the madrasa in the same part of town and just the sort of strange symmetry.

My hostmom stiffened. “It is NOT like Tamazitinu. We have lots of taHanuts, and three teleboutiques and a public oven! They don’t have that. It’s NOT the same. Mashi kif-kif.” Well! I was told. Mashi kif-kif simply means “not the same.” Yep. All right. From now until the end of this blog, it will be known that the neighboring douar is mashi kif-kif.

6.15.07

I’m exhausted. I slept outside last night and kept waking up thinking there were bugs crawling all over me. Honestly, I think there probably were. Ah, the joys of being without air conditioning. I have the choice of where to sleep: in my room, which is probably a sweltering 90 or 100 degrees F with no fan, no real cross-breeze, and only my water bottle. Sleeping inside usually entails waking up every two hours or so and dousing myself with lukewarm water to stay cool.

Outside is probably a nice 70 degrees or cooler. I sometimes use a heavy blanket outside… but it’s sleeping next to a one-year old who wakes up to breastfeed, and literally being eaten alive by bugs. Now I still get bug bites inside, but outside is much worse, and it’s sleeping on cobblestones in the courtyard. Even with a few layers of blankets, it’s still hard on my back. We’ll see what I work out. I definitely know as soon as I get my own place, I’ll wrap a ponj in plastic wrap, and put that outside with a mosquito net. I can’t wait to get out of homestay. Every day I keep telling myself it’s only a month and a half until freedom.

Yesterday was an interesting day. Back to the sbitar, and after watching a few vaccinations, I talked to another 18 women in the waiting room about water and not drinking from the tarugua. This time, they argued with me, which was good. It meant they were thinking and listening. I couldn’t respond to everything because, well, it’s hard to explain things in Tamazight still, but I think people understood. Shwiya b shwiya. Going equipe-mobiling again next week, enshallah.

I’m tired also because I was up late at an aheyduss. For the last two weeks, I thought an aheyduss was a drum, because people would look at me and say “aheyduss” and pantomime beating on a drum, making “gzz dee qa, gzz dee qa, gzz dee qa” noises in time. I’d repeat the action back and say “aheyduss,” thinking “drum.” I found out that I have no idea what an aheyduss really is. It might be a kind of dance, a kind of music, a kind of pre-wedding party, or just a dance in general. I don’t know. It’s kind of like the word “taragua:” I know what the taragua looks like, I just don’t know if it’s a stream, a river, a irrigation ditch, a series of irrigation channels, if it refers to a place where women wash their clothes, if it’s a spring, or what makes a taragua a taragua. Never mind. I know what people mean when they say it, and I know what an aheyduss is now since I’ve been to one.

I got a taharuyt last night: one of the black embroidered wraps a lot of women here wear often, and wore it to the aheyduss. It took place near my neighborhood in a sort of clearing. A bunch of people gathered at night and sat in little clusters. Some young men were playing drums. Eventually, a series of cars (a taxi, which I’ve never seen here, a transit bus, and a car or two, one decorated with flowers and a shaving-cream like white substance) came and everyone surrounded them. Two lines, one of men, one of women, danced, and you could hear what I call the Berber yodel from all over. Eventually, the bride came out of the car. All I could see above the sea of people was a bright multicolored tinsel garland on her head, and a veil of some sort. She was walked to a house and I didn’t see her for the rest of the night.

The groom came out and sat on a pillow on a rug in the middle of the ground. Somehow I got a really good view of the back. He sat, some men washed his hands and feet, bathed them in oil, wrapped him in a few white clothing items, then wrapped his head with a red wool scarf, and eventually walked him somewhere too. The entire time, there was singing and drums.

Thank God for a neighbor girl who stayed close to me and leaned on me the whole night. I felt sort of protected and like I was taken care of and knew where to go with her hand constantly on my shoulder. People came and talked to me, people I’ve met but have no idea who they are. A lot of the older women I’m friends with smiled at me over the crowd, and one, the next door neighbor mother, tried to ask me things from 50 feet away and I have no idea what she was saying. Her oldest daughter (30 years old) came up and asked, “So, do you like the aheyduss?” When I said yes, she slapped me across the face. It wasn’t hard, but it was shocking. I don’t quite know why, she did it, but it cracked me up.

Tonight is apparently the wedding. We’ll see if I get to go or not, and we’ll see what happens. I’m excited to see my first Moroccan wedding. Shr tminya (August) is the wedding month so if I don’t go tonight, it’s not as if I won’t have any other chances.

But last night, I had a sort of epiphany. It was before the wedding, before going to a neighbor’s house and watching her milk a cow, right after I got my tahuruyt. We were sitting at the 17-year old I talked about last week’s house, me in my tahuruyt, pretty quiet because there was a big group of people. I don’t know why it hit me at that moment: maybe it’s because I had fun sitting with my family and my neighbor’s family listening to pop music on the radio, singing along earlier that day. Maybe it was because I felt like I’m making a friend with the 17-year old, even though she’s young. Maybe it was the luxury of my host mom’s husband sending us a bottle of delicious argan oil. Maybe it was because I had given a health lesson and felt that people had listened that morning, or that one of my next door neighbors who is my age said she likes me. I don’t know what it was, but all of a sudden it hit me.

I can do this. This isn’t an impossible task or situation. I am cut out to be here.

It sounds rather trivial, but this is the first time I’ve ever really thought that with any conviction. Two weeks ago, I thought of going home several times a day. I wouldn’t have done it: I’ve committed to being here, but the thought kept crossing my mind.

Things aren’t perfect: I’m often sick, I still don’t know how to navigate gender roles or what my role is, when to be quiet, when to speak up. I make mistakes daily. I’m not trying to paint it as everything being perfect and easy because that’s not the case.

But two years doesn’t seem suffocating anymore. Two years sounds just about right.

6.20.2007

It’s been awhile. I’ll see if I can catch up to now. I just hate dragging out my laptop in this heat, and wondering if someone’s going to bust in my room and I’ll have to explain what it is and show them. I’m not purposefully being deceitful; I just don’t want people wanting to play with my laptop, so nobody in my house knows I have it.

For those of you keeping track, yes, I did not go into town on Monday the way I usually do. I had a cold, had been up early on Sunday and had to get up early again on Tuesday and thought it’d be better to rest than to get up at 4:30 am or earlier three days in a row with a cold. It’s annoying, because I’m running low on things like toilet paper, and I really need to get some things (like a fan! A hat! Hair ties!) in town, but I suppose waiting until this weekend isn’t a big deal.

Last week, the aheyduss ended up lasting three nights. The second day, I dressed up in a neighbor’s clothes. I felt really Berber. I didn’t feel like I was playing dress-up, I felt like a member of the community. It’s strange that clothes can do that to you sometimes.

Anyway, I borrowed a dark blue silk kaftan, a long shirt that goes to the ankles. Over that, I wore a gaudy silver belt, then two necklaces: one was big with chunky yellow beads, one was smaller with silver jangly things hanging off. I wore a beaded scarf over my hair, and put on traditional makeup: tarzoulte on the inner eyelid, saffron mixed with water painted near the corner of my eyes, on my forehead, by my ears, and on my nose, and then some of my lipstick from home. Looking in the mirror, the effect was stunning: I didn’t really recognize myself at all.

That night, after taking a few pictures with the girl whose clothes I borrowed, we went to the aheyduss and they forced me to dance. Luckily, it was an easy dance: just walking in time in a big line of women, but I felt like I was maybe detracting attention from the bride and it made me feel uncomfortable. It was also a shock to walk up to the clearing outside where the aheyduss took place and see only 20-30% of the people dressed like me. I felt very conspicuous, but it was fun.

The next night, I went for a third time to the aheyduss but wasn’t dressed up. On the way, one of the next door neighbor women took me to a relative’s house: another really nice, zween villa. I saw a newborn baby: she was 4 days old. I had actually seen her on her second day at the sbitar but didn’t realize it was the same baby. She’s adorable. No name yet; they have a naming ceremony on the 7th day and choose from a list of possibilities.

They, of course, gave me tea and cookies and peanuts, and then offered me things from what I call their “tray of beauty.” I’d seen most of the things on it before, but not all at once. There was rosewater for the hands and face, there was henna, both crushed and not yet crushed, there were bottles of perfume, tarzoulte, saffron, hand lotion, a twig you chew on to stain your tongue brown, and a type of spice used to make your hair look and smell good. They offered everything, but I let them spray me with perfume, I chewed on the bitter twig, and they mixed the spice with water and poured it in my hair. I didn’t get to take a bucket bath for two or three days after, so it stayed on awhile. When it’s on, it makes a sort of hard crust but really does smell good. In any case, I had fun with that.

Back outside to the aheyduss. They made me dance again, but we didn’t stay late and went home to eat outside. For dinner, my hostmom had made one of my favorite meals: salad and French fries. Now, I know, this doesn’t sound particularly healthy, but the times that I get raw vegetables these days are few and far between, so this is more of a balanced meal than I usually get, especially for dinner. For example, last night, and at least a few times a week, we eat rice. There might be a quarter of a tomato in for color, but for all intents and purposes, it’s a big shared plate of white rice. Couscous isn’t too much better as far as nutrition goes: it’s usually mostly couscous with the occasional bite of azigzao (like a collard green) or carrot or turnip, that’s usually cooked long enough to lose most of the vitamins. Another nighttime favorite is sharia: short pasta with a bit of oil and salt. Given the norm, salad and fries made me excited.

Someone came to the door, which was strange since it was late. Two girls walked in and talked to my hostmom a bit. She asked me “You don’t have to say yes, but can they eat with us?” At least, that’s what I thought she asked. No problem… so I went to change out of my pajamas. When I came back out side, the two girls took my hand and started walking away. What?! Ends up they actually invited me to the bride and groom’s house for dinner. Oh. I had already said yes, but I was tired and looking forward to the salad. Oh well.

So, to their house. I expected a huge festivity, but the room they took me in only had eight or nine people including the bride and groom. We danced a little bit, drank some tea, and then went to their roof for dinner.

I sat with the bride, her mother, the groom’s mother, and their sisters, a grandmother: all the women in their families. It felt awkward, but it was fun too, I suppose. I just hated the attention on me rather than the bride, but they invited me, so I guess it was okay. We had couscous, which was good, but not the salad and fries I could have had at home, but all the fruit for dessert made up for it, and, miraculously, they asked if I wanted to go home right afterwards or sleep there. Hallelujah. I can get some sleep. Very nice, gracious people, but a little unexpected adventure.

Now, my least favorite days of the week are the weekends and Friday. I know: this is counterintuitive to life in the US, but hear me out. Right now, I go to the sbitar Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Monday is souk day. This means I feel productive and like I have something to do each of those days. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I feel lazy and bored all the time. I’ve read every book I can find, I’ve read our training manuals cover to cover several times, I tore apart the Readers Digest that was sent to me for free (which I’d not even glance at in the US), and can’t wait to get my next Newsweek. I sleep a lot. I drag out washing clothes, trying to make it last all morning. I look forward to bucket baths because I know that I can kill half an hour or so. I’ll take walks sometimes, but, really, it’s exhausting and boring those days.

6.21.07

Where am I? I keep having to put my computer away fast and losing my train of thought. Friday. Right. I don’t know if I remember what I did on Friday. I probably slept a lot and watched some TV and read something and sent some text messages and talked on the phone to my friend with a phone plan for an hour. Have I told you about that? It’s a lifesaver. Really expensive, but I spend more money on cell phone stuff than I do just about anything else right now. For 240 Dh a month, you get 45 anytime Dirhams (think one text message = 1 Dh… talking on the phone even just in Morocco is over 1 Dh/minute, I just don’t know how much), 45 night Dirhams (that are never really able to be used.. this is sneaky and they’re pretty much worthless), and 2 numbers you can call unlimited. I’m on one of my friend, Cowtar’s plan (her Moroccan name), and we talk on the phone probably 45 minutes a day. It’s really amazing and a lifesaver.

In any case, I guess nothing important happened on Friday or Saturday because I just don’t remember. All the days tend to blur together, especially considering this is the next Thursday by now.

Sunday, we took a 4:30 am transit to a neighboring douar to visit my hostmom’s extended family. I was really excited to go, but it turned out to be a really long day, even though we were back by three. I did get to watch (and help) churn milk into buttermilk and butter, help feed some cows, and go for a walk in yet some more fields. Good people. I think one of the girls is mentally challenged, but they really include her and build her up, which is really good to see, and, I must say, there’s nothing better than fresh butter just churned on freshly baked bread.

In any case, this week has been slightly less than notable. Monday, I would have gone to souk in town, but I had a really bad cold. Rather than force myself to get up at 4:30 am, and stay with no home base or place to rest until 7 at night, just to get up even earlier the next day, making three days in a row I’d get up before 5 am, I slept in and skipped it. Annoying, because I have a list of things to get in town (such as a fan, toilet paper, a hat, and a pumice stone for my feet: bare necessities), but it was worth resting a bit.

Tuesday was an equippe-mobile day! We only went 30 k away this time, but we visited six douars of varying sizes. They are beautiful: in a valley, with palmeries and fields and beautiful stone houses. Medical waste disposal was improved, thanks to my nurse, though still not ideal, but I at least feel a bit better about things. The people are so incredible here. At every single stop, I was invited to come stay for an extended period of time with someone, or “at least come drink tea. When will you come back?”

At my nurse’s request, I brought my camera and he made some interesting videos. One was of all of us, but it was in Darija so I don’t understand it. The other was with me talking to the waterman and my nurse about the problems with people not treating the water, and when I watch it, it makes me giggle at my French-Tamazight interactions with medical staff here.

Now, I call this man the water-man because I don’t know his official title, but he came with just to test to see if the tap water is really treated, as well as what the Ph was. It was good to talk to him (French) because he is just as passionate about mobilizing people to think about health and water and hygiene as I am. Two of the four douars we went to that had running water weren’t treated. They had the infrastructure, they had tap water all over, or at least in public fountains, they have the chlorine tablets provided, just the person whose job it is to physically place them in the water chateau did not follow through. Consequently, people in these two douars who thought they were drinking safe tap water really were drinking untreated groundwater.

It’s so disheartening. Associations take the time and money and initiative to get running water, but as simple of an act as someone dropping tablets in the chateau makes it all worthless, for at least some period of time. Health and hygiene and health practices just don’t seem to be cultural priorities here. It’s like the baby I saw today: her mom took her to the sbitar last week the day after she was born to get her injections. I watched. I saw my nurse examine the umbilical cord and say “Oh, you put henna on the cord. That can cause an infection or tetanus. Don’t do that.” He gave her medicine to put on the cord.

I went to see her today because the man who is hopefully my future landlord is also the baby’s grandfather, and he mentioned, casually, that the baby’s eyes are yellow. I told him she should go to the sbitar immediately. “Come look.”

“But I’m not a doctor or a nurse. I can’t do anything. Please, take her to the sbitar and let the doctor see.” (French).

“But you have experience. Come see. Come look at her.”

I told him I didn’t have much experience with babies, but that they are vulnerable and that if there is any sign of a problem, since the baby is only ten days old, to go to the sbitar.

I saw the baby. Her eyes didn’t look very yellow to me, but I said the mother should take her anyway. If the mom thinks her eyes are yellow, then there’s probably something going on.

Out of curiosity, I asked if she had been using the medicine the nurse had given her. She said no. I looked at her cord, which hadn’t fallen off yet, and there was fresh henna all over the stomach and cord. I almost cried. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, but obviously, I can’t. I told her that it could make the baby sick, and left for a few minutes to look up whether yellow eyes are indicative of tetanus. When I came back, she had wiped it off and put a fresh diaper on. The cord left some sort of residue on the diaper: it was brownish and mucky and might have had blood mixed in. I don’t know much about babies, but I know that’s probably not good, so I told her to show the doctor that as well. At this point, the sbitar was closed, but I said if she had anything else that was strange going on, to go to the doctor’s house even in the middle of the night. Maybe that’s not okay, but she’s so small and so young and vulnerable that I’m terrified. I’m terrified that she’ll die throughout the night, but I’m also terrified she’ll go to the doctor and the doctor will say there’s nothing wrong and I’ll lose credibility or make people distrust my “advice.” Which is why I shouldn’t be put in the position to give real medical advice on something like this in the first place, but I couldn’t ignore the situation.

I have no idea how I’m going to be received here as far as a health educator. I see entire villages with unsafe water that is supposed to be safe and that people believe is safe. I see people doing traditional practices despite medical advice and putting their children at risk. I see medical staff not washing hands with soap before meals, or throwing used syringes on the ground, or saying that putting tarzoulte in the inner eye of babies with the shared applicator stick is not really a problem.

So I address things, when I can. It’s been at least three times now that someone that I’ve talked to about flies or drinking from the taragua (irrigation ditch) has repeated the information (that it’s bad because there are germs) back to me a few days or even weeks later. Does that mean that they change their habits? I don’t know. I don’t watch them every second of every day. I know my little 5-year old sister washes her hands with soap before eating meals when I do now, which is particularly important here since we eat with our hands.

But while I was talking to the water-guy on the equippe-mobile, I brought up something that everyone does here, even medical staff: the shared cup. It’s a sort of rural Morocco cultural pattern that water is a shared commodity. Most people have a “bled fridge” cooler system in their courtyard or right inside their door: a big container of water, kept cold by wrapping the container in cloth and keeping the cloth wet and in the shade. It actually keeps water pretty cool. There is usually one plastic cup everyone uses for the water, whether they’re sick or well, family, or guests. At mealtimes, there’s usually the same cup for everyone at the table.

This is one reason I keep my Nalgene bottle with me at all times: I don’t have to use the shared cup, though I do when I forget my Nalgene. However, I brought this up to the man whose primary job responsibility focuses on water safety and hygiene, thinking he’d share my views, and he sort of asked if I thought I was better than people by not using the cup.

Again: this highlights one of the biggest fears I have, even in joining Peace Corps in general. Of course I don’t think I’m better or superior, though I may think that because my practice in this case is based on science, that it is a better choice in terms of health. But if that’s what he thinks, with his emphasis and passion on clean water and good health, then I can’t imagine what others in town must think about it. How do I balance my role as health educator while respecting traditions and culture? At what point am I being insensitive and at what point do I need to keep health a priority no matter the cost?

In this case, I haven’t brought up the communal cup to anyone else, so at least I don’t think that too many people think I feel “superior” because of that. The only time I brought it up was with him, then again outside the sbitar today waiting for it to open. One of the women had a sick kid and she wanted me to share my Nalgene bottle. At first, because I can be cowardly, I pretended not to understand. I quickly realized this was rude and a cop-out, so I told her that if he was sick, it’d get everyone else sick that used the bottle. She said, “Just pour it into my hand.” Oh. Problem solved. Easy enough. But still, things like this can be stressful.

In my free time, I’ve made friends with a few 17-year old girls here. They’re great. One of them is getting married, and her fiancé finally came into town the other day: he works in Spain 11 months out of the year. I’ve seen him three times since, and let me tell you, it’s strange but wonderful to be able to practice my Spanish. He wants me to teach his fiancée Spanish; there’s another girl who wants to learn as well. Who knows. I may end up doing it, but there are also a few officials and my nurse who want me to teach an advanced English class. We’ll see. But it’d be fun to teach Spanish, especially to some of my young friends.

Why some of my favorite people happen to be 17-year olds, I have no idea, but that’s just how it’s worked out. I think it’s honestly because they’re not all married with kids and because a lot of them have at least gone through middle school and some to high school, so they’re literate, know a few words of French, and have a broader view of the world than some of my hostmother’s peers. It’s hardest for me to connect with people my age who have multiple children and are illiterate and haven’t traveled more than 30 or 40 k from Tamazitinu. I feel more comfortable with men, with children, with officials, with sbitar staff, and with teenagers because there’s so much more in common. Sad, but true. Their world is the fields, cooking, cleaning, and childrearing.

I’m completely incompetent in those areas, at least by my village’s standards. When I was washing clothes, the woman next door (with two teeth; she’s one of my favorite old ladies in town) came over and informed me I wasn’t washing clothes, just rubbing them together. Two hours later, my clothes were threadbare and probably cleaner than they’d ever been before. I have to come up with a compromise system though; if not, I won’t have any clothes left!

It’s another struggle: everyone wants me to wash my clothes in the tarugua, but that’s not an environmentally friendly thing to do. I have no illusions: unless I do something like build a laundry-washing facility, nothing I will do will keep people from washing and throwing Tide in the tarugua, but by no stretch of the imagination do I feel comfortable participating in that and polluting the water. Sometimes, it’s tempting. It’s a great place to socialize, to meet new people, and it’s a lot easier to rinse out clothes there. But I feel like I have to model that behavior, if nobody does it at all besides me for the next two years.

A quick note before I sign off regarding housing: I don’t think I understood. The nice big house with the shower, western toilet, bidet, and all that is not going to be mine. I think they want me to rent a smaller, more modest place next door. This is fine, if it works out. However, it means I share that fantastic courtyard with one or two other houses, which I’m not sure how happy I am about. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but it’d be really nice to have my own outdoor space to work in, wash clothes, and sleep in. I’ll share because right now it’s my only option, but I’d rather somewhere smaller with a private courtyard, mainly because I want to be alone when I sleep outside. We’ll see what happens, or if there are any other options.

So, in any case, I’m taking my first out-of-site weekend this Saturday and Sunday, and going to see a good friend from my training stage. Most likely that’s when I’ll be updating the blog online. This is a long and rambling one. Hopefully once life settles down and things become less new, I’ll be shorter and more concise, but for now, I think I have to be long-winded to really get into what’s been going on.

6.23.07

I'm in another town, with four other fabulous PCVs. I never thought I'd travel 5 hours one day just to turn around the next day and go back, but at 50 dh each way and 30 dh for the hotel, it's a bargain and well worth it.

A few quick notes: there were CAMELS at my site yesterday! I've seen them around, but yesterday, they were 300 feet from my house. Insane. I really felt like I was in Morocco, silly as that sounds. They were with some nomads, who I wanted to go talk to but was warned against. "No. They have dogs."

So no talking to the nomads, yet.

But camels! :) All right, if you've made it this far, you deserve some sort of prize. Much love.

Another week

6.8.07

I want an apple.

This sounds strange, I know, but I’ve been sick off and on all week and today’s been the worst of it. I’ve been laying in bed in my hot room all day and called PC Rabat because I had a fever (38 degrees C) and wanted advice. So, now I’ve been put on the BRATT diet for the next two days: Banana, Rice, Apple, Tea, Toast; and since all of that we have in the house is rice and toast, I’m really wanting a crisp, juicy, sweet, delicious apple. I don’t even really like apples. I just hope my hostmom gets me one or two or five.

It’s been a miserable day because it’s so hot and I’ve just drifted in and out of sleep, having weird dreams about my site, and pouring water over myself to try to keep cool. What I wouldn’t give for saltine crackers and ginger ale and air conditioning. Don’t ever take air conditioning for granted. Ever. When you have to go without and you’re in a mud-walled room that’s about ten degrees hotter than outside but don’t want to lay down outside because you don’t want to get bitten by ants, you’ll realize that air conditioning was a damned fine invention.

That all being said, I have to say, despite being sick, all in all, this week has been a lot easier and more rewarding and sort of better than last week. I’m hoping it’ll only get easier.

The people at my site are really incredible. People keep wishing me to feel better, and the old man who wants me to live in his house saw me when I was waiting for the tobis to get back to Tamazitinu from my souk town on Monday. He invited me for tea at a restaurant while we waited and since I had nothing better to do, I accepted and I had tea with him and a woman who I assumed was a member of his family. Halfway through the conversation, I found out she was a beggar woman he had met and invited for tea because she had nothing and wanted to have her sit and have good conversation and a drink. He also mentioned the Koran was very specific about giving to those who have less. Very moving. The people here are just so warm, it’s mindboggling.

Tuesday, I went to the sbitar all morning to sort of observe and find out what goes on. Our sbitar is a Centre de Sante (CS), which means it has a doctor and a nurse (my counterpart) and serves a pretty large area. Tuesday is a big vaccination day, and I saw countless babies vaccinated, weighed, etc., a few prenatal visits, and even a diabetic man come in. They had a blood glucose tester donated from France, since they don’t come as standard equipment in a CS, and the last few years have been able to do more with diabetics than before. My nurse was very helpful at explaining everything that was going on and encouraged me to ask questions, look at medical records to get a sense of what the problems are, and just generally show me around. I also learned about their protocol for birth control pills (very different than the states- they tell you to start on the 5th day of your period, and you have to be married to get on them), that they count pregnancy from estimated date of conception, opposed to last menstrual period date, and that HIPPA or anything like HIPPA doesn’t really exist. I also found it interesting that the women sit and wait in the waiting room, but the men shout through the window to get medicine and not wait or go in.
I was invited to an important lunch and tried to decline but was told essentially that I shouldn’t, but at least I was just told to sit with the women. It was a lot more relaxing than dealing with men who came in from as far as Marrakech and the provincial capital. I don’t know quite what the lunch was about- something political, I believe, but it was good food and they had lots of soda and three courses. I’m shocked, still, really shocked at how much money some people have at my site. It’s all from family members working as laborers in France and Spain, but it’s still just incredible to see the amount of wealth some have, and how little others’ have, but how they still seem to do things together and relate to each other.

The next day, Wednesday, was another very sort of overwhelming but amazing day. I got to go on the Equippe-Mobile, a 4x4 with medications and vaccines. It felt very Peace Corps/development work to go and some things really bothered me and others really were incredible.

Some douars (towns/neighborhoods/villages) that my sbitar covers are far out there. Wednesday was the equippe-mobile trip that goes the farthest- 60+ kilometers from the town center. There’s no cell phone coverage, two or three of the four that we went to had no electricity, and no running water. It’s really the types of places I thought I’d go when I joined PC and the thought that even if I don’t live out there, I can at least do some projects there is really empowering.

I got up at 3:45 am because we were supposed to leave at 4:30, but I don’t think we left until closer to 5:30. Could have slept in. In any case, it was really peaceful walking in the dark across town to get to the sbitar to meet my nurse. I realized on the way that it was probably the only place in Morocco where I felt entirely safe walking alone at night. People look out for me here and I’ve only been here two weeks. The stars were peaceful, and though the mountains block a beautiful sunrise, I got to see the sky change from black to blue.

My nurse and I waited for 3 men from the conscription hospital (the hospital at my souk town that oversees the CS at Tamazitinu as well as a few others) to come. They didn’t introduce themselves to me but they did say hi and told me to put on a white lab coat with the Ministry of Health logo, “so the women will know you work at the clinic.” I felt rather official bumping along the dirt roads in the truck, sometimes at breakneck speeds.

It took about two hours on mainly dirt roads to get to the farthest site, but we passed through a rather mid-sized city that’s in another province to get there. It surprised me that the mountains are so crazy that we’d have to go through another province and pass a larger hospital to get to the areas that my small sbitar covers. One town outside the small city was just beautiful with the desert mountains and the lush fields. Seriously, I wanted to live there because it was just breathtaking.

When we got to the first site, we got out and had tea. The nurse whispered to me as we stopped out of the truck, “Do you know who he is?” about the man in the front seat. “He’s the Medcin-Chef of the hospital.” In other words, he’s the head of the hospital. Good to know. Wish I had known earlier.

After tea in a large salon that was full of blankets and rugs, we went back out to the truck and there were probably a dozen women there, most with children. My nurse pulled out his medical record book for the equippe-mobile ride, and the rest of the doctors and nurse started giving vaccines. Then, they handed out medications that help prevent or treat fever, which is a common side effect of some of the vaccines. Medical waste disposal was certainly an issue I observed and feel the need to do something about.

Two women had teeth problems and all that was given was aspirin. Sad, but true. I think I must do some preventative dental hygiene lessons on one of the equippe-mobile runs, but toothbrushes and toothpaste probably aren’t easily available. We’ll see what can be done. Aspirin and some other medications (eye cream, fever-preventing suppositories, and antibacterial skin cream) were given out like candy, but nothing beats a good dose of prevention.

Apparently, the people at this one douar are mainly nomads. Now, I don’t know the sense that “nomads” are used; I think they are mainly shepards that sleep out with their herds, but one of the doctors kept joking about how since this is part of my site, that I could go live with them for six months and then come back to the main part of Tamazitinu. Honestly, the thought is appealing. My site is a lot more Posh Corps than I ever expected or wanted, and although I’m really coming to feel more and more comfortable here and like the people, the thought of living with shepards would be really empowering. I also feel that I could make more of an impact with people there. Who knows. I don’t know if they were serious, or if Peace Corps would go for it, but it’d definitely be something I could be interested in. No matter what, I’ll do whatever I can with this douar.

The rest of the day mainly consisted of driving a few minutes, then stopping, sometimes just working out of the back of the truck and sometimes in a school classroom. At one point, they had me explaining what medications were to some of the people: a hard thing to do in Tamazight, but at least I was doing something. I saw a few cases of different diseases that I had heard about from my nurse before leaving. We ate a spicy tagine at the moqaddam’s house, and I had an interesting conversation with the medical staff in Tamazight/French.

In it, I learned that the head of the conscription hospital would love for me to do a qabla (traditional birth attendant/TBA) training at my site, but thinks a medical waste incinerator is unnecessary. My nurse had said that the day before, but since there isn’t one, I was confused as to why people seemed so against it. They explained, “If Peace Corps wants to give us one, we’ll take it, but it’s not our first priority.” When I asked what was, they said basic health and hygiene preventative measures and education (ie: all the flies that are all over everywhere in Tamazitinu that I hope I NEVER get used to; the fact that they crawl in babies’ eyes often and on food often and nobody seems to notice), birth control education and advocacy, and teaching women to wash their children. So simple, but so necessary, and all things I’ve observed.
Now, there’re two things that really shocked me: the first was when he said that what would be better than an incinerator and cheaper would be bringing hot water to the sbitar, “so the women can come and wash their children, even in the winter, because they don’t when it’s cold out. Then you can show them how, with soap and everything, so they know.” It’s so basic, but so important… but how sustainable is it? Who is going to keep it clean? Where is the dirty water going to go? Is it going to be like a public bath? Is it sustainable as far as after I leave, or is it just going to sit there? Is it something people will use? I don’t know. But it was an interesting idea.

The second thing that really was surprising is how hands-on they want me to get with birth control, as far as actually taking blood pressure myself to get women on the pill. Apparently, many women are completely unwilling to discuss this with men, even a doctor or nurse. Most won’t let men medical staff do a pelvic exam or deliver their children. I never realized that I might be doing something that so closely parallels part of what I did in the States before coming here, and I certainly don’t mind education (though am not comfortable with “prescribing” it, per se), but again, I have to wonder… is that sustainable? Is it empowering people to do this? Or is there a way to train women community health workers? Gives me much to ponder.

In any case, it was an interesting twelve hour day on the Equippe-mobile. It really made me feel like there is work of some sort to be done, and opens up some possibilities I hadn’t even come close to thinking of before.

The last few days have been pretty blah. Thursday I stayed in most of the day because I was starting to feel gross. Friday (when I started this blog entry) I felt REALLY gross so I stayed in all day. Today, Saturday, I felt better despite some nasty episodes this morning that I don’t need to get into (you don’t want to know), so I did laundry, went out to the fields and tried to plant tiflflt (green peppers of some sort) but was too slow so I just watched.

The irrigation system is fascinating. The part of the fields we went to was far from the main permanent irrigation ditch (tarugwa) but had dry mud ditches dug in grid fashion. There was a shed nearby. After the tiflflt was planted, they turned on a pump for a well that was hidden in the shed, and made holes in the mud ditches enough to flood that part of the field. Once it was flooded the right amount, they’d come in with shovels and rebuild the walls of the ditch, so the water was controlled every step of the way. It was really kind of cool to watch. I’m getting quite a farming education, but I don’t have the blisters or calluses to show for it the way most of my town does. And no matter how rich the family is, pretty much every woman works at least some degree in the fields; and let me tell you, it’s hard work.

One of the most beautiful parts of Tamazitinu is the kids. No matter how hard the day, it’s uplifting that even when the baby girl in your family (one year old) is on her mom’s back, she still reaches out for your hand, or gets giddy over your nalgene bottle. It’s heartwarming when the two-year old next door who doesn’t say your hostmother’s name knows your name and calls it whenever she sees you, or runs by your (low to the ground) window and bangs on it shouting “Katy! Katy! Katy!” People are warm and everyone invites you for sugary tea, and tonight, we went to eat at a friend’s house and they made two main dishes: couscous and rice, because my hostmom had told them I was on the BRATT diet.

Dinner tonight was nothing out of the ordinary, but for some reason, even though it’s all normal for me now, I was able to see it as sort of what a lot of people would think about when they think about Morocco. We sat in a courtyard with a mud wall behind us, under the stars that burn a hundred times brighter than at home. The oldest man wore cloth wrapped around his head that isn’t a turban but looks like one, and a white jellaba. The women (besides me) wore headscarves. There were three or four generations; we sat on rugs and blankets on the ground on top of agotil (plastic carpeting) and ate from the communal plate on a small, low-to-the-ground round table. Such is my life right now, and it feels right, especially when I get out of the house.

Now it’s Monday and I’m at souk town at the cyber. The last two days have been pretty eventless, but fun nonetheless. Last night, I finally got my apple. I went to a girl’s house who I like a lot: she’s 17 and going to be married in two months, but she can hold her own in a room full of older women. She’s also wonderful about teaching me words and speaking so I can understand. In any case, we walked around the fields last night and some women fed me fresh figs, baby almonds, apricots, and, yes, an apple. I’m amazed at the scope of the crops here. Figs, pomegranates, almonds, dates, apples, carrots, potatoes, turnips, corn, wheat, straw, alfalfa, beans, tomatoes, lentils, peppers, olives, apricots, pears, prickly pears (called “foreigner’s figs”), tomatoes, and I’m sure there’s more. So far, since I’ve been here, everyone goes and works with wheat and straw. “Ishqa,” they say about both imindi and alim, “ishqa.” It’s hard work harvesting them both. Sometimes I feel like such a city girl, but the fields still seem peaceful to me. Maybe they wouldn’t if I got up at 4 am to go harvest.

End of the first week

I wrote a lot yesterday and am about to copy/paste it here. Today I've been sick. Yuck. And travelling while sick is even worse. But being here in the souk town has actually not been bad. People are starting to know me.

One guy, who had talked to a few of us before and speaks really good English invited me for tea. A current PCV in town had said he was a good guy and trustworthy, so I sat and talked to him and a really interesting guy who has lived all over the world, including Kentucky, and is a Moroccan Jew. Fascinating converstaion- I found out later that his brother is Mordechai Vananu, the whistleblower on... well... this guy http://www.traprockpeace.org/mordechai_vanunu.html. Yeah. Wow. He told me that he speaks a sort of older Moroccan Arabic that has been changed over the years and has now become strictly a Jewish Moroccan Arabic (sounds like a similar situation to Ladino), and the perspective he had was just really interesting. Apparantly the area I'm in has a rich Jewish history, and I've been promised to hear about it some other day. Enshallah. I also was told by the guy I had met before, the non-Jewish man, that the reason that the k sound in Azilal Tamazight sounds like an "sh" here is because it is dryer here and easier to make a "sh" sound than a k sound with a dry mouth. Hmmm...

Anyway, on to the last week:

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Wow. Where to start? Today is Sunday. Hopefully, this will be saved to a flash drive and I can upload it on Monday when I go to town for souk, but I don’t know yet.

In short, it’s been a rocky week and a half. Shwiya b shwiya: I had no idea how telling of an attitude of mine this would have to become. The highs are pretty high but not extreme, and the lows can get pretty low. Every day, I think about going home. I don’t want to and I’m not planning on it, but the thought of spending two years in this situation is overwhelming. I think about it and just start to suffocate. So, I’ve had to modify my thinking. I constantly have to modify my thinking. The way I think about it is in small, digestible chunks. I have souk in town on Mondays. That’s one day a week I can escape, go to internet, talk to people on skype enshallah, eat a meal that consists of raw vegetables opposed to pure carbohydrates and a few overcooked vegetables, and, with some luck, see someone else who is in town for souk who understands exactly what I’m going through. Hamdullah. One week at a time.

I also have other things to look forward to. Some of us are getting together for a girl’s birthday in the province capital at the end of the month. If I want to, I can take off another weekend this month to go visit people or places. I can go into town for a day trip any Saturday or Sunday I want. And next week I get to go equippe-mobiling. More about that later. IST is only six months away (In-service training: I get to see everyone from my group again!). Site visit will happen in the next month and any issues I have I can discuss face-to-face with a staff member. Digestible chunks.

This sounds negative. It’s not. It’s just overwhelming, and this is how I can make it through. Little by little. Imiq s imiq. Shwiya b shwiya. Small, baby steps; small, baby expectations.

That being said, no matter how frustrating and hard it is, I’m proud of myself and some things that I’ve been able to do the last few days. It’s just also hard personally because I keep seeing myself turn into what I call a nasty American: princessy, spoiled, and not open-minded. It just takes a change in mentality and stepping back for me to work through it, but it’s rough sometimes.

Case in point: I was invited to a teachers’ house for dinner one night with five teachers and the Rais (similar to the mayor). I was, of course, nervous, but it was incredible how easy it was. I sat with the men, leaving the woman who is probably my most favorite person so far (more about her later) in the process, but had conversation in Tamazight, French, and English on really important issues.

As teachers, most were from bigger towns, and all, except maybe the Rais, were college-educated. They were all outsiders to some extent, and I immediately felt comfortable with them. It was almost like I was just among friends. They joked about one of them eating a lot, told a joke about a banana (which at first I was terrified would be dirty, but was just a simple joke), we discussed a bit about why I was there, about Berber pride, about why men ate before women in town, about vegetarianism. I learned a bit more about the Moroccan education system, and I taught them about tones in Chinese and American food and the word for watermelon. It was an exchange, it was fun, and it was empowering. I stayed until after midnight, and it felt like it was only nine or ten.

Victory! Or so I thought. And then, the next night, I had a miserable time while at the house of a family in town who we do things with a lot. They were bagging straw outside and I didn’t have a sash to cover my face with and it irritated my eyes and throat, then my hostmom wanted to stay later but I couldn’t sleep because mosquitoes were biting me everywhere and I wasn’t comfortable with the one man in the house, and it was the house where men had eaten first on site visit so I was already uncomfortable, and it was hot and I wasn’t feeling well and all I wanted was the solitude of my own room. My language ability was terrible and what I did understand, I didn’t want to because I think they wanted to spend the night even though I had no things for the night and needed a cough drop and was just wanting some space and privacy. We went home, Hamdullah, but I felt like a spoiled brat.

Then it hit me. It’s great to be able to get along with the teachers. They’ll be allies, they’ll help reach children, and they’re respected in the community. But ultimately, it’s not the teachers that I’m here to serve as much, really. It’s the farmers in the community. It’s the women who I ate dinner with. Despite gender differences, of course it’ll be easier to integrate with people who speak French and some English and who are university-educated. That’s not the point. And that’s hard for me to digest, because it was such a victory for me that night that I navigated and enjoyed myself during dinner.

It’s hard for me to get out of the house too sometimes. I’m still terrified of going to my sbitar. I’ve done it, but they intimidate me there. I feel like I don’t know enough about heath to be working with them and that I might be wasting their time. I went once this week, because I spent a few days out-of-town with the delegue meeting (I haven’t even talked about that, have I?) and my nurse isn’t there on Fridays, and am planning on going next week at least on Tuesday, and then on Equippe-Mobile on Wednesday, but there’s been little here harder than walking up to the clinic.

It’s also just hard getting out of the house in general. I love just walking around, and each time I do, it lifts my spirits and just makes me feel peaceful. People are friendly, kids will come up and talk to me, and already, a lot of people know my name and will greet me. Strangers invite me over for tea. But I feel like I have to have a purpose, without having too much of a purpose.

That’s another struggle: waiting for people to get to know me before I ask work-related questions. Case in point: the head of one of the associations. He’s a great guy, and he was the impetus to bringing running water to my town, I think. But when I asked him if we could talk sometime about that process, he seemed to get worried. Why do I have questions for him? I don’t know if it seemed like I was coming on too strong about wanting to know things or not, but I really have to learn about where the water comes from and how it happened. It’ll be invaluable information for me. But for some reason, it seemed to shock him and he seemed really hesitant to talk to me. He said I could ask him any questions I wanted, but it didn’t matter because his attitude showed it wouldn’t be a good idea. I know I didn’t burn any bridges with him, but I wish I knew exactly what I did, or why he reacted that way.

So, what have my days looked like recently?

The Delegue meeting went well, I think. I don’t think I’ve talked about it, so here it is in a nutshell: all of us in our province got together to meet with the head of public health for the province, with two veteran volunteers. Stupid me decided to answer that, yes, I do speak a little French, and was essentially forced into translating the entire thing. I wish I hadn’t put that pressure on myself, but it was good, because they told us things that they hadn’t really been able to get across in Tamazight to people in the past.

We introduced ourselves, and they told us a bit about all of our communities (he said mine were a “disciplined people” and I’d have no problems…), they asked that we write an action plan for the next year, and they welcomed us to Morocco and gave us our note de service: our last form needed to apply for a carte de sejour, or residency papers. Being in the provincial capital was fun because we were able to relax a little bit, drink lots of that delicious juice I keep raving about, and just hang out as a big group. I think there are nine of us new health volunteers in the province. Anyway, I only stayed one night because I wanted to be sure to be back in my souk town on the 30th to talk to my gendarmes to be sure I had my papers together for my carte.

The head gendarme knows me and my name by sight by now and he had me translate for two others who have the same gendarmes. So much French! Who knew how useful it’d become? I finally got all my papers stamped at the commune, and was told to come back in 3-4 days for my receipt. The receipt is in lieu of the carte until everything is processed, but it has to be renewed every month. Fun. Did coffee with a SBD volunteer whose site is my souk town, so that was nice. She seems like an awesome person. Can’t wait to get to know her better.

Back to site on Wednesday, and pretty much just chilled out that night. I did meet the woman who was suggested to me to be my tutor, but she didn’t seem confident in her English. We’ll see what happens. Thursday is the day I forced myself to go to the sbitar. It was easy because I had the official letter and therefore a legitimate reason to go, but the good news that came from that is that I am able to go on the Equippe-mobile next week!

Now, the Equippe-mobile is like a traveling clinic. A few times a month, doctors from the conscription hospital, as well as the doctor and nurse from my site get in a van and go to some of the outlying douars. I’m excited, because we leave early and go to places that are over 50 kilometers away. I think most of them are in a valley off dirt roads and are much more of what I pictured Peace Corps to be like. In any case, this time I’ll just watch and observe and see what happens, but when my language skills improve, I may be able to do some health education as the others do direct services. We’ll see. But, if all goes well, that’s my plan for Wednesday, enshallah.

That afternoon, I went to the Neddi, or women’s center. I know a lot of people go to their neddis when they first start settling in to gain visibility and get to know people, but I didn’t really know what to do. The director kept showing me examples of what people sew, crochet, knit, cross-stitch, etc., and it was all very nice, but I didn’t know what to do. She started to teach me to crochet, so now I have a tiny crochet needle and can crochet in a straight line. Next time, she’ll teach me more. Cool. It was fun, even if I don’t really know what I’m doing. Next week, after I have a long conversation with my sbitar staff, I’ll set myself up a schedule for the next month or so and go to the neddi a few times a week.

Friday, I did a whole bunch of nothing in the morning. As I did yesterday. And today. This is going to be a challenge. I look forward to bathing and laundry and studying Tamazight because it gives me something to do! Anyway, in the afternoon, the teacher’s wife that I talked about last blog entry invited me over. I love her. I think she’s my favorite person in town. She’s from Tamazitinu, but married to a teacher from a big city and lived there for a few months, so she sort of fits in both worlds. She cooks the most delicious, healthy food ever, she’s quite laid back, and is so patient it kills me. And her dress! When she came over, she was wearing the typical black wrap over her head and torso, but once we got to her house, she took it off and wasn’t wearing a scarf at all… and was just wearing a tank top! Hshuma! But she said she does it because it’s hot and her husband doesn’t care. Great. As I said, I love this woman.

Later I went on a walk with some teenage girls. It was fun because they know some French so were able to teach me some things and just talk to me some. Good girls. Beautiful walk in the fields. I’d love to get a girls group started here, when language gets better. Have them all over for tea and American food and talk about health and life and just sort of hang out. Some other volunteers have done similar things and it’d really be fun.

That night was the dinner with the teachers I was talking about. It was interesting. At one point, they told me to eat first “Because that was the tradition there.” I said that I had experienced otherwise, and they said it wasn’t a question of respect that men usually ate first in big groups, but more a question of tradition. They related the story in Islam of how women are valued more than men (I don’t remember the exact story, but, yes, that is in the Qur’an) and said that Islam respected women a lot. Interesting way of addressing it. Tradition rather than superiority. I told them it was hard but good for me to learn about.

I also had a rather interesting moment when someone asked “Is tqnt?” Now, I get this a lot here. It means “Are you sad?” It actually had really started to get on my nerves lately. The same questions over and over. “Are you married?” “Why don’t you eat meat?” “Why don’t you wear a scarf?” “Why don’t you take a Berber name?” “Is Tamazitinu nice?” “Do you pray?” “Are you a Muslim? Do you think Islam is good?” “Are you sad?”

Here it was again. “Are you sad?” I laughed and said that I wasn’t sad, but everyone always asked me if I was. The Rais looked at me and said “But you were sad yesterday?”

“Why do you say I was sad yesterday?”
“Because you were.”
“How do you know I was sad yesterday?”
“Because I know you were sad yesterday. I know. You cried.”

I was shocked. I did cry. In front of two people, that was it. I cried because I was sick of the questions because it makes me feel like people want me to be someone I’m not. I cried because it’s frustrating when someone puts a veil on you almost every day and talks about how beautiful it looks on you when I look in the mirror and it looks like a completely different person looking back at me. I cried because it’s frustrating having people tell you that you should take a different name.

Strange, because when I first came to the Peace Corps, I was willing to change all that. I was willing to wear a hijab, I was willing to change my name, eager, even. But the longer I’ve been here, the more I understand that the purpose is to integrate, not to assimilate, and that one of the goals is to teach people about America and American culture. It’s legitimate for me to keep my name and to not wear a hijab. It’s something I’m starting to actually even feel strongly about.

But again, I’ve had to change my thinking and frame of reference. People want me to fit in because they like me and want me to be happy. They want me to have an easy name to say because it makes me feel part of the group. They don’t want me to have to change who I am, the core of me. They just want me to feel less isolated. It's taken me a few days to understand this, but it's good to be able to see it all. Shwiya b shwiya; change the frame of reference.

But at the time, I didn’t see that. I just felt frustration. And I cried… and made sure to ask the two people who saw me crying not to tell anyone. But they did. The Rais has spies everywhere. Hmmmm.

So I was embarrassed and I said so. I told them that it’s hard to be here sometimes, but that I’m happy here, but that it embarrassed me that people would see me as not being strong.

One of the teachers laughed. He said nobody would at all see me as being weak: I left my country for Tamazitinu and don’t know a soul and don’t know the language. They said that’s hard and not something a lot of people would do.

I countered that most families here had people working abroad, and they said, “Yes, but not a woman.” For once, gender roles worked in my favor. And then the conversation turned to why people cry and whether it was better to cry in public or in private, and one of the teachers talked about what he does when he cries and pretty much every one of them admitted to crying.

Unexpected. Very unexpected. I feel very warmly about them all because I think they were very kind. But it’s shocking that people know so much about me. I am really in a fishbowl here. Every move of mine is watched.

But I can at least use this to my benefit every once in a while. I keep my nalgene bottle with me all the time. I’m not a nalgene girl in the states, but I get dehydrated so easily and I don’t like using the communal water cup for various reasons, so I carry my nalgene. This has led to several informal conversations about keeping hydrated in the summer as well as why it’s better not to drink from the irrigation channels in the fields (though it’s fun to walk in them).

I’ve found out some good information about health things, like who the most respected qabla (traditional birth attendant) in town is, or that people think that the doctor has given the green light to drinking the (untreated) water in the irrigation channels. I’ve talked about dehydration to people and why flies are bad, all in informal settings where I don’t feel preachy.

Anyway. That was Friday. Saturday, I did a whole bunch of nothing plus laundry in the morning, took a walk in the fields again which was fun, but then had that sort of not-as-good dinner where I felt like I was acting like a spoiled American brat. Hopefully I’ll be able to have a better attitude. I was just really tired, but I think I was also frustrated with some interactions with my host-mother. Again: reframe the situation. She doesn’t know what to do with me. I know this. She wants me to be happy and I want her to be happy. It’s just working through the getting-to-know-you stage. At least I have a big step to look forward to- the homestay phase being over. I’m torn with what to do here. The house is stressful: kids crying, the mom going to the fields and not knowing what to do with me, me being bored, me trying to study or kill time, not knowing when we’re going to eat, just trying to communicate in general. But yesterday is over. Today is a new day.

This morning started like yesterday: bored, bored, bored. Kids in the house watching Star Academy. Me wondering how I could have forgotten all the Tamazight I learned in training in the short week we were with the environment group. Finally, I forced myself out of the house for a walk.

Victory! Invited to tea at an extended family member’s house and made conversation. Practiced Tamazight. Saw some pictures and met some people and got out of the house and drank some tea. This is what I’m supposed to be doing. I also found a hanut that has eggs! So, yes, Mom, this means I probably won’t get a chicken.

So it goes. So goes my life. A constant tumble of boredom, frustration, isolation, and some moments that affirm that this is something that I can do, that I am capable of. And I know I’m not alone. There are 35 of us going through it, 60 if you count the environment group. Something like 200,000 people have done the Peace Corps, and we’ve been in Morocco for over 40 years. I’m not the first nor will I be the last to have these struggles. And one week of homestay is done. I only have seven more to go, enshallah. And pomegranate season is coming in a few months. Now THAT’s something to look forward to.

Until next time.

Ps- as I was studying Tamazight, I thought of a word to share with you in the past tense conjugation to show you how vowelless it can be.

Fhm- to understand
I understood- fhmgh
You understood- tfhmt
He understood- ifhm
She understood-tfhm
We understood-nfhm
Y’all men understood- tfhmm
Y’all women understood-tfhmnt
They (men) understood- fhmn
They (women) understood- fhmnt

or the word for goodbye in my region: adg rbbi str