Link to glossary, in case I use confusing terms, as I am apt to do:

http://shwiyabshwiya.blogspot.com/2007/08/glossary.html

 

August 24, 2007

 

Another fantastic day.

 

I woke up this morning, and after a sort of slow and lazy morning, went to the sbitar. I always feel productive when I go, even when I do essentially nothing, like today. I sit and watch and make casual conversation with the women. My nurse, I think, is disappointed that I don't prepare more lessons, but the truth is, after my tooth-brushing lesson sort-of fiasco, I don't want to rush into bad health lessons. I'd rather go slowly and make sure I do quality, understandable lessons.

 

For the second time this week, I walked out of the sbitar with a gift. The first was a package of coffee from France. One woman, actually, the woman with a house that has a real stone countertop, ceiling fans, elaborately carved ceilings, a bidet, and, well, you get the picture, did what a lot of people with family abroad do: bring medicine from France to the sbitar. In the bag, she had another few goodies for my nurse. As he doesn't drink coffee, and he knows I do, he gave me the coffee grounds. Today, a woman came with a bag full of raw, in-the-shell almonds, and my nurse gave them to me too.

 

Now, when I first saw people bring things, I was worried. Is it corruption? Is it bribery? But, the more I get to know people here, I see it's the same thing as when people give away outfits families bring from abroad, or bring me grapes or eggplants or figs from their gardens. It's just sharing what people have. My nurse is adored by the community, so much that in February, people in my "neighborhood" wrote letters to the provincial health delegation saying, "Never take him away!" Gifts are really just their way of showing that they care. So, I felt completely comfortable taking the coffee and almonds, but, again, it makes me wonder what else I can do to give back to the community, besides work really hard to do my job.

 

As a result, I stopped by my hostfamily's house for tea (and fried eggplant! Yum!) and gave her the entire bag of almonds. She seemed really excited, and it made me feel good to do it. I've also given my next-door neighbor half of a sweet, green melon (called lemnun) a few times when I've bought them because they don't keep without a fridge and the most I can eat in a day is half.

 

On the way to the sbitar this morning, I got another invite for lunch, and, as always unless I have other plans, I accepted. It was fantastic: another family I don't know very well but absolutely love now. Once more, we danced to Berber music, and I just felt welcomed and accepted. Beautiful. The woman, who is the sister of the old woman I said I considered to be like my hostmother who lived next door to my hostfamily, if that makes sense, had another sister visiting from Rabat, and they said I was welcome anytime. It's absolutely amazing the networks of people I have here. I could probably travel to any big city in Morocco, as well as Barcelona, Montpellier, Lille, and Paris without having to eat out or stay in a hotel. I wouldn't be surprised if, ten years down the line, someone's family member or friend spends the night in my house in the US. That's just how it goes.  

 

Once at home, I was visited by a group of four girls. Then another two came. Then another. Soon, there were seven girls and myself, sitting around, listening to my eclectic music collection, dancing, laughing, and having lots of awkward silence as well, where they were whispering to themselves.

 

I had a stroke of genius. Well, not genius. Part of what I'm supposed to do for my community analysis is to make a community map. I'm nervous about walking around drawing as I go or taking notes, because, well, some people already think I'm a spy. Making a map won't really do anything to assuage people's fears. I asked them if they'd make me a map and broke out colored pencils and blank paper.

 

Well, I told them they could draw or make a map, and, of course, they drew, and the map idea was out the door. There's always next time. They gave the pictures to me, and I   realized they really help my "office" look brighter. I love how hectic it looks now and how crazy it is: I have a local map, six or eight health posters, my felt human body and human body parts, six or eight papers to remind me of what my project goals are, a to-do list, and now, a dozen kid's drawings all nailed into the adobe. I also have two makeshift shelves, my bike, all my empty suitcases, a brand-new captain's chair from Marjane (the best buy ever!), and a messy desk. It's, well, comfortable.

 

While I was entertaining and holding art class (it's funny how girls all over the world resort to drawing either a house, or a girl with flowers and trees, though I have pictures of some of the most creative flowers on my wall now, as well as a delightful picture of a mosque with "<<<<" coming out of the tower: the call to prayer), my next door neighbor came to feed her sheep in our shared courtyard, and she invited me to dinner. Wow. I didn't have to cook at all today.

 

After a short respite where I started about a million small projects: rearranging things in my salon, organizing my desk, switching out tables in two rooms, creating a new system for keeping water cool, cleaning, building a second temporary "shelf" in my office, trying to make pickled garlic and onions, trying to make another container of pickled ginger… you get the point….   I finally went to dinner and had a lovely time.

 

Now, I know I've mentioned brochettes, but I don't think I've ever talked about how revolting I found the process the first few times I've seen it. Essentially, on a table, one that is usually eaten off of at meals, a few people sit around and cut up an animal, normally a sheep. They start with what would be normally be eaten in the US: steak-like bits. Then, it goes to someone who sits there and winds and cuts and separates intestines. The stomach, I think, is stuffed with something, the other organs are laid over the charcoal fire and wrapped in fat, and the large intestine is wrapped tightly with the small intestine and then skewered. Some of the same people handling the meat, which at times squirts blood and other fluids, are eating off the common platters without washing their hands, or eating cookies and drinking tea while dissecting said organs. The smell is, well, overwhelming at first, and watching it come around and being urged to eat intestines wrapped in intestines, or liver wrapped in fat was, well, difficult with my pseudo-vegetarian self for the first few times, especially after watching people up to their elbows in meat juice and dangling organs and fat.

 

But watching about a month ago, it hit me. It's not strange, disgusting, or gross that people are eating these parts of the animal. It's good. It's not wasteful, things like liver are rich in nutrients and iron, and this is how people have eaten meat for a long time. Most cultures eat meat if the people can afford it, and they eat organs, fat, bone marrow, and skin. It's really only in a few cultures, like mainstream American culture, that these things are strange to some people. It's not a strange ritual… it's beautiful. Of course, safe handling of meat and cross-contamination is an issue I can and will address, but that I was actually disgusted the first time I saw it disgusts me now.

 

I was staring at them preparing the brochettes tonight, trying to figure out what organ was what and what they do to everything. I explained that I was staring because I've never seen people make brochettes up close. "Join us and help then, you can learn."

 

Once more, at first I was disgusted. "No, thanks…." But then I realized I was doing it again. I have a problem, and it's that I have a meat complex. Meat, especially raw meat, or gristle, or fat, or tendons, or bones… it just creeps me out. Grosses me out. I don't even like touching dirty dishes that have had meat, and when I have my own cutting board when living with roommates, it was a non-meat cutting board.

 

I'm not ready to eat intestine-wrapped intestines, or fat-wrapped liver, or stuffed stomach lining. But I guess I could touch it. So, towards the end, I started picking up chunks of raw liver and wrapping them in fat, then skewering them with my bare hands, getting up to my elbows in raw meat juice, and smelling like raw meat no matter how furiously I washed my hands.  

 

It's strange, even the little things that change. Two months ago, I hated Hawai soda (just one "i"). It's this sickeningly sweet pineapple, coconut, and orange flavored soda that reminded me of a carbonated Kool-Aid. I much preferred Coke, and every time there was a big dinner and there was Coke and Hawai and I got Hawai and other people got Coke, it made me slightly annoyed.

 

Now, there's no question: I much prefer Hawai. It's still sickeningly sweet, but most women in my town prefer it and a lot won't even drink any "black soda," and somehow, it just seems to quench my thirst more.

 

I also initially refused to drink out of the communal cup. It's against my better judgment still, but I do it. I don't even think about the fact that I constantly eat from a communal plate. Grand taxis that are meant to hold five people at the most, but don't leave until there are seven people (including the driver) don't feel that crowded anymore. Cramming 30 people in a 15-passenger van, or sharing one seat with three girls under ten, or being squished between two strangers so much that you can't even sit back in the seat feels normal. I don't mind sprinkling baby powder all over my floors to keep out bugs, or keeping OMO soap sprinkled on my kitchen countertop at all times because it's the only thing that prevents ants. The best thing to do with vegetables that have gone bad is to cut off the bad part. Yogurt stays good three or four days without being refrigerated. Powdered milk is delightful, especially when mixed with a little sugar water. I can bring my Newsweek into the bathroom with my Turkish toilet just the way I can at home with a Western toilet. I taught a Moroccan who only speaks Arabic how to count to three in Berber, and told another man from Rabat who was on my bus from Meknes what cities we were going to go through before we got to his destination because I knew and he didn't… but I still don't feel like a Morocco expert, or a hard-core PCV.

 

On a lighter note, I love that the way you say "fruit" in my area is "dessert." It's eaten after the meal, as the only dessert, besides some people who use soda as dessert instead. I look forward to it every time I eat a big meal out. There's nothing like fresh grapes (adil) or watermelon (dleH) or green melon (lemnun) after a plate of couscous or tagine. I enjoy it as much, if not more, than an American dessert after a meal.

 

I also learned a new phrase today that I love: "Adigs iga bislamt." I believe it means something to the extent of "Inside me has peace," or "I contain peace." The best part though is that…well… it's hard to explain. When you say "dig" like "digi" or "digs," it means to physically contain, like a river contains water, or a bowl contains fruit. You can also use it for a fever or diarrhea, but really it has the connotation of a physical state, as if peace is a tangible object that can physically rest in your body. I also love that it sounds a bit like "adig rbbi str," a way to say goodbye that means "God help you keep yourself protected."

 

The God phrases make me happy. It makes me smile every time someone says, "Allahu akbar!" (God is great) in surprise, or that people, myself included, essentially say "hallelujah" several times an hour (lhamdullah).  

 

Speaking of God, Ramadan is coming up (9/15- mid-October). I'm going to try to fast during Ramadan. For those of you who don't know, Ramadan is a Muslim holiday and a month in the Islamic calendar where adults fast from sun-up to sun-down. Fasting means nothing passes through the mouth: food, drink, water, medicine, even cigarettes. It also means no swearing or sexual activity while the sun is shining. I'm neither Muslim, nor an expert on the religion, so I'm not describing it in a way that is worthy of the holiday; if you're curious, look it up.

 

 I've never really fasted before, so I know it'll be a challenge, but I'm a bit excited about it. People ask, "Do you fast?" and my answer is, "Though I'm not a Muslim, I will try to fast because we believe in the same God and people fast in my religion sometimes too." I don't have the language skills to talk about Lent, and don't want people to think I'm proselytizing either, so I just say some people with my religion fast occasionally, but not for Ramadan.

 

I've gotten in interesting conversations about religion here—but only when other people bring it up. The way people ask if you're Muslim is by asking, "Do you pray?" My response is always, "Yes, but not the way you do."   Usually people are confused, and if they ask, I tell them, "You pray the same prayer five times a day, always? I pray sometimes. Some days I may pray five or ten times, some days maybe once or not at all. I don't say the same thing every time, I just talk to God."

 

"What do you say?"

 

So I make up a simple prayer I can say in Tam. "God, thank You for the food I eat. Help me do what You want me to do. Thank You for letting me come to Tamazitinu where the people are friendly and nice. Please protect my friends and family and their health. God is great. Amen."

 

People generally kind of give a "hmmm," and the conversation changes. Well, half the time, they try to convert me, but I just say I like my religion and I find Islam beautiful, like a brother religion but I won't change religions. Occasionally I'll get a "oh, poor thing," but usually it's been fairly respectful.

 

August 26, 2007

 

It's been another, well, intense but good day. I was invited to a wedding on Friday in the nearest "outer" douar. It's not far from town; the only separation is the newly paved road, but it does take about 45 minutes or an hour to walk from my house to the end of it, so I've not ventured over that way often.

 

After watching half of Brokeback Mountain (I'm desperate for DVDs and books!), and finishing a novel, I headed over to meet up with a teacher in that douar that speaks decent English.

 

I don't think I've talked about her before. I met her on the bus from my souk town last week. I love this woman. I feel like she's the easiest possible good friend in Tamazitinu: she's from Rabat, she speaks English, when I saw her, she was wearing jeans and no headscarf, and she's funny and lively and has a DVD collection she doesn't mind sharing.

 

In the bus, last Tuesday, she started talking about the road. "It's great that the road is paved, but it's a little sad too. It was romantic, living off of a dirt road." Yes, she and I do have a bit in common.  

 

I texted her because the wedding I was invited to while at the sbitar was in her douar and she mentioned so I could go with her. I met her at twelve at another women's house and we sat around chatting for a few hours. Good people. I don't know if I'll ever, even after two years, get over how friendly and welcoming and kind people are here. Not only was I offered the normal fruit and bread and tea and peanuts, but they also told me I could use their shower whenever I wanted: a hot, beautiful, clean shower. I could have showered there today, but I had a 45-minute walk ahead of me anyway, so it's not that practical. But fun people, really laid back and joking around.

 

The wedding was fun but my legs fell asleep the way they always do. People were nice and friendly, but I was glad for it to be over. "Come back to dinner!" I'd love to, but was definitely too exhausted.

But rather than go home, my teacher friend invited me to her house: one of the government provided teacher homes. I had brought her two DVDs, chosen carefully for their non-hshuma qualities, and two English books just in case she wanted to read them. She lent me a season of Grey's Anatomy, and Night at the Museum (which are only French, unfortunately), and Marie Antoinette, which I just finished.

 

To my utter surprise, she had a lot of movies that, well, shocked me. The most shocking was "Secretary." If you don't know about the movie, look it up. It's, well, not exactly what I thought I would find in a woman's house in rural Morocco. When she saw how surprised I was, she showed me "The Girl Next Door," which I haven't seen but she said was much more hshuma than "Secretary." Interesting, especially considering the two of us and another friend of hers sat outside: she wore shorts and a tank-top. Granted, there was no way people could see her without us having advanced warning, but I'm constantly shocked and then surprised at my shock at the things that I find occasionally in an Arab country.

 

To make the day even better, if that was possible, I asked her if the principal had ever mentioned me to her or other teachers that she knew of. I explained the picture situation (see "Site Visit" from May for more information) and she said she's sure it wasn't a problem and that he's a nice guy and when he comes back, I should just talk to him. She also said she'd put in a good word for me and tell him as well. Good, good stuff. I still hate that a stupid mistake three months ago that was a complete accident and done in good faith could have burned professional bridges before I was even sworn in as a Volunteer. Hopefully, with her help if needed, I'll be able to patch things up.

 

On the way home, I was offered corn roasting on palm (date trees are like palm trees) fronds, and was offered tea at another family's house in that douar. I like the people there a lot. On the way there, I was invited for lunch, and when I explained about the wedding, they said, "Okay, see you at one o'clock tomorrow then for lunch." Have I mentioned how easy it can be to feel accepted into a community when you eat at different people's houses, let's see… five or six times in the last five days, and already an invite for next? Of course, it comes crashing down when people say the word "espionage" or question my motives, but, really, I love the people here, and it's nice to be able to giggle in English with someone unmarried and older than I am, who tells me not to be pressured to wear a headscarf and wears jeans herself, who knows more about American movie stars than I do, and who seems to be in love with life in general, but really enjoys life in the bled. I'm glad she's far enough away that I won't use her as a crutch.

 

August 27, 2007

 

Cooking here is a lot harder than I thought it would be. It's especially hard to be creative with one time a week in town for special ingredients, no fridge, and a meager amount of food available at site a few days a week.

 

Yesterday was a "Fresh Veggies In Town" day, so I got a kilo of grapes, four cucumbers, half a kilo of carrots, and a kilo of tomatoes, passing over the shriveled potatoes and peppers, figuring it'd keep me until Thursday. I was wrong. I polished off the grapes last night (yes, 2.2 pounds of them), and used half of the carrots and a cucumber in my attempt of the type of food I'd eat at home: a cold Asian vermicelli salad. It was palatable, good, even, but not great.

 

I went to a taHanut today after lunch out. They weren't supposed to be open, but the wife of the owner was walking down the alleyway and I asked when it would be open, so she let me pop in and get a few things: eggs, soda, and a Monaish. I made deviled eggs tonight with mustard from Marjane and they were, also, okay. I don't see myself settling down and cooking Moroccan food all the time, mainly because the flavor wouldn't be right without meat juices and I don't eat the meat itself, but with the availability of things, I'm starting to understand the lack of variety. And, again, compared to, say sub-Saharan Africa, there is a lot more variety than I give credit for. Once again, lesson learned. Of course, that's not to say that I'm not going to fight for the next two years to have creative, interesting, and different foods.   I'm sad my fig tree is now empty, or else I'd try a fig salsa.

 

I did find out what the other tree in my shared garden is: quince. They're small but ripe, but a lot of work: scraping the hair off the outside, then washing or peeling, coring, and boiling in water. If they were large it wouldn't be bad, but they're rather the size of crabapples instead of apples, so it's a pain for food that's not that great. We'll see if I figure anything out with them.

 

I'm going to need to put a limit on how many girls come over to my house. Today, there were twelve. This is getting a bit hard to control and out of hand (and my colored pencils and paper supply is dwindling!), but I'd love to do something more formal with it: have them all come over once a week for healthy snacks (and be prepared for it!), art projects, and a health lesson. They LOVE to draw. I don't know if most kids here just don't have art supplies at home, but for some reason, even the 14-year olds settle down and take it seriously.

 

In an attempt at learning more about the girls, I asked them to draw self-portraits, and they happily obliged. It'll be fun to do art and health together. I'm going to need to find out who everyone's parents are and talk to them about it so that they know what's going on though. I think it's something I could start within the next few weeks… it just started happening and I rather enjoy them coming over too… and it's not just because they like to clean my house! If I did it on Fridays, I could get ingredients for fun and healthy snacks in my souk town on Thursdays, as well as any special supplies I need.   I may also split it into two groups: a younger group and an older group, because, really, I don't want more than six or eight girls in my house at a time. Smaller groups are easier to control, and also make it easier to get to know them.

 

To think; two weeks ago, I was worried about whether girls would be even interested to come to a "girls health group." Though I haven't called it that, I don't think it'll be a problem getting it started, and I can't wait to have a tangible project started, even one as simple as a girl's health group.

 

I've been in-country 174 days. Insane. Almost half a year. It feels in so many ways like I just got here. I'm amazed at how I still feel like I know nothing about Morocco. I've barely scratched the surface, but I'm also starting to accept things I never thought I'd accept. At lunch today, despite the fact that I literally had to sit in the room and watch the men eat first, stomach growling, it was more of an annoyance than a personal affront. It's the first time I've been present for it, really watching people eat right in front of me before me, just because of my gender… and had it not hit me in the chest, in my stomach, in my heart. Do I want to become comfortable with it? I don't know. I don't know what to think about it still. I would never come close to accepting that at home, but I also wouldn't accept people trying to convert me to another religion at home on a regular basis, or women saying, "Wear lipstick, so you can find a husband," or "You need to learn to bake bread so you can find a husband."

 

I'm going to visit a friend at her site this weekend. It should be fun… it's up a gorge that I've heard is absolutely stunning. Then, the next weekend, I'm back to a random part of the country that I've been to three times now, for VSN (Volunteer Support Network) training. It's a five-day workshop to train us on how to be good peer counselors and listeners for Volunteers in-country. It should be a good time, but it means the next two weeks I'll be out of my site a lot.   I used to count down the days until I was able to go out-of-site, but I dislike it now. As much as it's great to see other volunteers, I actually enjoy being at my site as well.

 

Oh, and, obviously going to do health lessons in the outer douars didn't happen: we couldn't get the use of a car for the weekend. Oh, well. There'll be other opportunities, I'm sure.

 

 

August 29, 2007

 

I don't usually remember my dreams. Sometimes, I'll go through periods of time where I'll remember several dreams a night for a few weeks or months, but usually, they're elusive, or I'll have an inkling of the tone or emotions of a dream without remembering images or plot.

 

Last night, I had a dream about going home for a visit. It was, as most dreams are, not very coherent or fluid, but I remember going to PC Headquarters in Washington for some sort of a "readjustment to the US" workshop. I also remember going to my old job (and being miserable there, in my dream), and seeing random people, like a friend from high school I've only seen once in the last four or five years. I remember I had a reason to go home, besides just the visit, but I don't remember what the reason was. I was afraid since I didn't tell PC that I was leaving Morocco that I'd get kicked out, and it made me sad to think I might not be able to go back. The most important feeling I had the entire time, though, was, "I shouldn't be here. I should have stayed in Morocco. There was no reason to come home. Home feels wrong right now. I should have stayed."

 

It was, in some sort of way, telling. Though I plunged into the Peace Corps afraid only of rejection, and not really too afraid of what would happen once I got in-country, I did have some fears, buried deep down. How would I be emotionally? What will it be like being isolated? Will I be able to make friends, real friends here? I don't have the answer. I don't feel like I can communicate enough to have true Moroccan friends yet, besides some LCFs from training. But, what I've come to realize is that I'm happy here. I'm really… happy. Not necessarily joyful or bursting with energy or upbeat or optimistic, but content. I feel like this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now, like this is what my life is supposed to be like now.

 

I don't know if I can explain it any better, or if I make any sense, but I'm thriving in the discomfort, in the challenges, in the fact that there is no question that I am both the same and drastically different than everyone else here. Life, in lots of ways, is easier now than it has ever been for me, because things just feel real. And despite the fact I don't really feel like I have true friends yet, there are about… oh… 11 or 12 households that I feel perfectly comfortable walking up to and knocking on their door, essentially inviting myself over for tea.

 

The last few days have been somewhat interesting in a work-related way as well. I was stopped yesterday on my way home from the sbitar by a woman who I think of as the "rich woman." I know it's not necessarily true, but she lives in the house that has to be the nicest I've seen so far in Tamazitinu. She's friendly, but for some reason, I don't understand her Tam at all.

 

In any case, she stopped me and asked me a question. All I got from it were, "…expensive to give birth in hospital… 20,000 ryals (~$120 US)… poor woman… no money… organization… American association… money…"

 

Right. Well. I know, if push came to shove, I could raise $120 for a woman to give birth in the hospital. I could probably do it from this blog, if push came to shove.   But, that's not my job here. I'm not here for money for direct services, though doing it once or twice would be acceptable. I'm here to help create infrastructure to help the people empower themselves. However, I didn't want to turn anyone down, so I acted like I didn't understand.

 

I'm glad I did, because it turns out, I really didn't understand. They weren't looking for a one-time donation of $120 for a woman to give birth. They're forming an association with other nearby towns and wanted to know if I wanted to be involved. The association is supposed to help build a womens' center in my souk town that does free childbirth for poor women. There are two representatives from my town, both qablas (TBAs)  as well as 5 or 6 other surrounding towns.

 

Most likely, by the time I post this blog, I will have met with the president of the association in my souk town to see exactly what is going on, and see where I can fit in. I'm really excited about the possibilities, though I have lots of questions. What I think excites me the most though is that it gives a real forum and resources for my idea of doing prenatal classes, and, if, and of course, I can't depend on it, it works out, there's also the possibility of implementing them in nearby towns, and have an association that will sustain them, if it is something that the women believe in. Awesome. I'm totally, completely pumped. Of course, I'm not sure how feasible the whole thing is, but the fact that people are organizing makes me think that there are definitely possibilities.

 

On a less upbeat note, I went to part of a funeral today. I don't really understand who died and how, but I know that the wailing of some of the female family members will stay with me for a long time. Especially the mother of the deceased, who, tears streaming down her face, kept repeating "Fadma Brahiminu! Fadma Brahiminu! Fada Brahiminu!" "My Fadma Brahim! My Fadma Brahim!" or her daughter, who wailed, softer, "Manu, Manu, Manu, Manu…" "My mother, my mother, my mother, my mother…" I felt like an intruder, but my friend took me with her.

 

It's rough, seeing how some people struggle. I have a friend who has been very, well, friendly and welcoming since the first time I met her. I haven't seen her in awhile, and when I saw her at the sbitar a few days ago, she seemed almost hurt. "Why haven't you come to see me?"   She invited me to come over today, after the late-afternoon call to prayer. At five o'clock, I knocked on her door and didn't get back home until 11pm.

 

She has a small beautiful son, but her husband treats her badly and drinks, her mother and father-in-law don't let her see her mother often, she hates her father who divorced her mother, and her mother lives a good two hours away. Not only that, but she's in her late 20s, uneducated, and really has nowhere to go but her husbands' family's house. On the outside, she looks happy; she has a beautiful son, she lives in a huge house with two tvs and I just found out today, a room with an air conditioning unit (I don't know how often they turn it on; it wasn't tonight). Her husband has a good job in Marrakech and is very physically attractive, if I do say so myself. But she's really downtrodden on the inside, despite her sort of bubbly and cheerful appearance. I can't rescue her, but I can do everything I can when I'm here to give her joy. Maybe I'll see if she can take me to see her mother for a weekend. I know she'd be much more likely to be able to go if I said I wanted to see that town.

 

And, unless I hitchhike (which I can't), I can't go to my souk town tomorrow because the tobis, I hear, isn't running. I feel like I'm letting down a friend because I can't visit her, but what's a girl to do?