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