Wanna Go to a Wedding? There’s No Cake, But There Are Stale Wafers.

So, how do you get over being sick here in Morocco? Why, you go to a wedding of course! Granted, I finally felt a little better, which means I actually got my butt out of my bed- which is an accomplishment if you ask me. But, yes, a wedding. My first here actually.

And when I started walking with my Aunt (pretty sure I was going to a wedding) I had a flash of “shizer, I’m underdressed- in my jeans and J.Crew button up shirt”. But, alas, I was not the only one who didn’t bring their A-game of attire. A fellow Moroccan danced her heart away with a sweet Mickey Mouse shirt on. So I felt a tad better.

So, after being sick and feeling that I had done zero integration I had the choice of doing two things: 1. sit there, take it in, and smile when needed to OR 2. realize no one really knows you here, so why not join in and dance, clap, all of it. Those who know me, already know that I obviously took the later of options. After being pushed into a room of about 50 people, and fumbled to find a place to sit while being stared at, I chose to engage in the festivities. Clapping away, swaying when told to, and then pretending I didn’t hear what people said to me (because I didn’t understand). All in all it was going pretty well. I was even told to dance a few times- I politely declined, answering maybe later, not now, God willing in the future (they ate it up).

So after eating, which itself was a free for all, the dancing commenced. But it was at this moment, the moment where I found myself comfortable, did I look up to see my local tahanut friend with his camera phone pointed at me. Now, I, in my ninja like ways, kept my hands strategically placed in front of my face so he could not capture any sort of flattering picture. This lasted for a good 5-6 minutes. Finally, his friend next to him caught eyes with me and it clicked in his head that I knew what was going on. So he told his friend with the camera, and they laughed and shouted my name- it was a good laugh, then I quickly noticed that everyone else was looking at me (God forbid I understand something and joke... but oh well).

These guys proceeded to mess with me the rest of the time I was there. Continuously calling out my name, telling me to dance, and just joking around. It was a comforting awkwardness. And you all know how much I appreciate awkward moments. They’re fabulous. But it was nice to know that there are people out here in the community that are starting to know me. Play with me. TALK to me. When I first arrived to the house (it was at my landlords) he greeted me and was asking where I was yesterday, to which I explained I’d been sick. So even though I feel as if I’ve been missing out on something the past few days- I’ve only been here for a week. I have plenty of time ahead of me, and I already have a few allies' out there.

So here’s to integration... and to those who were very supportive and amazing through me being sick, frustrated and just a bundle of joy in my first days at site. I have never been so thankful for a phone plan. It helps so much to know my fellow volunteers are going through the same sort of things.

I Just Want My Mom's Turkey Soup

After getting up to site, I wanted to have some sort of plan. Give me something to do. And this all started off so well because on my first day I got to walk around my community a bit, talked with my landlord about renting a house, spent some time in my new house going through things, and then met some locals at the local tahanut where I bought my water and toilet paper (I’m not ready to go without it yet). Everything went well, apart from the obvious language barrier, but all in all, a great first day.

Then second day came, I started feeling sick. Then third day, a little more sick. Nothing too serious, just a head cold with a constant, pounding headache. Add in a touch of fever and you’ve got yourself a volunteer who doesn’t want to get out of bed. Now, it’s hard enough trying to integrate your first few days, but add on being sick. Not to mention being sick in someone else’s house. And while I appreciate my family’s efforts to include me in outings and meals, frankly I just don’t feel up to it. My sisters were amazing when they knocked on my door and brought eggs, bread and a salad of tomatoes and peppers. However, since then I haven’t had much of an appetite; try explaining that to your host Mom.

Now, while I’m trying to chug down rehydrated salty water- jeeze it tastes like a mouthful of the LI Sound & is making me want to vomit- I felt better earlier, despite that now, not so much. And it’s hard to try and explain in broken Tam that you just want to lay in your bed- even if that’s all I’ve done the last two days. 

So the first few days have been a little harder than I anticipated, but none the less, I’m going to be here for two years, so I’ll have time to redeem myself. I hope.

The Tale of Getting to Site

So today was the day that everyone has been dreading. We separate and go off to our own communities. Let me begin with, the only thing I had an issue was my luggage. I was not excited in the least to be lugging a huge duffle bag, a huge hiking backpack, a smaller backpack, my purse, and thanks to Peace Corps a whole new bag of textbooks. I appreciated that, thanks.

Due to some smart planning on a friend’s behalf, a few of us dropped off a couple bags at the bus station two hours early and then we enjoyed some egg sandwiches at our leisure.   

So after saying some goodbyes- or see you later- a bunch of made our way to the bus station. We decided to splurge on the nicer bus because, frankly I think we didn’t want to walk all the way to the cheaper bus with all of our bags. So my goal was to make it to Tinghir where I would try to make a transit up to my site. However, because I was informed there might not be a transit, I mostly planned on staying the night with a friend and then heading up in the early morning.

Upon arriving in Tinghir, my friend and I were bombarded with men asking us if where we were going, if we were American, all that jazz. Though one man was very helpful, and helped me find my transit up to my site (luckily there was one). With that, we brought all my luggage over to the van, and then I had about two hours to spare before it left, so I helped my friend bring all her bags to her house. We made our way over there, was welcomed with open arms by her host mom, and enjoyed a great lunch.

Upon getting back to the transit van, I was told another volunteer was taking it as well, which was comforting. Another “Basu” (again, using his Berber name for his privacy reasons) will be living near me, so he had the same intentions as I did with heading up. So we all piled in, and I was encouraged to move up to the front seat so I would have a good view. The van was all men, and they were all intrigued and excited by our being there. Now, a tidbit about Basu- he had given the speech at our swearing in, so with that in mind, his language skills obviously exceed my own. So while he was making conversation swiftly, I myself, was not. Not that I didn’t understand or wasn’t able to talk at all; but it was obvious we were not on the same level. And these guys didn’t let me forget it. So obstacle number one: Language.

The 3 and a half hour ride up continued with questions, a guitar was even taken out for a while, and the obvious stop along the trail for tea time. I was growing tired (from everything) and when I stated the fact, the gentlemen next to me (who by the way, I’m pretty sure wants me to take him to America when I’m done here) offered to move to the back so I could have the whole front seat to sleep. Um, yes please. Then, I was offered a blanket to use as a pillow. This transit ride was catered to me. It would be like if Patrick and Conor were at my beck and call, and did everything I asked while we traveled, (that’d be the day).

Finally we reached Basu’s site. He collected all of his belongings, we said our goodbyes, and he was off. So all by myself, finally, with the four other men in my van, we headed towards my site. Towards my new life. So we’ve got conversation sort of flowing, the music’s going, and life is good. Life is good until I think I hear my phone ringing.

I check my pocket where I had my phone. Nothing.

I check the seat. Nothing

Get the panic button started up. Because my phone is nowhere to be found.

Then I look down and see a huge gap between the door and the rest of the car, and see the road flying by underneath it. Awesome.

So the driver realizes what’s going on, and then the two men behind me join in. We all scramble to look for my phone. We cannot find anything. The driver stops the van, we’re outside looking for it all over the taxi floor. It hits me then, that I remember hearing a thump when I turned around to say goodbye to Basu and I convey this to the men. So my driver asks me if I want to turn around and go back for it. First, I don’t want these guys to do this all for me. But secondly, I need my phone. It’s my only lifeline at this moment. So I say yes.

The men ask me my phone number, so I could call it. Now, usually the first thing your mom has you do as a child is remember your phone number just in case anything happens. DO IT. REMEMBER YOUR PHONE NUMBER. Because I did not. There’s like 10 numbers, and I don’t call myself. So they all think I’m crazy because I don’t remember my phone number and then it clicks I have my phone list somewhere in one of my bags. I find it, find my number, and we call it. Nothing. Walu.

I get Basu’s number, we call him, he didn’t see a phone but can go back and check, but as I’m on the phone with him- my phone is spotted on the side of the road. Thank Allah. We get out of the car, find the phone. Smashed. The screen is cracked and lighting up black and white. There is no keyboard, and it’s not even turning on. It’s over. Obstacle number two: things break.

Now at this moment I have a few thoughts running through my head. What the hell am I going to do now? How am I going to call anyone about getting my stuff done? Do I have the money to get a new phone? Where will I get a new phone? OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAPPEN TO ME. Ali is gonna freak out if he can’t get in touch with me for a few days (we’ll get to Ali another time, just go with it).

And then I just shut it all down and I have new thoughts. It’s just a phone. I can get another. Of course this would happen to me. My friends are going to love this story. 

So we pile back into the van and discuss my options. The men agree I need a phone and are more than willing to help me get another. We go over prices (it’s about 250 Dh which is about roughly $31 and I know you’re thinking that’s awesome, but no- I needed this money for other things, but luckily I had some emergency cash saved up), and how they’ll be going back to Tinghir tomorrow and can pick me up a phone. Okay, that’s awesome. Then, the angel old man from the back mentions he knows someone in my town that might have a phone. WHAAAAAAAT??? OLD MAN, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THIS CONVERSATION?!?!

Awesome. A new phone. Tonight. Let’s do it.

So one of the guys in the van and I decide that we’ll try and get me a new phone when I get into town. He’s come with me to make sure I get one and it works and all that jazz. Which I’m so thankful for. So we pull into my town, get out and run to this little tahanut.   There’s four kids about 20-ish just chillin’ and then words are exchanged and one runs out. He comes back with a whole container or  phones and we sort through them. And when I say we- I mean my new friend. These phones are about 600 Dh; which I do not have. So my friend tells this kid to go get a phone like the one I had, cheaper and not as fancy. He basically demands this kid to go find me a phone.

The kid comes back, with a phone like my nice broken one, and we decide to buy it. Yes, I have a phone. And it’s even a bit nicer than my first; by this I mean it’s grey instead of blue. With phone in hand, feeling accomplished, I head back to the transit and go to my house.

I asked the transit driver if he could drop me off in front of my house, he not only abides by that, he literally pulls up onto the dirt, all the way up to the front of my house until he cannot go any further. I’ve seriously been waited on hand and foot this entire ride. I obviously start dying laughing and tell him it’s fine, my family’s starting to come out of the house wondering what the hell is going on. The two guys heave all my bags out of the van, and start saying goodbye to me. Then, the one guy who had helped me with the phone tells me he has my phone number now. Obstacle number three: Moroccan men. He asks if that’s okay, and tells me he’s gonna call and see how I’m doing. Now, at this point, frankly I don’t care. I tell him it’s fine, he gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek and says goodbye.

I turn around to my family coming down the hill and saying hello and helping me with my bags back to the house. I follow, exhausted and spilling out what little Tam I have to communicate with. We enter my room, get it set up, and I slightly explain what happened and all the tales of my trip. My mom sorta laughs and then tells me to relax. They all leave, and I collapse on my bed.

Such is life in Morocco. Now, where’s my tea?

Swearing 2 Years of Our Lives Away

So today was the Big Day- Swearing In.

What we trainees had heard when it came to swearing in was nice hotels, awesome food, and just an all around good time.

What we experienced was our same hotel, a tent above that hotel for the ceremony, and then cookies and meat pastries afterwards.

However, you won't hear any complaints from me. I enjoyed the quick ceremony (unlike college graduation which is just drawn out), with three trainees speaking in the three languages we've learned. A quick talk from the Country Director and then safi (done). Then afterwards was tea, a variety of cookies, a delectable meat pastry and sodas in the glass bottle. 

Here's two pictures from the ceremony.

FATIMA AND MYSELF

My CBT group and our fearless leader

So last night the hotel put on a little show for our goodbye. A few of us think it was more of a celebration that we were finally leaving, but who really knows. 

So after I cram everything I own here into the least amount of bags that I can, I'm off to my home. Way up in the mountains. I will try and update this when I can, however, I'm not sure the next time I'll have internet. So until next time...

Day Before The Big Day

Tomorrow we swear in. Swear in for two years. Two years of service to whichever project we decide on. For some of us, projects are already planned out and ready to go. The other half of us have no idea what we’ll be doing. It’s up to figure out what our community needs and what we think we can accomplish there.

I remember the first questions some of us asked when we met current volunteers: What did you do your first day in site? When the taxi dropped you off with all of your things, what did you do? And while all of us were terrified about what we were going to do with ourselves, I think that now, the majority of us could tell you how excited we are. Or at least I think we are.

What I think us trainees are mostly nervous about is the fact that we’ll be alone, really alone, for the first time here. This will be the moment that all the emotions rush and the realization that we’re not going home hits. It’ll consume us in a matter of seconds. And the next thought will be- holy crap thank goodness I have a phone plan.

I think we’re at the point where we’ve really started to get close with certain people and find all of our little nooks. It’s kind of funny how when a bunch of people are thrown into an intense circumstance how we lean so much on each other. We rely on another for support, for advice, for sanity. And I think that a lot of us will further our friendships because of the situation we’re in. Plus, who else can you you call up at 3 am and complain about explosive diarrhea? A PCV, that’s who.

Bittersweet Goodbyes

I still stand by believing that it’s the little things in life that make it worth it. Like, home made french toast (Moroccan style), baking a cake from scratch (pumpkin cake no less), saying ‘hello’ to everyone on the street and having them say ‘hello’ back, or finally finding that one tahanut (a little store) that sells decent chocolate. It really does make living life, especially here, more bearable.

My week’s been... nothing more exciting that usual. Studying the language every day, trying to cram 2 semesters worth of information into 2 months. I learned how to make “stuffed bread”; which is a greasy delight, bread stuffed with peppers, onions, tomatoes.. ahh, it’s great. I’m gonna try and do my own twist on it and add an egg or something! Our cook at school impressed us yet again with a cross between a donut and bagel- which was awesome. We had a goodbye party today, which was a lot of fun and bittersweet also. It was nice to have everyone’s families together and to see every body. Whether we know them well or not, they all know us and are more than happy to talk. It’s especially fun to watch the local girls squirm over the PC boys in my CBT group. The boy’s are such heartbreakers.

It’s bittersweet having to leave here in two days. I’m just starting to be able to communicate with my family and the local people in the town and I have to go. Go off to another town, where they’re language is slightly different and they probably won’t believe me that I’ve been speaking this language for the past two months. But, I’ll get to the point I’m at now when I’m up there, so it’ll all work out. Plus, I’ll be able to come back and visit my family here where I’ve trained.

On a side note, our group went to a local authority’s house for tea and after he asked the rest of my group if there were married- I replied with saying “always” because I thought he was asking if I was tired. The afternoon continued with the mix up of the words “fresh butter” and “vagina”; this was not me, but was quite hilarious.

What else. I’m happy Kurt won prom queen- though it was a mean joke. I still miss pizza. I can’t wait to live in my own apartment so I can blast my music. The Alchemist was a great way to start off this adventure (thank you again Uncle Kerry). Oh, I forgot to put “MOROCCO” on my mailing address- for any of you who noticed that (MOM). I’ve read how to give birth, so if I ever need to, I’m golden.

Oh and for all of you planning your summers already with BBQs and trips to Claudios and The Drift- I hate you; I’m lying, I’m just jealous. Take this though- I’m planning to go to the South of France in August and then Ireland for Christmas. So while you’re all drinking the Drift dry, I’ll be drinking wine and eating cheese in France. Yeah, enjoy that thought- because I know I will.

Eating With Your Hands

I thank you all for being patient with me as I go 10 days without posting and then put up about 4 different entries.

I wanted to write one last night, but decided I wanted to sleep more. I wanted to let all of you know, that I have mastered eating cous cous with my hand- and it was my first time. Mom, I know what you're thinking, that I probably got it ALL OVER ME, but you'd be so wrong. Okay, a little wrong. But I did it. My Grandma and Aunt gave me a cautious stare when I ignored the spoon and dipped my hand into the dish, but I did it. I rolled that cous cous in my hand like a champ, and even added some vegetables in it.

The best part was at the end, with my hand covered in cous cous, I was trying to wipe it off, and I look at my Aunt and she just does the motion of licking her hand. And I just blurt out "REALLY??!?!?!!!??" and she just nods her head, so I decided to dive in. Go big or go home.

So though I rather of had a nice slice of sicilian from Bella Gusto, a cous cous covered hand had to do. And it was... satisfying. At least the accomplishment of it was.