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?