Lol, sorry I cut myslf off mid word b/c I was skyping the parents and forgot that I was blogging too. Hee hee, hey! That's an idea, you should all set up skype accounts so I can talk to you guys, or at least leave skype messages.
So as I was saying before. I think the PCVs i my province deliberatly celebrate things in a hilariously non-sequitar manner. During CBT (remember those posts? they feel like a life time ago) we celbrated Easter at the Buddist's home, Halloween was celebrated by dining on sushi in Marrakech, Thanksgiving was enjoyed at the home of our beautiful PCV of Latina origin (I would like to specify here- for those who might be offended... it's funny. You know it. Admit it and set yourself free.);) and we will be spending a very festive and jouyous Christmas at the home of the only Errachidia/ Midelt resident Jew. Hee hee hee Have I mentiond I love my provintial gang? We're the nicest, prettiest, and best team-work-doing group in Morocco.
There, the gauntlet is thrown, if there are any other PCV Moroccans reading this, I dare you to prove me wrong!
In other news, there may not be any Christmas spirit here yet but I can tell I'm getting in the mood, I always celebrate the Holidays by cooking and it's no different here. But I must add, in reference to the song, No there is no Christmas in Africa... alas. If anyone wants to send me some snow I'de be glad. (Dearest brother, hint hint:P )
Ha! Here's a funny PCV Erika Story. One day I was feeling so sad that there's no Christmas and there aren't any evergreens here to have in my house (not even a Charlie Brown miskeen one!) so I drew one on a giant sheet of paper and taped it to my wall. And I drew an angel and some bulbs... and one charlie Brown Bulb in honor of how miskeen this is.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Good heavens where does the time go? When last I checked in (poem not included) I was headed off to Azilal to work with Operation Smile... that was the beginning of October. Now it’s nearly Christmas... I blame ninja monkeys.
Whew, I have so very much to tell you all, my faithful and patient readers. Operation smile was amazing. When I agree to these shenanigans I assumed they would be having me do filing, and pushing a pen. Imagine my surprise when they threw me right into the thick of things. O. S. is based in the U.S. but it has branch offices all over the world. The offices represented this time around were the Casablanca, Rome, and Philippines offices. This meant all the doctors and anaesthesiologists
were Arabs, Italians, and Philippines. With so many nationalities and so many languages spoken they had to find one over arching language to speak; Italy’s primary languages are Italian and French, Morocco’s are Arabic, French, and Spanish, and the Philippines use Tonka, English, and French.
Therefore it should come as no surprise to anyone that the language selected was English. I’m stymied too. Even more flummoxing is that the American PCVs were chosen to be the translators for all the admin and patients. So who did I translate for? Ah well I am an EMT and therefore have “medical training” so I worked in the recovery room and translated and assisted the intensivist and the two nurses who worked with her. The intensivist’s name was Roberta (an Italian) and her nurses were Arab Moroccans (this means they speak Arabic instead of the Tamazirt I speak). Roberta
spoke Italian, Greek, English, and a little French, one nurse spoke Arabic and some English, and the second nurse spoke Arabic, a little English, and only knew the parts of French that Roberta didn’t know. This meant that not only was I translating between the patients and the doctors I was also translating between the doctors... after five days I had a splitting headache. It was a relief when the patiens came in after surgery b/c it meant no more talking for a while.
My job with the patients had 2 sides. 90% of our patients were between the ages of 6 months and 8; these patients were the hardest b/c they were just coming out from the gas when they would be wheeled in to us. This meant that we had someone who was too young to understand what had happened to them waking up in a room full of strangers in incredible pain. My job, along with my friend, and fellow EMT Andrew, was to play human straight jacket with the kids long enough for more drugs to kick in and knock them out. This was done to keep them from rolling off the bed or ripping out their IVs; it was actually kind of fun... as much fun as getting kicked and smacked
by semi- conscious wee ones can be. The 10% of the patients that were adults we helped were much easier. I just had to tell them in tam what the doctors told me in English; they usually nodded dreamily and then took a nap. They were nice.
The way the system works is that we spend the first two days of the week processing patients then we have three days of surgery. This operation we did over 170 surgeries and I saw all of them. When I got home all I wanted to do was sleep. Alas no sleep for me.
I was home for a few days then I had to head off to Marrakech for more PC meetings and training. That was quite the event. It’s a beautiful and historic city so it’s definitely worth seeing. The trouble is it’s also very touristy so it’s really expensive and, therefore, not somewhere you want to stay. Not only is it expensive but the taxi drivers assume all foreigners are tourists so they try to rip us
off. They also only speak French and Arabic. At this point my Tam is a million times better than my French so this was both hard and profoundly frustrating to me. One very eventful experience involved an especially persistent driver who would not take “let me out” for an answer.
It was about 10 pm and I was on my way home from dinner; my comrades were headed to the bar but I only had enough money for my taxi home so I said my goodbyes. I hailed a cab, climbed in, said the name of my hotel, and we were off. After about two blocks I realized the meter wasn’t on so I asked him to turn it on. He only spoke French so I only caught about half of his sentence but it amounted to, “No, it’s night time so the fare is extra.” I asked how much and he said something I
didn’t understand, I had to ask him three times before I got it... 50 dhs. BTW it was 18 dhs to the
restaurant from the hotel, naturally, I lost my temper. I said, “No, it’s 18 dhs from there to here so it should be 18 back.” He said, “No, it’s late. I won’t get anyone on the way back. You have to pay double for the trip.” (Double 18 is 32, not 50) I said, “No, it’s too much, pull over. I’m done.” At this point he backs down and says, “OK, OK 30 dhs.” Too late, I was way past bargaining. I said, “No, pull
over.” The guy kept driving and insisting that 30 was a fair price. So I popped the door open on the moving taxi... he turned on the meter. Hee hee hee. At this point I pull out my money and realize I only have 15 dhs so when the meter reached 15 I told that was all the money I had, he needed to pull over. To this he responded, “No, no, I have to take you all the way or God will punish me.” Not
only did I win, I also beat the system! I’m amazing.
Finally, back home. For the last two months my friend James and I have been working with one of our Moroccan friends to teach a class of 10 high school students about HIV/AIDs and have them paint a poster and write a skit. They are having a competition with other classes in the area led by other PCVs this weekend. I am so proud of my class; they have an amazing skit that totally defies what the world’s culture heretofore has taught. They are vilifying the disease rather than the people
who have it.
This project was moving along so smoothly and I had three others lined up to start doing at the local youth center where I could teach English, health lessons, and arts and crafts. I was just about to begin when all of a sudden the administrator was pulled and sent to another town a million miles away and wasn’t replaced. So the building has been closed since the end of October.
How can this happen? Well, around September the powers that be decided to shuffle state lines about a bit. The only trouble is that the different regional governments don’t communicate with one another. This meant that the 13 villages I live and work in wound up in a limbo like area... think the Afghanistan- Pakistan Border minus war and conflict. It was during this vague time that I was trying to get permission for my AIDs Awareness Project... that was dreadful. First I took a 45 min
taxi to Errachidia, my old capital city, and my officials informed me that my village was now in the Midelt province. I was nonplussed but accepted my fate. Took the 45 min taxi home then caught an hour long bus to Midelt, the capital of Midelt (they like to keep things simple). It was here that I was informed that my village was in Errachidia and the state lines hadn’t moved that far south... yeah. I
decided if the powers that be don’t care enough to figure out which province I was in they wouldn’t care if I taught some lessons; I was right, no one cared.
Long story short someone finally found their crayon and finished re drawing the state lines. I am now in Midelt. Upon realising that they had a new village with a fabulous administrator in the youth center they decided they had a better place for him. Thus they shipped him off elsewhere and forgot to file the “replace this guy” paper work. Hmph. With any luck this will soon be resolved.
In other news the weather is cooling off and the scorpions have all gone into hibernation, as have most of the more unpleasant bugs. Also, there is no heating in Moroccan houses so those that are still awake feel little need to come inside. I thought this was a great boon... until I was sitting in my main room one night and a mouse ran across the room. I was not impressed. The solution I came up with for this problem fits with another thing I’ve been thinking about for quite so time. A few
months ago my friends cat had kittens and I wanted one, now I had an excuse! We decided on her name by having her walk on James’ Italian book and the first name she put her paw on would be hers. Her name is Elizibetha, I call her Lizzy and she is so cute! Although one of the first things she did when I let her into the house was run full tilt into a wall and knock herself silly. It was in that moment I began to appreciate how a parent feels when they watch their child do something very, very stupid. It was a "Dear God, why did I get the retarded one?" moment.
This brings us to Thanksgiving. We had a small gathering of just the ppl who live nearby; it was nice but it’s just really hard to get into the holiday spirit when the leaves are only just beginning to turn. Back home the leaves have already fallen, been raked up, and snow fallen to cover the branches with whit instead of green and gold. I feel more like picking apples than singing carols. Ah well, I’ll
just appreciate being home for the Holidays more when I finally get there.
Hee hee, I think the Peace Corps Morocco/ Errachidia gang delibertly does things to m
Sorry for the length but this brings us up to today. I’ll try to do better next month.
Whew, I have so very much to tell you all, my faithful and patient readers. Operation smile was amazing. When I agree to these shenanigans I assumed they would be having me do filing, and pushing a pen. Imagine my surprise when they threw me right into the thick of things. O. S. is based in the U.S. but it has branch offices all over the world. The offices represented this time around were the Casablanca, Rome, and Philippines offices. This meant all the doctors and anaesthesiologists
were Arabs, Italians, and Philippines. With so many nationalities and so many languages spoken they had to find one over arching language to speak; Italy’s primary languages are Italian and French, Morocco’s are Arabic, French, and Spanish, and the Philippines use Tonka, English, and French.
Therefore it should come as no surprise to anyone that the language selected was English. I’m stymied too. Even more flummoxing is that the American PCVs were chosen to be the translators for all the admin and patients. So who did I translate for? Ah well I am an EMT and therefore have “medical training” so I worked in the recovery room and translated and assisted the intensivist and the two nurses who worked with her. The intensivist’s name was Roberta (an Italian) and her nurses were Arab Moroccans (this means they speak Arabic instead of the Tamazirt I speak). Roberta
spoke Italian, Greek, English, and a little French, one nurse spoke Arabic and some English, and the second nurse spoke Arabic, a little English, and only knew the parts of French that Roberta didn’t know. This meant that not only was I translating between the patients and the doctors I was also translating between the doctors... after five days I had a splitting headache. It was a relief when the patiens came in after surgery b/c it meant no more talking for a while.
My job with the patients had 2 sides. 90% of our patients were between the ages of 6 months and 8; these patients were the hardest b/c they were just coming out from the gas when they would be wheeled in to us. This meant that we had someone who was too young to understand what had happened to them waking up in a room full of strangers in incredible pain. My job, along with my friend, and fellow EMT Andrew, was to play human straight jacket with the kids long enough for more drugs to kick in and knock them out. This was done to keep them from rolling off the bed or ripping out their IVs; it was actually kind of fun... as much fun as getting kicked and smacked
by semi- conscious wee ones can be. The 10% of the patients that were adults we helped were much easier. I just had to tell them in tam what the doctors told me in English; they usually nodded dreamily and then took a nap. They were nice.
The way the system works is that we spend the first two days of the week processing patients then we have three days of surgery. This operation we did over 170 surgeries and I saw all of them. When I got home all I wanted to do was sleep. Alas no sleep for me.
I was home for a few days then I had to head off to Marrakech for more PC meetings and training. That was quite the event. It’s a beautiful and historic city so it’s definitely worth seeing. The trouble is it’s also very touristy so it’s really expensive and, therefore, not somewhere you want to stay. Not only is it expensive but the taxi drivers assume all foreigners are tourists so they try to rip us
off. They also only speak French and Arabic. At this point my Tam is a million times better than my French so this was both hard and profoundly frustrating to me. One very eventful experience involved an especially persistent driver who would not take “let me out” for an answer.
It was about 10 pm and I was on my way home from dinner; my comrades were headed to the bar but I only had enough money for my taxi home so I said my goodbyes. I hailed a cab, climbed in, said the name of my hotel, and we were off. After about two blocks I realized the meter wasn’t on so I asked him to turn it on. He only spoke French so I only caught about half of his sentence but it amounted to, “No, it’s night time so the fare is extra.” I asked how much and he said something I
didn’t understand, I had to ask him three times before I got it... 50 dhs. BTW it was 18 dhs to the
restaurant from the hotel, naturally, I lost my temper. I said, “No, it’s 18 dhs from there to here so it should be 18 back.” He said, “No, it’s late. I won’t get anyone on the way back. You have to pay double for the trip.” (Double 18 is 32, not 50) I said, “No, it’s too much, pull over. I’m done.” At this point he backs down and says, “OK, OK 30 dhs.” Too late, I was way past bargaining. I said, “No, pull
over.” The guy kept driving and insisting that 30 was a fair price. So I popped the door open on the moving taxi... he turned on the meter. Hee hee hee. At this point I pull out my money and realize I only have 15 dhs so when the meter reached 15 I told that was all the money I had, he needed to pull over. To this he responded, “No, no, I have to take you all the way or God will punish me.” Not
only did I win, I also beat the system! I’m amazing.
Finally, back home. For the last two months my friend James and I have been working with one of our Moroccan friends to teach a class of 10 high school students about HIV/AIDs and have them paint a poster and write a skit. They are having a competition with other classes in the area led by other PCVs this weekend. I am so proud of my class; they have an amazing skit that totally defies what the world’s culture heretofore has taught. They are vilifying the disease rather than the people
who have it.
This project was moving along so smoothly and I had three others lined up to start doing at the local youth center where I could teach English, health lessons, and arts and crafts. I was just about to begin when all of a sudden the administrator was pulled and sent to another town a million miles away and wasn’t replaced. So the building has been closed since the end of October.
How can this happen? Well, around September the powers that be decided to shuffle state lines about a bit. The only trouble is that the different regional governments don’t communicate with one another. This meant that the 13 villages I live and work in wound up in a limbo like area... think the Afghanistan- Pakistan Border minus war and conflict. It was during this vague time that I was trying to get permission for my AIDs Awareness Project... that was dreadful. First I took a 45 min
taxi to Errachidia, my old capital city, and my officials informed me that my village was now in the Midelt province. I was nonplussed but accepted my fate. Took the 45 min taxi home then caught an hour long bus to Midelt, the capital of Midelt (they like to keep things simple). It was here that I was informed that my village was in Errachidia and the state lines hadn’t moved that far south... yeah. I
decided if the powers that be don’t care enough to figure out which province I was in they wouldn’t care if I taught some lessons; I was right, no one cared.
Long story short someone finally found their crayon and finished re drawing the state lines. I am now in Midelt. Upon realising that they had a new village with a fabulous administrator in the youth center they decided they had a better place for him. Thus they shipped him off elsewhere and forgot to file the “replace this guy” paper work. Hmph. With any luck this will soon be resolved.
In other news the weather is cooling off and the scorpions have all gone into hibernation, as have most of the more unpleasant bugs. Also, there is no heating in Moroccan houses so those that are still awake feel little need to come inside. I thought this was a great boon... until I was sitting in my main room one night and a mouse ran across the room. I was not impressed. The solution I came up with for this problem fits with another thing I’ve been thinking about for quite so time. A few
months ago my friends cat had kittens and I wanted one, now I had an excuse! We decided on her name by having her walk on James’ Italian book and the first name she put her paw on would be hers. Her name is Elizibetha, I call her Lizzy and she is so cute! Although one of the first things she did when I let her into the house was run full tilt into a wall and knock herself silly. It was in that moment I began to appreciate how a parent feels when they watch their child do something very, very stupid. It was a "Dear God, why did I get the retarded one?" moment.
This brings us to Thanksgiving. We had a small gathering of just the ppl who live nearby; it was nice but it’s just really hard to get into the holiday spirit when the leaves are only just beginning to turn. Back home the leaves have already fallen, been raked up, and snow fallen to cover the branches with whit instead of green and gold. I feel more like picking apples than singing carols. Ah well, I’ll
just appreciate being home for the Holidays more when I finally get there.
Hee hee, I think the Peace Corps Morocco/ Errachidia gang delibertly does things to m
Sorry for the length but this brings us up to today. I’ll try to do better next month.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Holy-whatever-u-worship, where did November go?
Gah! I blink and it's December! What the kiblashery? so I have this lovely million mile long blog typed up and ready to be posted... on my laptop which I left at home. Hee hee... sorry. I'll post it when I'm in town again I promise! For now I shall write you all a poem thqt doesn't rhyme. Hey, if the Greeks can do it so can I.
Nine months in a foreign country.
Foreign smells, language, even minds.
When I lived in the US I took so much for granted.
Never again will I fail to acknowledge your gifts, oh toilet paper.
Yet nine months is not long at all.
A year ago next week I was told I would go on this adventure.
When last I posted I had not even thought of my
cotume for all Hallow's Eve.
Now I am making a paper tree to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Fini
I'll make up for it next time. the post is so long you'll need to take bathroom breaks. Like that billion hour Civil War movie Gods and Generals. Except mines better b/c the beards don't suck.
Stay tooned...
Nine months in a foreign country.
Foreign smells, language, even minds.
When I lived in the US I took so much for granted.
Never again will I fail to acknowledge your gifts, oh toilet paper.
Yet nine months is not long at all.
A year ago next week I was told I would go on this adventure.
When last I posted I had not even thought of my
cotume for all Hallow's Eve.
Now I am making a paper tree to celebrate Christmas Eve.
Fini
I'll make up for it next time. the post is so long you'll need to take bathroom breaks. Like that billion hour Civil War movie Gods and Generals. Except mines better b/c the beards don't suck.
Stay tooned...
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