The Last Post in Morocco

Well brave co-adventurers we have, at long last, reached the end of our long journey. For two years we have braved through extreme temperatures, new language experiences- achievements and errors, and countless other mishaps and victories. Some of you have voyaged with me from the beginning, and some of you have joined in along the way; there are many brave reader we have lost as the quest has progressed. Congratulations one and all who have clung on to my wandering and disconnected recounting. Farewell to the comrades who have peeled off, may your new adventures be full of exciting discoveries all your own. There isn’t much to share to catch you all up with my last two months. March was spent in the village warning all of my friends that my leave taking is eminent. They all insisted that I come over for tea a few more times before I leave and that they’ll miss me, but I think they’ll bounce back pretty quickly once I leave. Actually, I think my warning people of my heading out was more to convince myself that I am heading out... even now with less than five days before I head out it hasn’t really sunk in. April flew past in a flurry of Spring Camp and packing. Spring Camp is a weeklong English emersion camp (two weeks this year) that the Peace Corps organizes with the Ministry of Youth and Sports for high school students during their spring break. The camp was two weeks long this year because the spring break was extended as well. I was really glad to have the chance to do this camp; many PCVs say that it is one of the most fulfilling things they do during their entire service. I couldn’t do it last year because I had an Op Smile mission, but this year they had a scheduling conflict of some sort so I wasn’t needed for the mission in Tangier. Huzzah! I spent two weeks in the beach town of Essouara. You might remember that name from one of my summer entries; it’s the same town that hosts the Ganoua Music Festival every year. Wow, that town is so different without all the music goers, the population must increase tenfold during the festival. At first I was a bit nervous about doing camp in Essa’ because of how aggressive the people were when I had gone before, but I agreed to go because Yusuf was the camp facilitator this year. But it turned out to be a great choice, almost every day we had a beach day where we took the whole camp (87 kids and 10 teachers) to the beach to play games. Also every day the five American teachers taught English classes, I had one of the beginner levels. Not the most beginner level because that would have needed me to explain activities in Arabic... and we have covered that I do not speak Arabic, very few people under the age of 60 speak Tamazight, and even fewer under the age of 18 speak French. Therefore I took the higher beginner level and we used English and charades to get ideas across. The trouble with that specific level was that those students tended to be the class clowns and generally noisy kids; the majority were the chil’l’ns that have been in English classes for two or three years but dinked around so much that they hadn’t picked up more than a hand full of verbs and nouns and could only conjugate in the present tense. In retrospect, though, that was the perfect class for me to have had. All of the other teachers were fresh new PCVs, they wanted to have that great camp experience with attentive students to hang on their lecture and remember the lessons all the days of their lives, and who are excited to be at camp learning English and making friends. My class was there because their parents wanted them out of the house for a week or two, but they were in English classes at school so they kind of wanted to pick up some English stuff to give them an edge on their class mates. That was perfect for me because I was just killing time before I bounce; so I, too, wanted to have a ton of fun with the kid and if they picked up some new English skills, hallelujah. Which is not to say I did not take my role as teacher seriously, there was plenty of English lesson giving... there were just a lot of team building exercises (aka games) as well. I would like to pat myself on the back here and say that of the students to return for the second week my class had the highest return rate. And a few of them even improved their English so much over the first week that they moved to a higher level class the second week. But I’m not sure I can take much credit for that. I would also like to take a minute to praise my fabulous site mate Yusuf for the amazing job he did as a camp facilitator. He organized both weeks: all of the beach outings, helped all of the English classes, lead the afternoon dance club, worked the coordinate between the Moroccan and American staff, and made sure that everyone had all of the supplies they would need for their own clubs. Tabarkalaalik Yusuf, hats off to you. Oh yeah, and he did all of this while plagued by an allergy fit that was so bad he has developed asthma from it and he now has to use an inhaler for his last six months of service. Is he bad ass or what? I mentioned that Yusuf lead the dance club, I should expound. The first day of camp we give the students a simple language proficiency indicator (LPI) test to figure out which English class they belong in, and while we’re at it we ask them to pick one of the three club options: theatre, art, or dance. I- as I imagine you can guess- lead the art club. This was hugely different from the arts and crafts I’ve been doing at my Dar Chebab, these kids already had great talent, so I briefly gave a demonstration of seeing the basic triangle, rectangle, and circle shapes in everything they see, then we covered 3-D and shading and I set them loose to express themselves. I had worried that my plan might backfire with kids not knowing what to draw or being disruptive again, but this worry was groundless. It was an hour and a half of silent creativity every day. This is especially cool because a lot of the most difficult kids from camp were tossed into art at the last minute because they had been kicked out of all of the other clubs. I don’t think the other teachers were expecting me to have any better luck than the rest of the clubs; I was just the last option. The nice thing about art, though, is that it is engaging to everyone, as long as they are allowed to express themselves however they want. After forcing the delinquents to listen to my lesson I gave them paper and pencils to see what would happen, and was rewarded with a very creative graffiti style rendering of my own name. The Moroccan teachers were surprised by my success; I think the teachers need to watch Sister Act. Between the two camp weeks we had a day off so all of the teachers spent some time sitting on the beach and wandering the markets. I had been really curious about the non-festival markets, after seeing how chill the rest of the town was during the week of camp I was hopeful that the non-festival market would also be calmer as well. During Ganoua their aggressiveness is a nightmare and there is no haggling with them because of the huge tourist presence. The non-Ganoua market is an unmitigated delight. The shopkeepers are attentive but not aggressive, and I was able the haggle a silver talisman down to 150dhs from 750. I’d say that was a success. It’s brief and there are, of course, a lot of details I’m skimming over but these are the basics and the most interesting bits. I got back from camp a week ago and I’ve spent the rest of my time here saying goodbyes and packing my house. It was weird spending those last couple of days in a house with everything I owned packed into boxes. The last three days the only things I still had unpacked were the handful of dishes I would need every day; every sound echoed off of my barren walls. It’ kind of funny how something as banal as an echo can leave you feeling so lonely and finite. I write this blog with an additional tone of bittersweet farewell. This is my last entry to be posted in Morocco, I am still somewhat undecided as to whether or not I’ll be continuing this blog. After all, the title is all about my grand adventure, now this adventure is coming to an end and a new one is about to begin. The difference with the epic to begin and the one so soon to end is that I will soon have continuous Facebook access to update one and all about my every mood swing and there is always Twitter to archive my innumerable observations on humanity... a most useful program as I work my way through the culture shock I have been assured of having upon re-entry into the US. I’ll make one more post once I’m back home to let everyone know my plan, and- if I make one- my twitter handle. I would like to leave you all with one more thing; a list of thing I have learned during my service in Peace Corps Morocco. • Most of the people in the world are on auto-pilot to help numero uno, but that doesn’t mean they won’t help you, too. You just need to ask, and specify with a complete sentence. • A vaguely directed noun and un-conjugated verb constitute a complete sentence. “To go downtown. Where?” or “My bag, a lot. To Help?” • When we get stressed all humans break down, a person’s strength is measured not by the breakdown, but by how they manage in the chaos. • Eat the street food. • All English grammar lessons should end with, “Yes, but sometimes no.” • A seasonal food market is not restrictive... it encourages creativity. • Milk from a bag is much fresher than milk from a box. • Indoor climate control can- and should- blow your mind. • Deliberately seek out the bright side, all of the negatives will find you on their own. • When at a desperate loss take a deep breath and remember that, no matter what, the earth is still spinning. We are just along for the ride.

Appendix

I forgot my my most exciting bit of news. At least I think it's thrilling. My sight mate Yusuf and I have been playing Cribbage for the last couple of months (because we are that old) and I have gotten a hold of a genuine Cribbage board. Here to fore we've been making tick marks on paper. About a week ago I pulled out the board while we were at the youth center and suddenly the game became interesting to all the students around us. So I began to teach the rules of the game to my favorite wee people and it quickly came to my attention that they have absolutely no mental math skills.
I am nothing if not a teacher, so at the first sign of math struggles out comes my pen and paper. I am thrilled to inform one and all that Cribbage has become a perfect intro to math tutoring. As yet it's too soon to see if it's working, but it's a start and that is all I need, I must admit, my kingdom for an abicus.

Shall we call this the "Sahara Home Companion?"

Good heavens, I’ve blinked and yet another month has zoomed past me! Oh but what adventures I had during that blink. When last we left off it was the beginning of a new month and a new year, I signed off a tired but hopeful Erika looking at the last leg of my Peace Corps journey. Now I return to you a joyful volunteer having just received my second wind as I come into the home stretch. I am now updating you from a hotel in Rabat, the capital, preparing for a week of conferences; but these are not just any conferences, these are my COS (Close of Service) conferences! This week we’re going to go over what I need to do to prepare for my impending return home. At the end of this week I will have my exact date of COS, I’m still in a bit of shock.
At this point I would like to make a disclaimer; I normally run a spelling and grammar check over my updates before I post them. However, in celebration of two years in Morocco- exact date of anniversary is March 3rd- my computer has begun to run through a gradual systems failure: first the mouse, then the left shift button, most recently the up arrow, also my auto-correct is irrevocably set to British English and every time I correct it to our style it reverts to British... stubborn old cuss, anyway. I can’t help but feel that my computer represents a tangible model of my own psyche as we both limp our way to the goal; slowly shedding superfluous accessories. My pride was the first to go, the first time I peed on my own foot trying to figure out the squatty potty, then self-respect was dropped in favour of not catching hypothermia maintain personal hygiene the first winter, my most recent abandonment has been tolerance of lies, especially cheating me of a fair price. I have taken to giving grown men lectures on right and wrong in the middle of the street when they try to charge me double the right price.
I should amend the last statement, because it is not as true in actuality as it is in my own head. My moral of the last six month or so have ended with the statement of, “You, sir, are a bad Muslim!” Were this sentence being given from a fellow Muslim it would have very little effect on the recipient, but I was warned that for a non-Muslim to call out a Muslim on bad behaviour is a very brazen thing to do; so much so that the speaker should be prepared for a tirade in response. After a year of being taken advantage of I had decided I was prepared for a tirade because a) no matter how loudly they yell, I know that the next time they try to cheat someone they will remember my assertion, and b) I wouldn’t understand half of it anyway. Imagine my confusion and, yes I must admit, disappointment when my bold assault was accepted with grace but an offer of a better price. I guess the warnings were overstated, so I continue to use this phrase for the better part of a year now to a fairly banal response throughout the country. One day I was sitting with a friend and we were talking about foods we like to eat when he says, “I really like to eat fish.” I say,”...what do you like to eat?”
The Tamazight word for Muslim is Musliman, the word for fish is isliman... guess which word I’ve been using. For the better part of a year rather than leaving people in a moral quandary my wake has been filled with existential dilemna, “Am I bad fish? Does a fish still have to pray five times a day? Do all fish go to heaven?”
Fortunately for my dignity, learning new vocab has not been my only achievement. The middle of January marked my fourth Operation Smile mission in Azemmour, on the coast near El Jadida. That whole week was mostly just a blur of work; we worked Monday through Friday 7am to 11 pm. I would be so exhausted by the time I got home every night that I would lay down and lose all consciousness until my alarm went off at 6 the next morning. I am not complaining, this is the most rewarding job I have ever had. It was not all rough though, I had a roommate who was an Italian anaesthesiologist named Liza. She had been so worried that Morocco might not drink coffee that she had brought her own beans and espresso percolator. This she kept in the room so as soon as she got up all she had to do was hit the on switch. This was especially heart warming because she was faster to jump out of bed then I was, so every morning she would hand me a fresh cup of espresso in bed. 6 am isn’t so ugly when there’s coffee.
Operation Smile Morocco has been organizing missions for almost 30 years now and from time to time the local TV stations like to acknowledge the hard work. At this mission it was 2M, the most popular station in the country; they followed a few kids around throughout the screening and operation processes, then on the last day they gave short interviews to all of the admin people to celebrate those of us behind the scenes. Since this was the last day I was running around trying to do all of the last minute files and pictures before we had to pack everything up and head back to Casablanca. All the same, since I was the token American they felt that it was mandatory I be interviewed. OK, I gave an overview of my role in the mission and told them how much I love working with the Morocco team- not an over statement, they are awesome people. Then I was back to work and thought no more of it.
About a week and a half later my dear friend Zoe Falls made a weekend trip down from England where she’s working on a Masters up at Lancaster. That was lovely; I was able to show her Marrakesh and Fes and still had her on her flight back to school before her Monday class. I have to admit, I am going to miss the ease of travel that comes from living so close to Europe. Though I will NOT miss the complications of living here and having a bank in the US that arbitrarily blocks my card and leaves me stranded in a city not my home without a dirham to my name. Thank you mom and dad for saving my AGAIN; once more I see that no matter how old we grow parents are still vital to a functional life.
It was interesting comparing my own observations of Zoe’s visit when I’ve been here for two years to that of my parents’ visit last spring when I was only at one year. Seeing mom’s reactions was fun because it reminded me of what I had thought when I first came into Morocco. Now seeing Zoe’s reactions I couldn’t remember what was weird. From time to time I would point out things that I vaguely remember as being odd, but I can’t remember what’s odd about it because I can’t remember what we do in the US. I pointed out the spice stalls because they’re pretty... I had to think about it, but we sell spices in tin boxes, yeah? I have to be honest with you guys, Zoe’s visit was a little jarring to me; I think I might start to cry the first time I try to go shopping when I get home.
Once my bank card dilemna was settled and I was again in my safe and comfortable village I was given two shocks. First, we had a huge snow storm! Yes, I live two hours north of the Sahara desert and we got a foot of snow! The day was spent making snow men. The second shock was my friend coming up to me and saying, “Turia, I saw you on 2M!” I was baffled, then, “Oh yeah! That was with the other organization I work with Operation Smile.” “May I have a picture with you?”
For the last two weeks people have been coming up to me asking if that was me on TV and either commending my hard work, or else wanting to take a picture with me. I’m a celebrity...again, lol. Yusuf laughed at me because I tend to be pretty nonchalant about it when people ask me about it. I pointed out that as the villages token white person being a celebrity is not really that new anymore. It is amusing though, that my fifteen minutes of fame come at an hour that is so thrilling that it fame seems trivial by comparison.
Well, dear readers, the time has come again when I run out of tales with which to regale you, so I shall say ado and part on the inspirational note that my next update will include the exact date of my return to your caring embrace.
* I would like to add the footnote that I have accepted the spell-checks spelling if dilemna as "dilemma." I know I've always been taught dilemna, any thoughts?

Finally 2012, this year I come home!

Another holiday season has come and gone, le sigh. They just aren’t the same here as they are back home. I can still remember how nasty holiday shoppers are to barristas... but now that I’ve missed out on two such seasons I miss even the cranky quips and crazy drivers. I was online just before Christmas doing research and I thought it would be nice to stream Christmas music from KBCO- I may not like technology but I’ll never speak ill of it again. Before the music started to play they ran an ad for the skating rink that’s at the mall I worked in, I admit, that I got a little choked up. Yes, it snowed here last month... but there’s no way we could sustain an outdoor skating rink. Ah, but this year it’s not so hard because I know that home is just around the bend, even if I can’t really remember what home looks like.
We had quite the epic adventure in disease scares this last month. My site mate, Yusuf, had his middle of service medical exam at the end of Nov and came back with the news that he had schistosomiasis... and if he has it then I probably have it, too. This was good news for me because it meant that as the Health education volunteer I would finally have some health based work to do. So we went into a flurry of activity raising awareness about the parasite to all of the people in our community. And we came up with a plan to treat the water for the parasite and the snails that are the vector for the schisto. We began getting in contact with anyone we could think of who might be able to help us come up with designs to treat the water and figure out how much of what we would need. Honestly, I think my enthusiasm for the potential project kind of hurt Yusuf’s feelings.
Yusuf: “I have schisto and I think it’s from Aghbelu.”
Me: “Really! Yes, I get to have a health project after all!”
Yusuf: “Don’t sound so broken up about it, I’m sure I’ll live.”
Me: “It’s only damages the liver after several decades... wait, no, I’m sorry, honey, that sucks. Do you feel OK?”
Yusuf: “Best sitey ever.”*
*I have taken great artistic license with this dialogue, Yusuf is actually incredibly supportive of me as a site mate and I count myself very blessed to have someone who thinks so highly of me. Especially because in reality he’s the rock star and I just follow along in his trail pretending to do stuff.
I was just beginning to feel very overwhelmed by how much work this project would require when Yusuf received a call from our doctor in Rabat to clarify the situation. Apparently when he said, “We have the results of your test back, you have schisto.” He meant, “We have the result of your test back and you are parasite free; but don’t swim in stagnant water because the area you live in might have schisto.” Ugh! He’s a good doctor, but the language barrier can be very confusing. Alas, so ended my fabulous health project. But I can still work on finding a way to treat the grey water (water with soap and other non-human-waste-waste water) that comes from the daily uses of the spring.
In other news, I’ve made two great additions to my job description. Resume reads: arts and crafts lady, day care teacher, English tutor, and yoga instructor.
Every Friday I now teach yoga lessons to any girl who shows up (it has to be gender segregated or the girls won’t come) and then I offer English tutoring to any of the students who have the time from class.
I’ve started the exercise classes with yoga, but the girls have expressed a strong interest in Karate (I know Tai Kwan Do, but they don’t even distinguish between limes and lemons- hey, if they don’t split hairs neither will I) All the same, I’m reticent of teaching these girls to beat up other kids without fist explaining the difference between starting a fight and getting yourself out of a pickle...maybe I’ll teach them Tai Chi instead. Very useful when defending yourself from roving gangs of sloths.
I have a brief and random aside that I could not think of a way to slip in smoothly. Our dar shebab (youth center) has a blog! www.blogspot.kerrandou.com check it out!
One health project I have been able to do this month is AIDS Awareness related. December is international AIDS/ HIV (SIDA/VIH- for those who are curious about what we call it here) Awareness month, so Yusuf and I dedicated the entire week before Christmas to SIDA/VIH oriented events. I was really pushing activities instead of lessons because these kiddos start hearing about SIDA/VIH really early in their educations; the topic is pretty dead by the time their 12. This is only concerning to me because it leads to people not taking it seriously by the time they reach high school. So I’ve been thinking back to my childhood to remember how teachers and parents made learning fun for us. I’m sure you’re sniggering because most teachers don’t even try anymore, but that makes those that do stand out that much more. Here I would like to thank educators (and, of course, mom and dad) who made learning fun. And, as someone who has racked her brain trying to make AIDS entertaining, I want to say I take my hat off to you all. You amaze me!
I’ve been racking my brain for months about what we could do- Yusuf has a whole bunch of other projects going on right now, so I was trying not to lean on him for ideas. Suddenly, during the first week of Dec, the ideas all hit me at once. And I do mean “hit”, they quite literally smote me upon the mind, had I not been sitting when it happened I would have fallen flat on my tuckus.
First, getting the chil’ens involved. Kids love to get mementos, and- even better- they’ll take anything. Background: I have been given, over the last year and a half, seven or eight yards of red ribbon meant to make AIDS Awareness ribbons (you know the shape, like breast cancer ribbons, only they’re red). Those ribbons mean nothing over here, and when I see them floating around, more often than not they’re upside down. Instead, I have been encouraging participation by using the ribbons to make bracelets! This is also great because it means I’m not giving little kids pins; fun those the mental image may be. And I make the kids participate if they want a bracelet. One kid showed up just as everything was cleaned up demanding a bracelet; I told him that he hadn’t learned anything so he couldn’t have a ribbon until the next day’s project. He was the first kid at the youth center the next day. Yes I feel smug.
Really I only had two projects but since they were new ideas they were interesting enough to keep everyone’s attention for a week.
First were origami boxes with SIDA Awareness collages. Origami has become an old topic to the kid, and we’ve been making the same four things for about two months now. So the prospect of a new thing- and one so practical as a box with a lid- was a huge hit. The collage worked out well because I have a ton of SIDA/VIH oriented handouts from every health organization in Morocco. And I have those given to me by three previous volunteers: I could paper a small bedroom with all my flyers.
Second was a book... you think it lame, but wait. I wrote a very simple story with just one sentence per page about a boy who was HIV positive but gets the medicine he needs and leads a productive and normal life; then I had one of my friends translate the story into Arabic so the kids could all read it. I pulled out my art supplies and had the kids illustrate the pages; they had to draw a picture about what they read. At first it was a difficult concept: the kids would assume the boy was dying because he had SIDA so they would draw a grave and crying people. Then I would make the kids read the book to me aloud and ask if their pictures made sense. The idea of being HIV positive and still having a life with hopes and dreams was really shocking to them. This was also a great opportunity for me to clarify for them that HIV and AIDS are not the same thing.
After a choppy start the books were popular too, but the boxes remain the biggest hit.
I especially liked these two projects because they are complicated enough for all of the students to enjoy, but simple enough that my mentally handicapped students can join in too. The box folding requires me to give a lot more help to my handicapped kids, but they can manage the collage and drawing, so we all win.
The down side to working so closely with one of my favourite kids was that he had a nasty cough, and he has a very severe learning disability; so the idea of covering his mouth when he coughed just didn’t stick. I spent the entire week being coughed on by this sweet heart of a Petri dish and ended up coming down with a plague that verged on death two days before Christmas. Alas, I spent my Christmas all alone and sick.  But a bunch of people at the Christmas party I had planned on going to texted and called me to send well wishes and let me know I was missed, and my parents called me to wish me merry Christmas and then made pitying noises at my plight. So I was alone, but by no means lonely. Actually, it was a great opportunity for me to look at my life and realize that with the love and support of friends and family like mine nobody could be lonely.
I don’t care if it’s a mushy thing to do, it’s the holidays and that’s the time to be mushy. I want to thank you all for making my life so very, very rich. I’d be lost without you guys.