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
Monday, June 4, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
What a weekend
My tobis (bus/transit/van) leaves my site only twice during the day: once at anywhere between 5:30 and 6 am and once at around two. That being said, every time I leave site, I pretty much get up at 4:45 and pray either I or someone in my "family" will hear the bus and I won't miss it. It's not even seven yet and yet I was actually able to find somewhere that has internet that, though not technically open, let me come in and use it before going to the provincial capital. I'm waiting for my next-nearest health volunteer to come into town so we can catch a taxi together. Enshallah.
What a crazy last few days. I'm really, really overwhelmed. The last few days have had so many highs and lows, I don't know where to begin. I, miss gung-ho-Peace-Corps-2007, have had so many fleeting thoughts of "I should go home; I should ET (early termination: quit), I can't do this, I don't know what I'm doing here..." but then have an amazing experience that gives me strength. It's hard. I'm not going to lie and pretend everything is easy and wonderful. It's hard, I'm confused, and I sometimes question myself whether I have any business being in Tamazitinu.
To recap the last few days: I had a little disaster on the way back "home" from last time I was in town on Friday. Did I talk about carte de sejour stuff? It's not settled yet, but when I'm back in town on Wednesday, if there's problems, the head of the gendarmes is going to personally walk me to the place where they should stamp my papers and then I can come get my recipt and be in Morocco legally for the next month. Enshallah. So, not resolved, but I feel better because there is a plan.
On the way back, though... okay. So there is the tobis I was telling you about. To make a long story short, a woman told me to sit a seat next to her, but when we left, a man said it had been his seat. I was overwhelmed, once more felt like the arrogant, ignorant, entitlement-happy American I don't ever want to be, and started crying in an entire bus full of people. Crying is seen as a sign of weakness here, and the man assured me it was okay, but he had been a bit accusatory and I was exhausted. Oh, well. Live and learn. Later, a very nice old man who speaks fluent French who I will talk about later said that the man had been kidding. Who knows. I was vulnerable, and looked like a fool, but I felt better after crying. It's cleansing sometimes.
Saturday, I sat at home a lot of the day and just kind of moped around. I was stressed and didn't know what to do. I killed time by washing clothes and taking a bucket bath, and I tried to study some Tamazight on my own, but became antisocial. One of the veteran volunteers said that the first few weeks or months, the best thing to do is to get out of the house and walk around, so later in the afternoon, I forced myself to and it did a whole world of good for me. I practiced some language, I developed a little group of six giggling girls who followed me around and just laughed, I talked to some women coming back from the field about how I can drive a car but not a heavy wheelbarrow full of wheat, and saw some "friends" I've made who asked where I was going and what I was doing. I only left about an hour, but it was rejuvenating. It's also just peaceful to see the fields. If you've seen pictures, you know how beautiful they are: an oasis of green and palm trees against the stark, rough, dry mountains and yellow rocks.
Yesterday... well. Another day that started off pretty mopey but ended up on a very, VERY high note. My host mother got me out of the house after watching a few hours of Star Academy. Now, a word about Star Academy: take the Real World and American Idol, put it in Arabic and French, imagine not-as-amazing video editing skills, and have it run 24/7. Literally. All day, every day. On the bottom of the screen is a ticker like the news tickers or stocks going across the television, but it's text messages from people all over North Africa and France texting about the show and sending shout-outs to their friends or habibas. It's interesting, to say the least.
A very nice woman came over and I liked her instantly. I think they could tell, because I was sent to eat lunch at her house and really had a good time talking to her and her husband. Her husband is a teacher at the madrasa and gave me some very helpful if negative information. He's from out-of-town, a big city, and he's college-educated, so he can relate to my being new to such a small community. He also speaks fluent French, so communication was easier than most other interactions I have here. Apparantly, there are lots of people who think I am a spy. The thought is ridiculous to me, but I understand why, I guess. I had heard PCVs have problems with this sometimes, but it didn't really sink in that people would think that about me because, as I said, the thought that I'd have the strength and skills to be a spy is just ridiculous. I cry when I take someone's seat on the tobis. There was more that was said about working in Tamazitinu that I think was helpful but at the same time, I need to keep in perspective that he's not happy there. He does have impeccable taste in music though: in a row, I heard Tellement je t'aime, then the kiss kiss song from Tarkan, then bailamos by...enrique iglesias? and then another song that I love. Some of my favorite songs...two doors down from me. Unexpected but brilliant.
Well, the rest of the day was incredibly empowering and uplifting in a few ways. An old man whose family all lives and works in France offered me his house to "rent" but for free, and it's a more beautiful house than I would have even dreamed of in the Peace Corps. Posh Corps to the max. There are a few kinks in the whole situation, so I'm not getting my hopes up (ie: I have to pay for it; there is no way I'm using a house for free... and I don't know where they'll stay when they come back from France on vacation), but holy crap. Amazing.
The house has a western toilet and a turkish toilet, a bathtub, a shower, a water heater, a bidet (!!!), a kitchen, a few beautiful salons/bedrooms, and a terrace. But the best part is the garden. It's huge, with three or four pomegranate trees and other vegetables and an irrigation system and flowers, and it's just breathtaking. There's also what they call a swimming pool, but it's more the size of two or three hot tubs and has no lid or chlorination system, so the idea of using it is not really feasable. But I probably won't be able to afford to rent a place like that in the states for years.
He invited me and the woman next door who I like even though she's an ornery old woman to dinner, and, of course, I accepted. He's definately one of the richer people in town. The house has to be at least 4,000 square feet and so nice I don't want to get bogged down in the details, but wow. Just...wow. Not what I expected in PC. I keep saying that, but it's true.
Well, just as I spilled soup on my lap, the local official who had intimidated me so much over the last few days walked in. Great. Another wonderful impression: look at the American with soup all in her lap.
The conversation started badly. In Tamazight, he said, "Oh, it's the American who doesn't speak Berber or Arabic or French." The old man came to my rescue and said I spoke some French and I piped in with some French. We started talking, and I said if he wanted we could meet and I could answer any questions about why I was there. He invited me to his house sometime, and I said not in the next few days because I'm going to the provincial capital.
He didn't like that. "Why are you going? What's the point of the meeting?" I explained, and he, right then and there, called to confirm that I was going. Okay. Breathe. You're not doing anything wrong.
He said that people thought I was here for espionage, and I told him I'd be as transparant as I could. He asked if I had to write reports because reports are political. I told him that I'd show him any report I wrote if it made him feel better, and that if there was any other information he needed about me or my work or organization, I'd be happy to give it to him. Then, he started quizzing me on Tamazight. What's this? How do you say sun? Moon? Door? Give me? Take? To be? Teacher? Window? Car? People? Woman? Bride? Cow? Teeth? Hand? Arm? Floor? Upstairs? Neigbor?
I probably knew 90% of what he asked (granted, it was all basic vocab) and he started to relax and so did I. I told him again that I really wanted to learn Tam, but had only studied it for two and a half months, and he started to seem impressed. He asked about what my mother did and what my father did and said I needed a Tamazight name. I said I'd think about it. It came up that I knew his name, first and last, as well as that of the local officials in town and he seemed surprised that I remembered. By the end of the night, he finally turned to me and said "You are intelligent. I know you are."
I felt like I had passed a test. Relief flooded over me. I passed. This was a far cry from the "insufficient" that he had told me on Thursday. I think I earned some of his respect. Maybe just a little, but I feel like I earned it.
So it goes. Earlier that morning I had to remind myself that I couldn't go home because I made myself promise to at least make it to in-service training in six months. Twelve hours later, I felt like I had accomplished something because I had been pushed, really I had been. Everything about me had been questioned: my intelligence, my intentions, my family, my culture, and I had held my own. I think I can do it. It's going to be a tough two years, but I think I can do it.
What a crazy last few days. I'm really, really overwhelmed. The last few days have had so many highs and lows, I don't know where to begin. I, miss gung-ho-Peace-Corps-2007, have had so many fleeting thoughts of "I should go home; I should ET (early termination: quit), I can't do this, I don't know what I'm doing here..." but then have an amazing experience that gives me strength. It's hard. I'm not going to lie and pretend everything is easy and wonderful. It's hard, I'm confused, and I sometimes question myself whether I have any business being in Tamazitinu.
To recap the last few days: I had a little disaster on the way back "home" from last time I was in town on Friday. Did I talk about carte de sejour stuff? It's not settled yet, but when I'm back in town on Wednesday, if there's problems, the head of the gendarmes is going to personally walk me to the place where they should stamp my papers and then I can come get my recipt and be in Morocco legally for the next month. Enshallah. So, not resolved, but I feel better because there is a plan.
On the way back, though... okay. So there is the tobis I was telling you about. To make a long story short, a woman told me to sit a seat next to her, but when we left, a man said it had been his seat. I was overwhelmed, once more felt like the arrogant, ignorant, entitlement-happy American I don't ever want to be, and started crying in an entire bus full of people. Crying is seen as a sign of weakness here, and the man assured me it was okay, but he had been a bit accusatory and I was exhausted. Oh, well. Live and learn. Later, a very nice old man who speaks fluent French who I will talk about later said that the man had been kidding. Who knows. I was vulnerable, and looked like a fool, but I felt better after crying. It's cleansing sometimes.
Saturday, I sat at home a lot of the day and just kind of moped around. I was stressed and didn't know what to do. I killed time by washing clothes and taking a bucket bath, and I tried to study some Tamazight on my own, but became antisocial. One of the veteran volunteers said that the first few weeks or months, the best thing to do is to get out of the house and walk around, so later in the afternoon, I forced myself to and it did a whole world of good for me. I practiced some language, I developed a little group of six giggling girls who followed me around and just laughed, I talked to some women coming back from the field about how I can drive a car but not a heavy wheelbarrow full of wheat, and saw some "friends" I've made who asked where I was going and what I was doing. I only left about an hour, but it was rejuvenating. It's also just peaceful to see the fields. If you've seen pictures, you know how beautiful they are: an oasis of green and palm trees against the stark, rough, dry mountains and yellow rocks.
Yesterday... well. Another day that started off pretty mopey but ended up on a very, VERY high note. My host mother got me out of the house after watching a few hours of Star Academy. Now, a word about Star Academy: take the Real World and American Idol, put it in Arabic and French, imagine not-as-amazing video editing skills, and have it run 24/7. Literally. All day, every day. On the bottom of the screen is a ticker like the news tickers or stocks going across the television, but it's text messages from people all over North Africa and France texting about the show and sending shout-outs to their friends or habibas. It's interesting, to say the least.
A very nice woman came over and I liked her instantly. I think they could tell, because I was sent to eat lunch at her house and really had a good time talking to her and her husband. Her husband is a teacher at the madrasa and gave me some very helpful if negative information. He's from out-of-town, a big city, and he's college-educated, so he can relate to my being new to such a small community. He also speaks fluent French, so communication was easier than most other interactions I have here. Apparantly, there are lots of people who think I am a spy. The thought is ridiculous to me, but I understand why, I guess. I had heard PCVs have problems with this sometimes, but it didn't really sink in that people would think that about me because, as I said, the thought that I'd have the strength and skills to be a spy is just ridiculous. I cry when I take someone's seat on the tobis. There was more that was said about working in Tamazitinu that I think was helpful but at the same time, I need to keep in perspective that he's not happy there. He does have impeccable taste in music though: in a row, I heard Tellement je t'aime, then the kiss kiss song from Tarkan, then bailamos by...enrique iglesias? and then another song that I love. Some of my favorite songs...two doors down from me. Unexpected but brilliant.
Well, the rest of the day was incredibly empowering and uplifting in a few ways. An old man whose family all lives and works in France offered me his house to "rent" but for free, and it's a more beautiful house than I would have even dreamed of in the Peace Corps. Posh Corps to the max. There are a few kinks in the whole situation, so I'm not getting my hopes up (ie: I have to pay for it; there is no way I'm using a house for free... and I don't know where they'll stay when they come back from France on vacation), but holy crap. Amazing.
The house has a western toilet and a turkish toilet, a bathtub, a shower, a water heater, a bidet (!!!), a kitchen, a few beautiful salons/bedrooms, and a terrace. But the best part is the garden. It's huge, with three or four pomegranate trees and other vegetables and an irrigation system and flowers, and it's just breathtaking. There's also what they call a swimming pool, but it's more the size of two or three hot tubs and has no lid or chlorination system, so the idea of using it is not really feasable. But I probably won't be able to afford to rent a place like that in the states for years.
He invited me and the woman next door who I like even though she's an ornery old woman to dinner, and, of course, I accepted. He's definately one of the richer people in town. The house has to be at least 4,000 square feet and so nice I don't want to get bogged down in the details, but wow. Just...wow. Not what I expected in PC. I keep saying that, but it's true.
Well, just as I spilled soup on my lap, the local official who had intimidated me so much over the last few days walked in. Great. Another wonderful impression: look at the American with soup all in her lap.
The conversation started badly. In Tamazight, he said, "Oh, it's the American who doesn't speak Berber or Arabic or French." The old man came to my rescue and said I spoke some French and I piped in with some French. We started talking, and I said if he wanted we could meet and I could answer any questions about why I was there. He invited me to his house sometime, and I said not in the next few days because I'm going to the provincial capital.
He didn't like that. "Why are you going? What's the point of the meeting?" I explained, and he, right then and there, called to confirm that I was going. Okay. Breathe. You're not doing anything wrong.
He said that people thought I was here for espionage, and I told him I'd be as transparant as I could. He asked if I had to write reports because reports are political. I told him that I'd show him any report I wrote if it made him feel better, and that if there was any other information he needed about me or my work or organization, I'd be happy to give it to him. Then, he started quizzing me on Tamazight. What's this? How do you say sun? Moon? Door? Give me? Take? To be? Teacher? Window? Car? People? Woman? Bride? Cow? Teeth? Hand? Arm? Floor? Upstairs? Neigbor?
I probably knew 90% of what he asked (granted, it was all basic vocab) and he started to relax and so did I. I told him again that I really wanted to learn Tam, but had only studied it for two and a half months, and he started to seem impressed. He asked about what my mother did and what my father did and said I needed a Tamazight name. I said I'd think about it. It came up that I knew his name, first and last, as well as that of the local officials in town and he seemed surprised that I remembered. By the end of the night, he finally turned to me and said "You are intelligent. I know you are."
I felt like I had passed a test. Relief flooded over me. I passed. This was a far cry from the "insufficient" that he had told me on Thursday. I think I earned some of his respect. Maybe just a little, but I feel like I earned it.
So it goes. Earlier that morning I had to remind myself that I couldn't go home because I made myself promise to at least make it to in-service training in six months. Twelve hours later, I felt like I had accomplished something because I had been pushed, really I had been. Everything about me had been questioned: my intelligence, my intentions, my family, my culture, and I had held my own. I think I can do it. It's going to be a tough two years, but I think I can do it.
Friday, May 25, 2007
In site!
Wow.
I didn't expect to be able to come to internet so soon, but I'm back in my souk town for the day because I need to apply for my carte de sejour (like a green card). Lots of steps to take for that and it's frustrating, but I'll get to that soon.
First of all, let me just say that yesterday was one of the most stressful but ultimately empowering days I've had in quite a while.
I got to site two days ago on the late transit and pretty much just relaxed at my host-family's house. It was nice and people seemed to be just as welcoming as I had remembered. I did get yelled at by the neighbor woman next door, the matriarch of the family, for not calling to see how everyone was. Oops. She doesn't have a cell phone though, but she said I was a good person even though I didn't call. Good thing she's forgiving.
Yesterday morning, I woke up and decided to go to the commune, which is the headquarters of the local government. I had to let the khalifa (appointed government official) know I was in town. Oh, yes, in case you were wondering, as far as safety goes, the government takes our safety very seriously and gendarmes pretty much know where we are at all times. One way they do this is through the khalifa, so every time I come and go, I let him know where I'm going.
I had some attestations de travail, which are just letters stating that I'm working at Tamazitinu to drop off, and I also just want to establish a good relationship with local government as soon as possible. Well, the khalifa wanted me to bring some photos of me so I planned to come back at noon with them. We made pleasant conversation and I filled out some forms in French and I met the Rais (president of the commune; locally elected) and walked out the door, proud that I had been able to accomplish that on my first day in site. If that had been the only "work," I'd have considered it a productive day. After all, for someone who can be as insecure and fearful as I can be, walking in and just meeting local officials is intimidating. I was proud and confident as I left.
The sbitar is right next door to the commune, and the doctor was walking in as I was walking towards my hostfamily's house. The doctor immediately took me inside and introduced me to my counterpart, the nurse (he wasn't there when I was on site visit). An hour and a half meeting in French and Tamazight ensued and I was totally unprepared for it. My language skills were pretty feeble and I felt like an idiot for not knowing the difference between a vector or a vehicle as far as disease transmission goes. I also felt unprepared because I didn't have a questionaire or anything formal prepared for the nurse. Luckily, I had a copy of the project framework in French, but we didn't go over it. Yet.
All in all, given that I was unprepared, it went as well as could be expected. I learned a lot about what the sbitar does and when it travels to outer douars as well as what he perceives as the biggest health issues in the site. I hope to be able to go on a few drives to the outer douars because they sound really remote and like I may be able to do some good work there. We'll see if that's considered in my site or not.
The nurse then left to go to a meeting that he invited me to (even though it would all be in Arabic) but I had to go home to get the pictures to meet with the Khalifa at noon. He seems like he will be a great counterpart to work with, and I'm looking forward to sitting down with him when I'm actually ready to meet and start observing and discussing things.
I gave the pictures to the Khalifa and he invited me to lunch at the house of the moqaddam. Sure. Why not? It's good to accept these invitations, I think, so I said yes. He dropped me off at the Rais's house (which is huge and nice because he has family working in Europe that sends money home)to kill time before lunch, and I talked in English to his high-school aged sister for a few minutes and ate delicious sticky dates and not-so-delicious but still good buttermilk. Then, they picked me up in a car (!) and drove me to the moqaddam's house. They made me sit up front and the Rais and some others sat in the back. A bit awkward, especially when the rais told me in French that my Tamazight was "insufficient," but worse things have happened. Shwiya b shwiya. They don't know Peace Corps yet. I'll improve.
Things got even more hairy at the moqaddam's house. It ends up all the important men in town were eating lunch there: three moqaddams (the eyes and ears of the khalifa), the rais, the doctor, the nurse, the khalifa...others... and so I was the only woman. And I couldn't really communicate. Someone, I think it was the Rais, turned to me and asked if I wanted to eat with the men or the women. It was an awkward moment. My choice, he said. I said (French), "Whichever is better; I don't know your customs," and the doctor said I should eat with the women in the kitchen. Fine. Easier. Less stressful. After all, the doctor is someone I'll probably be working with. I'll take my cultural cues from him.
I went up to the kitchen and one of the officials came and asked why I wasn't downstairs. I wanted to scream, but I said "I can go..." I think it's just as awkward for them as it was for me. They don't quite know what to do with me either. Current volunteers (wait... I AM a current volunteer... okay, veteran volunteers) tell me that as women PCVs, we are like a third gender: neither entirely male nor entirely female. It's going to be a challenge exploring how to work through this in a practical and culturally sensitive way. The rais asked me why I wasn't downstairs and he asked if I was shy, so I went downstairs. I told him someone said it was better for me to be with the women and he answered "That depends on your mentality." I'm going to hope he meant the general population when he said "your" and not my personal mentality, but we'll see. I'm encouraged he wanted me to eat with them.
Luckily, another woman had come. LHamdullah! She is the president of the netti and I don't know if they got her to come just for my benefit but it made me feel a lot better. I sat and talked to her mostly and the khalifa some through a four-course three-hour long lunch. Intense. It was uncomfortable but I made it through and was absolutely exhausted. I thought I'd drop off paperwork at the commune, not have a long meeting in French with my nurse and then an intimidating lunch with all of the officials in the town. Heh. I guess I can't go into anything with any sort of expectation at all. Every day is an adventure.
So... the rest of the day was less intense, I suppose. I rested at my hostmother/sister's father's house. We went to two other women's houses, one for more couscous and one for tea. The second was another mansion. It's strange. My town has really wealthy people alongside people living in more modest mud homes, depending on how many family members work abroad. In some houses, I wonder why Peace Corps (and myself) are here because it's just so nice, even if it is on a dirt road... but then I hear the woman sitting next to me say she had ten children but six have died. Or I see a room with literally hundreds if not over a thousand flies landing on faces and food in a room right next door to where there are sheep. I see bathrooms and kitchens without soap, and hear women who are 8 months pregnant say that there she will give birth at home without a traditional birth attendant, a midwife, doctor, or nurse. I ask where to put trash and they say "throw it outside" or "in the water." There IS work for me here. It's just going to be rough becoming less of a helpless child who knows nothing and becoming a respected adult with good information.
Right now, I feel like I have no credibility. I think by virtue of being foreign, they are more tolerant of some things, but I see their mentality. I don't know the language, I'm not a doctor, I'm not a nurse, I'm not old, I don't have a whole lot of experience, and I don't know their culture. I came into the Peace Corps knowing that the first few months if not my entire service would feel this way to me. What right do I have to come in and instigate change? Do I believe in Peace Corps as a means of development?
I know, it's a lot to take in for the first day. And, yes, ultimately, I think I do believe in Peace Corps. I'm not in danger of leaving because I want to be there. I see things that I can do and ways I can maybe start mobilizing people for change, but at the same time, I need to relax and take the first few months to just learn and observe, and focus on that. And people in Tamazitinu are welcoming me and open to helping me learn. I just wonder how long it will take before I become as able to function as an adult in the community, and how long it will take to build credibility.
So. Now I am in my souk town. Apparantly I can't apply yet for a carte de sejour beause my letters aren't stamped by the right people. When I went to the commune here in this town to get them stamped the way that the gendarmes told me, the commune people said I had to take them to Tamazitinu to get them stamped by the Khalifa there. I just hope I can apply in time: I only have 90 days from the time I entered Morocco to be here legally without a recipt saying I've at least applied for the carte.
But it's still been a productive and empowering day. It's intimidating just walking into the gendarmes headquarters, or a random commune (or association, like I did today. The word for commune, association, mosque, and university are almost identical and my Arabic is minimal, so I walked into an association asking for a government official. Oops. So it goes.). My French is coming back a little at a time (lHamdullah!) and I think my confidence will build. I'm proud of putting myself out there. It's the little victories. Shwiya b shwiya. Imiq s imiq. I'll laugh at myself, hope I learn from my failures, and keep plugging away. After all, I asked at lunch yesterday about tutors and have a possible tutor at my site (I need to find her!), and I even got to do a small one-on-one health lesson about how flies can cause illness with one of the women at one of the houses I went to yesterday. Even though it was just one person, it counts as work and it counts as something.
I have more errands to run here, so I can't stay long. I have to get another attestation from the conscription hospital that oversees my sbitar and the doctor in charge wasn't there this morning. I'm going to enlist the help of a veteran volunteer to see if maybe I can get my letters stamped elsewhere. We'll see. Hopefully, all should turn out well. Enshallah. And I get to travel with other PCVs to the provincial capital in three short days, so it's like easing myself into this. After this weekend, another group of people who understand what life is like right now and are going through similar things... we all have our different but similar struggles.
Wish me luck. It's a challenge. There were a lot of lows yesterday, but there are also lots of highs. Think of me and send positive thoughts because I have to stay optimistic and shwiya b shwiya in order to be able to make it through the first few rocky months. It's what I wanted though. I'm enjoying the challenge. It's hard, but I'm enjoying it, even if it's just the moments of my 1-year old host-sister singing to herself and grabbing my finger and not letting go, or the women telling me if I live in Tamazitinu for two years, I will become a Berber woman. It's good, even if it's hard.
Much love. Ixssayi ad-dugh s sbitar ixatr ad-sawlgh ghif adbib ghif hayat salaam d ad-amzgh attestation yadnin. Ixssayi ad-dugh s gendarmiya d inshallah gendarme ad-iawn ghif tambrinu. Ixssayi ad-swunfugh imiq.
Until next time, most likely next week from the provincial capital. We may splurge and pay to get into a hotel with a swimming pool. Now that's something to look forward to.
agh rbbi str.
I didn't expect to be able to come to internet so soon, but I'm back in my souk town for the day because I need to apply for my carte de sejour (like a green card). Lots of steps to take for that and it's frustrating, but I'll get to that soon.
First of all, let me just say that yesterday was one of the most stressful but ultimately empowering days I've had in quite a while.
I got to site two days ago on the late transit and pretty much just relaxed at my host-family's house. It was nice and people seemed to be just as welcoming as I had remembered. I did get yelled at by the neighbor woman next door, the matriarch of the family, for not calling to see how everyone was. Oops. She doesn't have a cell phone though, but she said I was a good person even though I didn't call. Good thing she's forgiving.
Yesterday morning, I woke up and decided to go to the commune, which is the headquarters of the local government. I had to let the khalifa (appointed government official) know I was in town. Oh, yes, in case you were wondering, as far as safety goes, the government takes our safety very seriously and gendarmes pretty much know where we are at all times. One way they do this is through the khalifa, so every time I come and go, I let him know where I'm going.
I had some attestations de travail, which are just letters stating that I'm working at Tamazitinu to drop off, and I also just want to establish a good relationship with local government as soon as possible. Well, the khalifa wanted me to bring some photos of me so I planned to come back at noon with them. We made pleasant conversation and I filled out some forms in French and I met the Rais (president of the commune; locally elected) and walked out the door, proud that I had been able to accomplish that on my first day in site. If that had been the only "work," I'd have considered it a productive day. After all, for someone who can be as insecure and fearful as I can be, walking in and just meeting local officials is intimidating. I was proud and confident as I left.
The sbitar is right next door to the commune, and the doctor was walking in as I was walking towards my hostfamily's house. The doctor immediately took me inside and introduced me to my counterpart, the nurse (he wasn't there when I was on site visit). An hour and a half meeting in French and Tamazight ensued and I was totally unprepared for it. My language skills were pretty feeble and I felt like an idiot for not knowing the difference between a vector or a vehicle as far as disease transmission goes. I also felt unprepared because I didn't have a questionaire or anything formal prepared for the nurse. Luckily, I had a copy of the project framework in French, but we didn't go over it. Yet.
All in all, given that I was unprepared, it went as well as could be expected. I learned a lot about what the sbitar does and when it travels to outer douars as well as what he perceives as the biggest health issues in the site. I hope to be able to go on a few drives to the outer douars because they sound really remote and like I may be able to do some good work there. We'll see if that's considered in my site or not.
The nurse then left to go to a meeting that he invited me to (even though it would all be in Arabic) but I had to go home to get the pictures to meet with the Khalifa at noon. He seems like he will be a great counterpart to work with, and I'm looking forward to sitting down with him when I'm actually ready to meet and start observing and discussing things.
I gave the pictures to the Khalifa and he invited me to lunch at the house of the moqaddam. Sure. Why not? It's good to accept these invitations, I think, so I said yes. He dropped me off at the Rais's house (which is huge and nice because he has family working in Europe that sends money home)to kill time before lunch, and I talked in English to his high-school aged sister for a few minutes and ate delicious sticky dates and not-so-delicious but still good buttermilk. Then, they picked me up in a car (!) and drove me to the moqaddam's house. They made me sit up front and the Rais and some others sat in the back. A bit awkward, especially when the rais told me in French that my Tamazight was "insufficient," but worse things have happened. Shwiya b shwiya. They don't know Peace Corps yet. I'll improve.
Things got even more hairy at the moqaddam's house. It ends up all the important men in town were eating lunch there: three moqaddams (the eyes and ears of the khalifa), the rais, the doctor, the nurse, the khalifa...others... and so I was the only woman. And I couldn't really communicate. Someone, I think it was the Rais, turned to me and asked if I wanted to eat with the men or the women. It was an awkward moment. My choice, he said. I said (French), "Whichever is better; I don't know your customs," and the doctor said I should eat with the women in the kitchen. Fine. Easier. Less stressful. After all, the doctor is someone I'll probably be working with. I'll take my cultural cues from him.
I went up to the kitchen and one of the officials came and asked why I wasn't downstairs. I wanted to scream, but I said "I can go..." I think it's just as awkward for them as it was for me. They don't quite know what to do with me either. Current volunteers (wait... I AM a current volunteer... okay, veteran volunteers) tell me that as women PCVs, we are like a third gender: neither entirely male nor entirely female. It's going to be a challenge exploring how to work through this in a practical and culturally sensitive way. The rais asked me why I wasn't downstairs and he asked if I was shy, so I went downstairs. I told him someone said it was better for me to be with the women and he answered "That depends on your mentality." I'm going to hope he meant the general population when he said "your" and not my personal mentality, but we'll see. I'm encouraged he wanted me to eat with them.
Luckily, another woman had come. LHamdullah! She is the president of the netti and I don't know if they got her to come just for my benefit but it made me feel a lot better. I sat and talked to her mostly and the khalifa some through a four-course three-hour long lunch. Intense. It was uncomfortable but I made it through and was absolutely exhausted. I thought I'd drop off paperwork at the commune, not have a long meeting in French with my nurse and then an intimidating lunch with all of the officials in the town. Heh. I guess I can't go into anything with any sort of expectation at all. Every day is an adventure.
So... the rest of the day was less intense, I suppose. I rested at my hostmother/sister's father's house. We went to two other women's houses, one for more couscous and one for tea. The second was another mansion. It's strange. My town has really wealthy people alongside people living in more modest mud homes, depending on how many family members work abroad. In some houses, I wonder why Peace Corps (and myself) are here because it's just so nice, even if it is on a dirt road... but then I hear the woman sitting next to me say she had ten children but six have died. Or I see a room with literally hundreds if not over a thousand flies landing on faces and food in a room right next door to where there are sheep. I see bathrooms and kitchens without soap, and hear women who are 8 months pregnant say that there she will give birth at home without a traditional birth attendant, a midwife, doctor, or nurse. I ask where to put trash and they say "throw it outside" or "in the water." There IS work for me here. It's just going to be rough becoming less of a helpless child who knows nothing and becoming a respected adult with good information.
Right now, I feel like I have no credibility. I think by virtue of being foreign, they are more tolerant of some things, but I see their mentality. I don't know the language, I'm not a doctor, I'm not a nurse, I'm not old, I don't have a whole lot of experience, and I don't know their culture. I came into the Peace Corps knowing that the first few months if not my entire service would feel this way to me. What right do I have to come in and instigate change? Do I believe in Peace Corps as a means of development?
I know, it's a lot to take in for the first day. And, yes, ultimately, I think I do believe in Peace Corps. I'm not in danger of leaving because I want to be there. I see things that I can do and ways I can maybe start mobilizing people for change, but at the same time, I need to relax and take the first few months to just learn and observe, and focus on that. And people in Tamazitinu are welcoming me and open to helping me learn. I just wonder how long it will take before I become as able to function as an adult in the community, and how long it will take to build credibility.
So. Now I am in my souk town. Apparantly I can't apply yet for a carte de sejour beause my letters aren't stamped by the right people. When I went to the commune here in this town to get them stamped the way that the gendarmes told me, the commune people said I had to take them to Tamazitinu to get them stamped by the Khalifa there. I just hope I can apply in time: I only have 90 days from the time I entered Morocco to be here legally without a recipt saying I've at least applied for the carte.
But it's still been a productive and empowering day. It's intimidating just walking into the gendarmes headquarters, or a random commune (or association, like I did today. The word for commune, association, mosque, and university are almost identical and my Arabic is minimal, so I walked into an association asking for a government official. Oops. So it goes.). My French is coming back a little at a time (lHamdullah!) and I think my confidence will build. I'm proud of putting myself out there. It's the little victories. Shwiya b shwiya. Imiq s imiq. I'll laugh at myself, hope I learn from my failures, and keep plugging away. After all, I asked at lunch yesterday about tutors and have a possible tutor at my site (I need to find her!), and I even got to do a small one-on-one health lesson about how flies can cause illness with one of the women at one of the houses I went to yesterday. Even though it was just one person, it counts as work and it counts as something.
I have more errands to run here, so I can't stay long. I have to get another attestation from the conscription hospital that oversees my sbitar and the doctor in charge wasn't there this morning. I'm going to enlist the help of a veteran volunteer to see if maybe I can get my letters stamped elsewhere. We'll see. Hopefully, all should turn out well. Enshallah. And I get to travel with other PCVs to the provincial capital in three short days, so it's like easing myself into this. After this weekend, another group of people who understand what life is like right now and are going through similar things... we all have our different but similar struggles.
Wish me luck. It's a challenge. There were a lot of lows yesterday, but there are also lots of highs. Think of me and send positive thoughts because I have to stay optimistic and shwiya b shwiya in order to be able to make it through the first few rocky months. It's what I wanted though. I'm enjoying the challenge. It's hard, but I'm enjoying it, even if it's just the moments of my 1-year old host-sister singing to herself and grabbing my finger and not letting go, or the women telling me if I live in Tamazitinu for two years, I will become a Berber woman. It's good, even if it's hard.
Much love. Ixssayi ad-dugh s sbitar ixatr ad-sawlgh ghif adbib ghif hayat salaam d ad-amzgh attestation yadnin. Ixssayi ad-dugh s gendarmiya d inshallah gendarme ad-iawn ghif tambrinu. Ixssayi ad-swunfugh imiq.
Until next time, most likely next week from the provincial capital. We may splurge and pay to get into a hotel with a swimming pool. Now that's something to look forward to.
agh rbbi str.
Monday, May 21, 2007
5.20.2007
I couldn't have asked for a better last day as a trainee. Yes, that's right. Tomorrow morning, probably by the time I actually post this blog entry, I will officially be a Peace Corps Volunteer, enshallah. However, as our last official SDL day (self-directed learning) before swearing-in and having every day essentially be a SDL day, I couldn't have asked for more.
We left the hotel at around 9:30 after I slept in until almost eight thirty- a first since being in country! For some reason, I find it impossible to sleep in here. Maybe it's the sun in my eyes or something about the air, but it's hard for me to sleep past seven at the latest, usually six or six-thirty. In any case, I woke up, took a quick shower, and fell down an entire flight of stairs.
Now, if you don't know me well in real life, you might not know I'm the biggest klutz in the world. Even my host-sister in CBT during training was worried about me because I'm always stumbling around. A friend of mine here in training yesterday even remarked "I'm surprised you don't have more bruises for as often as you're falling down or tripping." Well, as I mentioned before, there are many hot showers in this hotel. A few of them are on the roof. My favorite shower is up one flight of very narrow, very steep stairs with no handrails that goes to the bathrooms on the roof. If I remember tomorrow, I'll take a picture of said staircase.Well, after taking a long, relaxing, hot shower and loving every second of it (because, if you didn't know, I probably only got hot showers if at all once a week or so during training. The rest were all bucket baths or hammam visits), I started down this narrow flight of stairs. I knew as soon as I started to slip that I was in trouble, as my hands were full and there was nowhere to grab onto for support. Somehow, once I fell off my feet, I managed to flip onto my stomach, and after hitting each stair quite painfully, found myself on the floor on my stomach. My feet kicked open the door to a room with 4 or 5 other trainees in my stage sleeping, and I started to laugh hysterically. One of the ladies that works in the hotel who I had met yesterday and talked to a little bit came to make sure I was okay, and I woke up every SINGLE person in the two nearest rooms. Yeah. Oops. So, now, I have a lovely huge purple swollen bruise on my hip, two bruised arms, a bruised stomach (which isn't fun), and a bruised…well… part of my body that would be covered by a bikini top. Great times. Ironically, one of the people who woke up when I fell also fell down the stairs about an hour later. Don't worry about me, I'm fine… it's just hard to play it off when you literally bust down a door to a room of sleeping people. Bruised pride. Ha.
So… a few of us went to eat breakfast and coffee in a café, then we went to get tickets for a CTM bus to a city near our site. Unfortunately, there are no CTM buses we can take, so we're going to have to take either grand taxis or a souk bus. Either way will be an experience… but it was interesting talking to the guy who only spoke French and Darija (and probably Fusha; Classical Arabic) with our limited French and Tam/Tash.A few of us went shopping in the medina again. I actually made a few purchases from an artisan cooperative that make me happy: a beautiful necklace and earrings (cheap! And fun!) and a carving of the hand of Fatima. The man who sold me the hand of Fatima carved out of cedar wood was a really sweet old man named Moha (short for Mohammad). I love being able to get things that might be a little touristy but know that the money is actually going to the artisans and not the shopkeeper. A SBD volunteer apparently works with them and I had a pseudo-conversation with one of the people who worked there, but I found out in the middle of the conversation that again, he pretty much just spoke Darija. Tamazight is great for where I will be living starting Tuesday (scary to say!) but not so hot for traveling or other parts of the country.
We did lunch at the same pizza place I've now been to three times. We keep going in big groups. Yesterday, I forgot to mention this in my blog, but they played Elvis Crespo's Suavamente again and again and again. I love that song, but it's strange to hear it in a café in the middle of Morocco, especially on repeat.
After lunch, some of us headed back to the hotel briefly to talk to someone about different options as far as how to get to site easily and efficiently. I still don't know for sure what we'll end up doing, but I'm sure we'll get there easily. From there, more medina shopping! Oh, earlier in the day there had been a horrible car crash: a truck crashed into a teleboutique… really scary. All day, there was a crowd in front of the teleboutique just staring at the rubble, and the truck stayed out on the main street, mangled. Sobering.
In any case, though, I finished up shopping with a good friend and one of my roommates from the training site and my favorite LCF. It was a wonderful sort of full-circle way to finish training because she was the one who took the two of us and some other people to get jellabas made our first week of training, and now, my last day as a trainee, we went shopping together again. I'm going to miss her. Sometimes it's hard to get to know people, especially with cultural differences, but she and my host sisters from CBT show that really friendships can happen easily, despite cultural differences. Hopefully I'll be able to see her sometime during my service. Enshallah. But it was fun walking around the medina with them and splurging on homemade potato chips from a street vendor and listening to her give my other friend advice on which shoes to buy.
I ate with another dear friend from training and the same LCF… then headed upstairs to help with computer issues. We tried, and by "we" I mean a friend of mine here really did the whole thing herself, to make a video of all the pictures of the LCFs to give them copies of as a way to say thanks. We all gave our CBT LCF gifts as a CBT group, but this was something we wanted to do for everyone. The computer kept messing up, and she hadn't used the program before, so I spent a few hours tonight working on it with another trainee. We've burned 6 CDs; have 6 to go. Our program assistant (the one who has led our training these last three months) came by and sat for a few minutes, and I got him to promise me his zween Peace Corps Morocco sweatshirt.
Now, this zween Peace Corps Morocco sweatshirt has a story. Yes, it has a rather interesting story. They aren't available anymore and are absolutely beautiful: grey, with PC Morocco written in English and Arabic. They look warm and fuzzy and all zween and amazing because it's just cool. There's no other word for it. Well, at the beginning of training, we all said we wanted one and it turns out they are no longer available.
There was nothing to do but to steal it. However, being paranoid as I can be sometimes when it comes to breaking the rules, and seeing as this was the first week of training, I wasn't comfortable to steal it myself… so I formulated a plan that we should steal it, write a ransom note, and hold it hostage until our demands were met. I got a sort of troublemaker (ie someone more fearless than myself) to do the actual theft and disposal of the ransom note… and it became a joke for awhile. We took pictures of it in two or three different places and left them in his office… but someone gave it back on his birthday. An opportunity to have the traveling sweater lost forever. But, I now have a signed statement that says he'll give it to me in a year, and you better believe I'm going to hold him to it. In one year, I will be the owner of a grey, zween Peace Corps Morocco sweater.
So, that was my last day as a PCT. Tomorrow, I swear in and become an official volunteer. I've wanted this since I was fifteen, and tomorrow, it will be a reality. Amazing. Mindboggling. It's not the same Peace Corps as it was in the 1960s, but it'll be a challenge nonetheless and an incredible experience. Wish me luck. It's going to be a long, bumpy road.
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5.21.07
I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. This is something I've dreamed about since I was fifteen and now it has become a reality. I don't feel any differently than I did yesterday, but I do know that it's a good feeling to not be a trainee anymore and to really be a volunteer, with a pieced-together PC ID card in hand and an attestation de travail in pocket. I will soon be applying for a carte de sejour; the equivalent of a green card, and will become a real official resident of Morocco.
Swearing in was nice. We all piled onto a bus and rode maybe an hour or so to the nearest big city, the name of which is easily recognizable by most who have heard of Morocco. I wish we could have spent more time there, as apparently there's good shopping, but seeing as I'm a volunteer, I don't really have much money to be spending anyway, so I guess it might have been a good thing for me to just stop in for a few hours.
We went to a five-star hotel on the top of a hill that overlooks the city. It was a beautiful hotel (and apparently PCVs get a sizeable discount, so if anyone wants to fork over some money to stay somewhere really nice and take me with…) and the ceremony was short and sweet and amazing. It's funny to see everyone all dressed up as well, especially staff I've been accustomed to seeing in jeans, t-shirts, sweatpants, a baseball hat, and other very casual clothes. Probably about a third of us health volunteers wore Moroccan clothes. I wore black pants and a maroon shirt I had made here that laces up the front and has long loose sleeves and black lining. It's a sort of a modification of a shirt that one of our LCFs had that I fell in love with.
The ambassador usually swears in PCVs but he had a prior commitment, so the second-in-charge at the embassy swore us in. It was a really fun, sort of moving experience when I realized that it was really happening. I really became an official PCV.
Now, I don't quite know what to expect. I think it's kind of like skydiving: the first minute of it is exhilarating. You're falling fast, everything is coming at you, fast, even if you don't realize it, the wind is roaring in your ears and it's loud and intense and stressful and your heart is pounding… then all of a sudden, when the parachute opens, everything stops for an instant and it becomes absolutely silent, peaceful, slow, drifting… but you're still processing everything that happened when you first jumped out of the plane.
I don't know what to think. I'm excited. I'm nervous. I'm anxious and I can't wait, but I'm not ready at all to go to site. We'll see what happens. Wish me luck. I need it!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Hi, all!
We've been here in the Environment training site for the last two days or so. Interesting place. I love this city. It would be my dream souk town: incredibly laid-back (I've seen women wearing clothes that would be considered incredibly shameful where we've been...), urban feeling while surrounded by peaceful monkey-filled mountains, and with a sort of a medina with winding alleyways and beautiful fabric shops, shoe shops, antiques, rugs, cafes, and it's all clean and not-touristy. I think part of the difference in feel is that it's more of a mix of Berber and Arab culture than the more Berber places we've spent the most time in. I love my part of the country, don't get me wrong, and the welcomingness of the people in the Berber areas and the whole shock and amazement and instant street credit you get for speaking even a little Berber gets you is amazing, but the whole sort of atmosphere here is peaceful and beautiful.
We've been having sessions here now on sort of logistical things once we get to site. I was one of the people in our group who did the sector presentation, which was a bit rushed and a presentation I wasn't proud of, but all in all, I'm glad it was over. The sector presentation essentially went into details of what we've been doing for the last two months and what we may be doing for the next two years at site, so we can learn what the Environment kids have been doing and they can see what us Health kids have been working on.
Speaking of the environment group, they have the ZWEENEST hotel here where they've been doing their training. Wireless internet in the lounge (where I am now), big tents with ponjs and cushions on the roof, over TEN hot showers for the group opposed to our sometimes-two sometimes-three sometimes-zero hot showers.... it's a lot bigger and a lot nicer. It's okay though, because I've really been able to appreciate having training somewhere that there is not a bar in town. Sometimes alcohol brings about a different dynamic, and I've loved getting to know people without having to worry about who's going to the bar when. I'm probably one of the only people who feels that way in our group, but our little hotel, as non-zween as it was, will definately have a place in my heart.
Oh, and another exciting discovery: this town here has a fair! A bunch of us played bumper cars last night and it was a great way to get out stress and aggression. Fun times.
We got our LPI scores: I was fairly pleased with mine; Intermediate-Mid. The best Tam speaker tested at Intermediate High; the highest out of any language in either the Environment or the Helath group, but a few of us tested at IntMid which I'm very pleased with. It doesn't mean I feel like I'll really be able to communicate well with people once I get to site, but I guess I'm in reasonably good shape.
So, Monday, we swear in. I will be an official volunteer. Awesome. It still hasn't sunk in that we're not going back to the training site now, but that on Tuesday, we'll all be leaving for different parts of the country. Exciting. Terrifying, but exciting.
We've been here in the Environment training site for the last two days or so. Interesting place. I love this city. It would be my dream souk town: incredibly laid-back (I've seen women wearing clothes that would be considered incredibly shameful where we've been...), urban feeling while surrounded by peaceful monkey-filled mountains, and with a sort of a medina with winding alleyways and beautiful fabric shops, shoe shops, antiques, rugs, cafes, and it's all clean and not-touristy. I think part of the difference in feel is that it's more of a mix of Berber and Arab culture than the more Berber places we've spent the most time in. I love my part of the country, don't get me wrong, and the welcomingness of the people in the Berber areas and the whole shock and amazement and instant street credit you get for speaking even a little Berber gets you is amazing, but the whole sort of atmosphere here is peaceful and beautiful.
We've been having sessions here now on sort of logistical things once we get to site. I was one of the people in our group who did the sector presentation, which was a bit rushed and a presentation I wasn't proud of, but all in all, I'm glad it was over. The sector presentation essentially went into details of what we've been doing for the last two months and what we may be doing for the next two years at site, so we can learn what the Environment kids have been doing and they can see what us Health kids have been working on.
Speaking of the environment group, they have the ZWEENEST hotel here where they've been doing their training. Wireless internet in the lounge (where I am now), big tents with ponjs and cushions on the roof, over TEN hot showers for the group opposed to our sometimes-two sometimes-three sometimes-zero hot showers.... it's a lot bigger and a lot nicer. It's okay though, because I've really been able to appreciate having training somewhere that there is not a bar in town. Sometimes alcohol brings about a different dynamic, and I've loved getting to know people without having to worry about who's going to the bar when. I'm probably one of the only people who feels that way in our group, but our little hotel, as non-zween as it was, will definately have a place in my heart.
Oh, and another exciting discovery: this town here has a fair! A bunch of us played bumper cars last night and it was a great way to get out stress and aggression. Fun times.
We got our LPI scores: I was fairly pleased with mine; Intermediate-Mid. The best Tam speaker tested at Intermediate High; the highest out of any language in either the Environment or the Helath group, but a few of us tested at IntMid which I'm very pleased with. It doesn't mean I feel like I'll really be able to communicate well with people once I get to site, but I guess I'm in reasonably good shape.
So, Monday, we swear in. I will be an official volunteer. Awesome. It still hasn't sunk in that we're not going back to the training site now, but that on Tuesday, we'll all be leaving for different parts of the country. Exciting. Terrifying, but exciting.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Last CBT
First of all, happy Mother's Day!
I just got back from the last CBT stage today. I have mixed emotions about it, though I think that's also more of an extended feeling towards the end of training. I do not feel ready to go and be alone.
I don't think I'm unique in feeling this way; I think we're all struggling in our own ways with the sort of culture shock we're anticipating. Now, everything is planned for us. Our lives have structure imposed on us to the point of having curfews and a sign in and out sheet at the front of the hotel. Our breaks are planned and we have projects to work on in the meantime, and the LPI (language proficiency exam, since you asked)to study for and internet next door and laundry to wash. There is always someone around, to the point that it's almost impossible to find time and space to be alone. It's great. I love it. I don't mind the structure or even the restrictions because I'm challenged and learning and seeing progress and exploring in a totally safe environment.
Now, in less than two weeks, I'll be an hour or more away from the nearest volunteer with limited transportation and limited time off. I'll be in a place that despite the progress I've made, I won't be able to really communicate with people easily. I will go from having most of my waking moments planned out for me to having a few guidelines but mostly free time and having to find my own routine. Sure, there are tasks to do. I'll have to do laundry, I'll have to do a water survey, I'll want to conduct needs assessments, I want to find a tutor, I'll have to find a place to rent and furnish it, I'll have to go to the sbitar to sort of at least get a feel for it, I'll be able to go to the netti and sit and knit (I found knitting needles!) while they sew, or even sew with them. But I'll also be living with a family I'm not comfortable with in the same way I was at CBT.
But what did I expect? This is what I wanted. I wanted a new site, which means the host family has never hosted a foreigner before.It's a more conservative site than my CBT site and I don't think I really realized how liberal my CBT family was until now. This is what I wanted; this is the path I've chosen. I specifically wanted a new site and I specifically wanted not to have a sitemate and I feel listened to and like in a lot of ways my situation is ideal. But that doesn't stop the fear.
So all this is hanging over me the entire short time I've been at CBT, as well as other people in the group. It was a lot more tense than any other one. I didn't have as much time with my family alone as any other CBT phase and they seemed more tense too, partially because the mentally challenged neighbor boy came over and kicked one of my 30-year old sister's goats and made him sick, or that there are two baby goats that are less than a week old to be taken care of. I don't know. It was still a good time, but the whole time I was there I almost wanted to cry because I just didn't want it to be the end.
The first night, our homestay coordinator came and spent the night. Usually I'd be psyched, but it made me feel a bit more uncomfortable just because it added a new dynamic to the family. I heard some funny stories about animals (though they're not really that funny) and found out that the family cat had killed three of the four rabbits and so they took him to the nearest bigger town and let him go during souk. Interesting.
The next morning, the country director came to visit. It was a really good visit. I don't feel the need to go into too much about it except that it was really sort of good to get a different perspective on things. It didn't assuage all my fears of unintentionally doing something that's against the rules and getting sent home, but it helped quite a bit. Those of you who know me really well know I tend to be a worrier no matter what though. In any case, we also had American junk food. Chips Ahoy have never tasted so good, and I felt a lot better about PC Morocco in general afterwards.
At home that night, we fed the baby goats and mixed up an herb with agho (buttermilk eaten with couscous) and fed it to the sick goat. Interesting. I know nothing about raising animals, but I'm considering once I get my own place, if I can have a courtyard, maybe getting a few chickens for fresh eggs. We'll see how practical that is.
Yesterday was our last day at CBT site and we had a party to celebrate. All our families came, and we ate cookies and drank tea and coffee (have I told you that the coffee here has three spices in it? Pepper, ginger, and cinnamon, I think. Delicious.)... and we presented our health lessons in Tamazight.
That was actually interesting. My presentation was on birth control pills and I made a brochure (oh, and was there ever some drama with getting the Tamazight into Arabic script!) and did a short little introduction to the pill. One of the biggest challenges, besides the language, of course, was not including all the information that I ethically feel obligated to include with birth control education. I had two simple goals: to encourage women who want to get on the pill to go to the sbitar and discuss it with their doctor, and how to take it; 21 days on, 7 days off, at the same time. That was all I could really include on one brochure. Most of the older women are illiterate and so, well, I'll just say it was a challenge.
At first, earlier in the day, we practiced in front of our group and the woman who comes in and cooks lunch for us. She inturrupted my presentation with questions. My LCF helped translate some of them, and I answered those and then ended up sitting next to her after we had all presented, explaining in more detail. It was fun to see it was real- even this woman, who had hosted families before and had cooked for health CBTs for three years didn't know that you had to take the pill every day, opposed to just when having relations.
The presentation went all right. I wasn't particularly pleased but at the same time, it wasn't bad and I think they understood. One woman asked about the difference in effacacy between the pill and the rhythm method. Another woman who didn't get a brochure asked if I had any extra. Even though my language skills are pretty mediocre at best, I think at least one or two people took something away from it. It's a little empowering.
The dance party was exhausting because it was so hot, but really a lot of fun. I have a few little video clips. Fun. The most fun came after the drama about which families were taking leftover cookies home, when we all went to one person's house and ended up staying until 11 pm, sitting on pillows and rugs outside in the courtyard, singing songs, dressing up two of us like a bride and groom, making up songs about us (the two lines about me were something to the extent of 'Katy is a rose' and 'Katy has hair like silk'). Under the stars, it was all beautiful, though I cried a little bit. It's all overwhelming.
So this morning, after breakfast and a tearful goodbye, we all piled into a taxi (after cleaning the LCF house top to bottom) and came back to Azilal. And now, here I am.
As an aside, if you want to know just how beautiful my CBT town is, a very important politician who is a key player on the international field is building a summer house literally about half a mile from my house. It's going to replace the primary school in town and will totally change the sort of atmosphere there. My family's "fields" which are more like just bits of land for the few sheep and goats and aryoule...donkey?... to graze on, are soon going to shoot up in value a lot. When they told me, I said "your fields" and they said, "yes, but they're now our fields since you're in the family." Yeah, I'm going to miss these people.
I just got back from the last CBT stage today. I have mixed emotions about it, though I think that's also more of an extended feeling towards the end of training. I do not feel ready to go and be alone.
I don't think I'm unique in feeling this way; I think we're all struggling in our own ways with the sort of culture shock we're anticipating. Now, everything is planned for us. Our lives have structure imposed on us to the point of having curfews and a sign in and out sheet at the front of the hotel. Our breaks are planned and we have projects to work on in the meantime, and the LPI (language proficiency exam, since you asked)to study for and internet next door and laundry to wash. There is always someone around, to the point that it's almost impossible to find time and space to be alone. It's great. I love it. I don't mind the structure or even the restrictions because I'm challenged and learning and seeing progress and exploring in a totally safe environment.
Now, in less than two weeks, I'll be an hour or more away from the nearest volunteer with limited transportation and limited time off. I'll be in a place that despite the progress I've made, I won't be able to really communicate with people easily. I will go from having most of my waking moments planned out for me to having a few guidelines but mostly free time and having to find my own routine. Sure, there are tasks to do. I'll have to do laundry, I'll have to do a water survey, I'll want to conduct needs assessments, I want to find a tutor, I'll have to find a place to rent and furnish it, I'll have to go to the sbitar to sort of at least get a feel for it, I'll be able to go to the netti and sit and knit (I found knitting needles!) while they sew, or even sew with them. But I'll also be living with a family I'm not comfortable with in the same way I was at CBT.
But what did I expect? This is what I wanted. I wanted a new site, which means the host family has never hosted a foreigner before.It's a more conservative site than my CBT site and I don't think I really realized how liberal my CBT family was until now. This is what I wanted; this is the path I've chosen. I specifically wanted a new site and I specifically wanted not to have a sitemate and I feel listened to and like in a lot of ways my situation is ideal. But that doesn't stop the fear.
So all this is hanging over me the entire short time I've been at CBT, as well as other people in the group. It was a lot more tense than any other one. I didn't have as much time with my family alone as any other CBT phase and they seemed more tense too, partially because the mentally challenged neighbor boy came over and kicked one of my 30-year old sister's goats and made him sick, or that there are two baby goats that are less than a week old to be taken care of. I don't know. It was still a good time, but the whole time I was there I almost wanted to cry because I just didn't want it to be the end.
The first night, our homestay coordinator came and spent the night. Usually I'd be psyched, but it made me feel a bit more uncomfortable just because it added a new dynamic to the family. I heard some funny stories about animals (though they're not really that funny) and found out that the family cat had killed three of the four rabbits and so they took him to the nearest bigger town and let him go during souk. Interesting.
The next morning, the country director came to visit. It was a really good visit. I don't feel the need to go into too much about it except that it was really sort of good to get a different perspective on things. It didn't assuage all my fears of unintentionally doing something that's against the rules and getting sent home, but it helped quite a bit. Those of you who know me really well know I tend to be a worrier no matter what though. In any case, we also had American junk food. Chips Ahoy have never tasted so good, and I felt a lot better about PC Morocco in general afterwards.
At home that night, we fed the baby goats and mixed up an herb with agho (buttermilk eaten with couscous) and fed it to the sick goat. Interesting. I know nothing about raising animals, but I'm considering once I get my own place, if I can have a courtyard, maybe getting a few chickens for fresh eggs. We'll see how practical that is.
Yesterday was our last day at CBT site and we had a party to celebrate. All our families came, and we ate cookies and drank tea and coffee (have I told you that the coffee here has three spices in it? Pepper, ginger, and cinnamon, I think. Delicious.)... and we presented our health lessons in Tamazight.
That was actually interesting. My presentation was on birth control pills and I made a brochure (oh, and was there ever some drama with getting the Tamazight into Arabic script!) and did a short little introduction to the pill. One of the biggest challenges, besides the language, of course, was not including all the information that I ethically feel obligated to include with birth control education. I had two simple goals: to encourage women who want to get on the pill to go to the sbitar and discuss it with their doctor, and how to take it; 21 days on, 7 days off, at the same time. That was all I could really include on one brochure. Most of the older women are illiterate and so, well, I'll just say it was a challenge.
At first, earlier in the day, we practiced in front of our group and the woman who comes in and cooks lunch for us. She inturrupted my presentation with questions. My LCF helped translate some of them, and I answered those and then ended up sitting next to her after we had all presented, explaining in more detail. It was fun to see it was real- even this woman, who had hosted families before and had cooked for health CBTs for three years didn't know that you had to take the pill every day, opposed to just when having relations.
The presentation went all right. I wasn't particularly pleased but at the same time, it wasn't bad and I think they understood. One woman asked about the difference in effacacy between the pill and the rhythm method. Another woman who didn't get a brochure asked if I had any extra. Even though my language skills are pretty mediocre at best, I think at least one or two people took something away from it. It's a little empowering.
The dance party was exhausting because it was so hot, but really a lot of fun. I have a few little video clips. Fun. The most fun came after the drama about which families were taking leftover cookies home, when we all went to one person's house and ended up staying until 11 pm, sitting on pillows and rugs outside in the courtyard, singing songs, dressing up two of us like a bride and groom, making up songs about us (the two lines about me were something to the extent of 'Katy is a rose' and 'Katy has hair like silk'). Under the stars, it was all beautiful, though I cried a little bit. It's all overwhelming.
So this morning, after breakfast and a tearful goodbye, we all piled into a taxi (after cleaning the LCF house top to bottom) and came back to Azilal. And now, here I am.
As an aside, if you want to know just how beautiful my CBT town is, a very important politician who is a key player on the international field is building a summer house literally about half a mile from my house. It's going to replace the primary school in town and will totally change the sort of atmosphere there. My family's "fields" which are more like just bits of land for the few sheep and goats and aryoule...donkey?... to graze on, are soon going to shoot up in value a lot. When they told me, I said "your fields" and they said, "yes, but they're now our fields since you're in the family." Yeah, I'm going to miss these people.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Why I love training
-Jellaba shopping
-Figuring out which hanut has good cawcaw and snickers bars
-Going on hunts for Coca Lite
-Saying hello to the barber next door every single day
-Doing laundry on the roof and fighting for buckets
-Soccer on the cement slab behind the hotel
-Going crazy when we see a little kid with an ice cream cone and a dozen of us going on a hunt to find the soft-serve man
-Silly crushes
-Yet another power point presentation
-The same food...again...and again... but loving the fresh veggies
-Theme parties
-Slowly being able to communicate with the women who wash and cook in the hotel
-Stealing and holding hostage clothing articles
-Pineapple and figs... don't ask
-Talking about things that are taboo on a constant basis
-Assram (diarrhea) in skits and songs and posters
-Fighting over the two PC computers we're allowed to use
-Movies projected on the wall
-LCFs
-Being with the same 45 people 24/7
-The Hammam
-Cucumbers
-Fighting over fries/fried potatoes whenever they're served
-Signing in and out
-Having a curfew
-Not minding having to sign in and out or having a curfew
-The zween zween zweenmobile
-The drive to CBT site
-Shopping for CBT at the mini veggie marche
-Arguing about how many containers of yogurt seven people can eat in a week
-Sleepovers at the LCF house
-Cooking on butagas stoves
-Breaking for tea... and harsha or mismamen or cookies or helwa
-The entertainment value of certain staff members' training sessions
-The lack of privacy, ever
-The constant need to get toilet paper from the front
-Learning Tamazight and forgetting the raighn
-Being totally coddled
-Taxi strikes
-The gossip chain
-Trying to find the table with the big cups for water or with the chair where your thighs don't scrape against the bottom of the table for dinner
-Doors slamming at all hours of the night
-Playing guitars and Berbr instruments and having sing-alongs a la crazy stereotypical Peace Corps get-together
-Back massages, constantly
-Trying to save a seat in the conference room so you're not stuck behind a pole
-Being on the same block as three internet cafes
-Going to a cafe and not worrying about people thinking you're a prostitute
-Drinking a nesnes or cafe au lait at the cafe with the little baby boy Hassan
-Walking by and having the cafe owner of the cafe with the little baby boy Hassan wave and ask how you are
-Hearing other trainees skype their families
-Learning, constantly
-Being challenged, constantly
-Sharing real conversations with the LCFs and getting to know them
-Text messaging the crap out of your program staff when you are in the taxi ride from hell
-Late night text message conversations at host family at CBT with other trainees
-Sharing bug, mouse, and other beastie stories with other trainees
-Sharing embarassing bit lma stories and having competitions about bitlmas.
-Acting like children when presenters throw out candy for right answers... and turning into rabid dogs when they throw out packages of M&Ms
-Having really, really, really inappropriate conversations
-Swearing
-Venting to each other
-Being with people with similar worldviews or similar goals and ambitions but who are different and diverse enough to make things interesting
-Getting an allowance and going and spending it on candy and clothes
-Feeling at home with homestay families
-The feeling of coming home when returning to the seminar site
-Sharing three showers that are sometimes hot with 50 people
-Feeling like showering every three days is bizzef
-Making poster after poster after poster
-Stressing out about big announcements- what language, what CBT, what site?
-Requesting books from the library and discussing books
-SDL
-PACA
-Feeling guilty for "wasting" SDL days
-Sharing books with other trainees
-Getting free stuff from volunteers who are leaving the country
-Discussing bodily functions constantly
-Feeling like if I could do training in different countries for the rest of my life, it'd be the best sort of pseudo-profession ever
I know I have to leave the nest soon, but it feels like we're one big happy crazy dysfunctional family. I will and have to embrace the isolation that will come after swearing-in, but training has been more than I expected and more than I could ask for. I don't feel ready, but I feel readier than anyone should feel after two months. I have two weeks left, but really, I'm already feeling it... and it's exciting, but really going to be nostalgic.
-Figuring out which hanut has good cawcaw and snickers bars
-Going on hunts for Coca Lite
-Saying hello to the barber next door every single day
-Doing laundry on the roof and fighting for buckets
-Soccer on the cement slab behind the hotel
-Going crazy when we see a little kid with an ice cream cone and a dozen of us going on a hunt to find the soft-serve man
-Silly crushes
-Yet another power point presentation
-The same food...again...and again... but loving the fresh veggies
-Theme parties
-Slowly being able to communicate with the women who wash and cook in the hotel
-Stealing and holding hostage clothing articles
-Pineapple and figs... don't ask
-Talking about things that are taboo on a constant basis
-Assram (diarrhea) in skits and songs and posters
-Fighting over the two PC computers we're allowed to use
-Movies projected on the wall
-LCFs
-Being with the same 45 people 24/7
-The Hammam
-Cucumbers
-Fighting over fries/fried potatoes whenever they're served
-Signing in and out
-Having a curfew
-Not minding having to sign in and out or having a curfew
-The zween zween zweenmobile
-The drive to CBT site
-Shopping for CBT at the mini veggie marche
-Arguing about how many containers of yogurt seven people can eat in a week
-Sleepovers at the LCF house
-Cooking on butagas stoves
-Breaking for tea... and harsha or mismamen or cookies or helwa
-The entertainment value of certain staff members' training sessions
-The lack of privacy, ever
-The constant need to get toilet paper from the front
-Learning Tamazight and forgetting the raighn
-Being totally coddled
-Taxi strikes
-The gossip chain
-Trying to find the table with the big cups for water or with the chair where your thighs don't scrape against the bottom of the table for dinner
-Doors slamming at all hours of the night
-Playing guitars and Berbr instruments and having sing-alongs a la crazy stereotypical Peace Corps get-together
-Back massages, constantly
-Trying to save a seat in the conference room so you're not stuck behind a pole
-Being on the same block as three internet cafes
-Going to a cafe and not worrying about people thinking you're a prostitute
-Drinking a nesnes or cafe au lait at the cafe with the little baby boy Hassan
-Walking by and having the cafe owner of the cafe with the little baby boy Hassan wave and ask how you are
-Hearing other trainees skype their families
-Learning, constantly
-Being challenged, constantly
-Sharing real conversations with the LCFs and getting to know them
-Text messaging the crap out of your program staff when you are in the taxi ride from hell
-Late night text message conversations at host family at CBT with other trainees
-Sharing bug, mouse, and other beastie stories with other trainees
-Sharing embarassing bit lma stories and having competitions about bitlmas.
-Acting like children when presenters throw out candy for right answers... and turning into rabid dogs when they throw out packages of M&Ms
-Having really, really, really inappropriate conversations
-Swearing
-Venting to each other
-Being with people with similar worldviews or similar goals and ambitions but who are different and diverse enough to make things interesting
-Getting an allowance and going and spending it on candy and clothes
-Feeling at home with homestay families
-The feeling of coming home when returning to the seminar site
-Sharing three showers that are sometimes hot with 50 people
-Feeling like showering every three days is bizzef
-Making poster after poster after poster
-Stressing out about big announcements- what language, what CBT, what site?
-Requesting books from the library and discussing books
-SDL
-PACA
-Feeling guilty for "wasting" SDL days
-Sharing books with other trainees
-Getting free stuff from volunteers who are leaving the country
-Discussing bodily functions constantly
-Feeling like if I could do training in different countries for the rest of my life, it'd be the best sort of pseudo-profession ever
I know I have to leave the nest soon, but it feels like we're one big happy crazy dysfunctional family. I will and have to embrace the isolation that will come after swearing-in, but training has been more than I expected and more than I could ask for. I don't feel ready, but I feel readier than anyone should feel after two months. I have two weeks left, but really, I'm already feeling it... and it's exciting, but really going to be nostalgic.
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