Happy New Year; photos

Bought this baby in Marrakesh! Its got the waffle maker part, but you press a button, take that out and you get these other two sets of trays that you can use. So there's a george forman grill part, or you take those two out and put in the two trays for the sandwich griller-cutter (panini machine). So with this I could do all three meals of the day if I needed to! It's something that Im not planning on leaving behind when I am done with Morocco.

Its a nice looking piece of equipment.

Silent Night on the Oud

Merry Christmas from Morocco

Pics of me in my town

I just threw a football to some young guys and a five year old playing with me

Its a gorgeous place, home to more casbahs than all of Morocco

A nice email from our PC Training Staff

This is the only bit that Im legally allowed to share without being deported to a secret base in Antarctica, but its nice.

It’s already a month since you have sworn-in as PC volunteers in Morocco. We are definitely sure you have been experiencing a world of things with your host families, at the Dar Chebab, with the local community as well as on your own. For some of you it might be the first time experiencing Thanksgiving away from the family and beloved ones. It might be the first time for some, if not all, of you experiencing Eid K’bir in a Muslim society and with a host family. We are sorry for the vegetarians who had only meat as their primary meal…sorry for those who decided to become vegetarians after seeing their friends being slaughtered…sorry for those who enjoyed l’Eid to its fullest but had terrible diarrheas… We are happy and Lucky to have you experience these, and other, special occasions at this early stage as part of your cross-cultural training.
-Training staff

Heres a thought I had today as I walked to the Cyber. Peace Corps is all about down time, whether it wants to or not. And thats fine, as long as its not all down time. But just last night, I read Henry VI Part 2. Great fast read! Then I immediately started the next volume in the War of Rose Shakespeare octet of plays.

But the thought I had today was this : would I necessarily have read this now if I wasnt procrastinating a giant list of stuff to do? A.k.a, if I wasnt in Peace Corps now, would I be close to finished with reading Shaksepeare's complete? And its not that I dont love those plays or I dont read them at home. But why last night? And part of the reason was that theres a whole language here that I need to learn, an entire community to get to know, 6 or 8 classes each week to plan starting tomorrow ( beginners english 1 and 2, intermediate eng 3 and 4, begin Spanish 5 and 6, and advanced conversation 7) . So with all this pressure I find myself escaping into things I might not necessarily have been attracted to as at home. Just like in Bolivia there are books that were handed to me to read that I wouldnt necessarily have touched, or skills that I desired to learn to help pass the time. Crotcheting. Ventriloquism, juggling. I imagine this is the sort of spontaneous enthusiasm that you might find in prison that you wouldnt see outside of such a setting. Sort of like Clint Eastwood learning to play the accordion, which handily also conceals his get-away route.

So far Ive got 17 books, guides and novellas that Ive read since Ive been here, and am in the middle of another 5 or 6.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8398565.stm

Story from Wes about movie making in nearby Ourzazate! A video clip

Been in Morocco for 74 days already

I expected to add it up and have it be 100+, but this is still a whole lot.

So, update on the past week. I felt like I was gone a whole lot, and I was. One day I took a personal day in the middle of the week to visit the tail end of a birthday party. So going there I was able to see the other people in my region that I didn't meet when I went to Rabat for the memorial. And then next thing you know, within ten minutes of showing up there, I was volunteering to organize the Zagora spring camp in April. The girl whose birthday we were celebrating had done this the last year, and it was stressful but manageable, so long as I don't sign up to lead any of the clubs or activities at the camp. So this I guess is my birthday present to her! But before I signed on, I needed assurance of one thing:

“This won't prevent me from traveling to France in February after Post-PST?”

“No... are you doing it illegally?”

“Nope, that's the first dates that we are allowed to travel outside of Morocco.”

So, no problem then.

I stayed overnight in Tinzo again after going to Zagora. The Peace Corps Washington people were here collecting info and connecting dots about the person who had died. Can't talk about the specifics, but my recommendation was to decentralize the medical staff, and have optional 'health weekends' in each region once a month. I think this would do good because each time we went to our hub city during training, there would be a long list of people who signed up to talk to the doctor about things that they would likely not have gone 12 hours from their final site to Rabat to get looked at.

But going there, one of the PC Washington people, the lead man, & friends with the PC director is a guy named Stacy, who was a PC Bolivia volunteer in '69-71. He said "We're the ones they were trying to depict falsely in that movie that got us kicked out."

Today I spoke to my friend, a man nearly 40 years old who spent 5 years in Spain. We hit it off speaking Spanish my first days here, and now he told me that he is going again ' manana a la manana'. So we sat today at a cafe and spoke for a while, and I showed him my book in Portuguese so he could see if he understood anything. And yes, he was able to get the idea. Anything too hard I'd repeat in Spanish out loud, and I could see the lights in his eyes flickering with understanding and happiness. I know the feeling, the same thing happened to me.

So now it's Monday night, and I'm starting my classes on Thursday. I'm trying to prepare as much as possible before then, luckily there's a lot of resources. I've gone to my Youth center each morning for 2 hours. It needs to be cleaned badly. I'll continue to do that, since I can concentrate much more easily there on my work than when I'm at my host family's house. And it gives me some visibility since people are always coming and going. Noone stopped by yesterday but today five more people came and wrote their names on the sign-up sheet. The first one came by himself and each sentence he spoke to me was in 1)english, then a sentence in 2) Spanish, then 3) French and 4) tashlheet. So I was blown away by his enthusiasm and ability! He wasn't great at all of them, but he told me how he doesn't do great in class but is much better when he studies by himself in his room with books (the same as with me).

So sitting in the youth center after that, I felt so great because my mind was bursting with possibilities. And as long as I remain as enthusiastic as they are, then everything will turn out fine. Then lunch at home, a 1 hour 15 minute run into the sunset after a siesta... now the cyber! So today I'm happy.

The same man that is going back to live in Spain to work, I told him how I ran the Marathon des Sables the first time I went to Morocco. Turns out, he knows Lachen and Mohammed Ahansal, the 14+ x champions! They went to elementary school together and stayed close until recently. It was fun to hear about that.

Im uploading a video on YouTube and a few photos of my new town, if possible. Theres been a lot since my last post; I will try my best.

Its nearly 6 PM and when these finish I will go watch the football game, Real Madrid vs Barcelona. You can feel more anticipation for that than for Eid Kbir which we celebrated yesterday.

I got here 2 weeks ago, and there was a wedding the first night. It was maybe 300 or 400 people in the same space for three straight days while this happened. The only thing bigger so far was Eid, where the entire town left their homes to pray, go to the mosque, and then go home to kill and start barbecuing their sheep. I was worried about this, never seen an animal killed. And Im vegetarian. But it was a boon in disguise. Putting on the white clothes of a Muslim man, I walked to the side of the Genderame's office. Me and the other foreigner in my town, a German man building a hotel here, went to there. Then when the time came to kill the sheep, I was invited only after it had already begun. So I was able to make an appearance and I saw an animal already covered in red being ¨gibleted¨. But almost as soon as I walked into the courtyard where they did this, my host aunt invited me for tea and a creamy corn thing that tastes like hominy in a corn paste. So this day I dreaded, the biggest day of the year except the end of Ramanadan--which I witnessed, too-- turned into me sitting in my white robes watching WHEN HARRY MET SALLY. And I was happy to see the famous Meg Ryan moaning scene; but the censors took that part out just a minute after it began. But it was a glorious minute. Then they excised the first kiss between the two that happens not much longer after, at their New Year party. But I was so happy because suddenly it was Christmas in New York, snow on the ground, people talking in English. Briefly I was able to catch the Holiday spirit and to think that these Moroccan people must be feeling much the same. You cant imagine how transported I was in those moments.

The second worry was that for the next 2 weeks, these people will only eat the sheep, every meal until its gone, no vegetables. But this turned out to be a secret boon to me. Since the German man and I are both vegetarian, we get special consideration. Before the veggies were all cooked in the same pot as the big piece of meat. Not now. The meat is roasted, and the veggies prepared seperately in their own dish. Yay! so the veggies now actually taste even better and I can eat the entire dish to myself. When i happily realized this I was in a daze. § ° )

Beyond this, I went to the memorial service. After a 13 hour ride to Rabat, I found the hotel full of PCV's. It wasnt long till I discovered that they were not there for the service, but they were 2nd years doing their 72 hour checkout. The end for them would be the day before the memorial. So I met some of them, a few which still have 6 months left and came to usher off the rest. They showed me where the

Ive said before that PC is a giant revolving belt and youre lucky if you get to bump into people further along than you before they are gone for good. In this instant, it was even more lucky than I could imagine. I was able to accompany them to the American Club in Rabat and spent 3 hours or so with them, listening to their stories while they enjoyed hamburgers and beer. Now these people are spread over every continent and in many countries. I was especially interested to meet Edan (possibly Edam) , who had the same host family as me during training... two years ago exactly. This is the person I had heard so much about! My room in training still had a sign on the door: Edan's room.
Then the next day I saw David Lillie give them their last talk as PCVs during the swear-out ceremony. This is the only thing that I didnt get to do in Peru when we were evacuated. I know nearly everything else in PC that there is to have done. But thats an elusive thing to achieve, dependend on a million things going right; many of which are out of our control. A point in fact is that once in Rabat, I saw my friend headed home, in the process of Early Terminating. She was not happy about it.

So one group of people were swearing-out, another group was mourning the loss of their friend (the girl that died was Korean-American, but a good friend of hers was a Korean volunteer. I met her at the service and she told me how she is in Korea's Peace Corps, which is based exactly on the American version. Most impressively, she said how Korea is the first country to have had Peace Corps volunteers and now is sending its own volunteers out into the world... pretty awesome and major success for that country). Still a third group, just one person, was there to go back to home for good. And I also met a Moroccan girl who is an intern at PC headquarters in Rabat. So its strange the reach of what we do, how many different individuals it touches. The worst thing was the idea that the people that knew her best, that spent more time with the girl before she died--the people in her town-- could not be there at the memorial to share their stories with us.

Since I had not known the girl, I went with the intention of meeting her through the stories of the people that were there.

But that will be another post.
The game has started so I will go now. The video didnt upload, the pictures didnt upload, and it says it will take 7 hours to download the latest Radiolab podcast. but at least I wrote!
* other stuff from the trip: met people from my region, we went to see the Michael Jackson concert movie at the Royal Cinema along with a few others, had a turkey kefta thanksgiving, complete with cranberry salad, green bean casserole, stuffing, and both sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes, plus sangria for the alcohol drinkers, then picked up my luggage from
I even found the Cervantes institute, which will be able to supply me with books each time I go to Rabat ... so long as I read them quickly and mail them back. Shouldnt be a problem. ; )

better to go here http://atwar.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/11/27/celebrating-id-al-adha/

http://atwar.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/11/27/celebrating-id-al-adha/

— Updated: 11:42 am -->
Celebrating Id al-Adha
By JOAO SILVA AND MOISES SAMAN
Joao Silva for The New York Times Iraqis shop at a market in Baghdad on the eve of Id. Iraqis buy mostly sweets, clothing and toys for the holiday.
This holiday weekend Afghans and Iraqis — like millions of Muslims around the world — will be celebrating Id al-Adha.
The festival marks the end of the hajj, when pilgrims descend on Mecca in Saudi Arabia. Also known as the Feast of the Sacrifice, it is when Muslims celebrate the willingness of the prophet Ibrahim to sacrifice his son Ishmael when ordered to do so by God.
Moises Saman for The New York Times A boy selling sheep near Kabul stadium waits for customers in preparation for the Id holiday, which marks the end of the hajj.
In Baghdad ceremonial butchers travel for miles to slaughter sheep, lambs and cows for customers who wait patiently in line at impromptu slaughterhouses set up in fields, parking lots and roadside stalls around the country to watch their chosen animal being killed in ritual Islamic fashion.
Likewise, in Afghanistan families buy the sheep alive and then have it butchered ceremonially. The price of a sheep ranges from $60 to $300, depending on its build.
Here photographers Joao Silva in Iraq and Moises Saman in Afghanistan take a break from the conflicts in both countries to photograph scenes of ordinary life in two capitals that have witnessed so much death, misery and sacrifice in recent years.
Joao Silva for The New York Times
Like Thanksgiving, Id is celebrated around the dinner table (or floor), and food takes center stage. Although turkeys can be found in Afghanistan, the meat of choice for Id is sheep. In Iraq shopping for holidays has become a dangerous pastime in recent years, as bombers have attacked market crowds.
Joao Silva for The New York Times
Nevertheless, every year Iraqis brave the danger to shop for hours in the days leading to the holiday. This year was no different, with parents venturing out with tired children on pre-Id shopping in Baghdad.
Joao Silva for The New York Times
Much of the shopping is also for toys and gifts. Some of these trinkets bring a distinctly Western flavor to the city center souks.
Joao Silva for The New York Times
Joao Silva for The New York Times

Just checking in to say im O.K. and photos from lately

This is Youth Development waiting to happen
Towards Mehdia, where we stayed for a couple of weeks, some at the beginning and some at the end of training " We make our beaches smile!"

Jack talking with Andrew... sharing experience. Jack did Peace Corps in Turkey ' 65 and now again in Morocco.

Host brother Hassan in Sefrou

Going between Marrakesh and Ourzazate. I did the entire trip, Rabat to Kob in 13 hours yesterday... but its a lot more fun if you split it up in 2 days, and go to eat at the Cafe Earth vegetarian/ vegan a couple of times before resuming the trek.

Mehdia, where we lived or a couple of weeks, being processed & adapting to the culture
A cactus farm on the way to my town... start of the Sahara desert!
A picture from the back window on the bus, Marrakesh. The cities are so developed, they are amazing and great.
Pic from Marrakesh. Several of us stayed there on the way to our sites for the first time.

In Rabat now, at the Peace Corps lounge hanging out with the C.O.S. group. They will be RPCV's in 2 hours, I heard one of them say. I already am, but it will be a whilebefore I am again. I saw the medical doctor, and we spoke at length, making sure that Im healthy, that my language is working at my site (i said : some know French, some know Arabic, some know Spanish, some English... each person I see I have to speak something different to them. The problem is that the langauge everyone speaks, Tashlehight, they all know and I don't).

I dont want to take the computer up all day... the only thing to add is that I now weight 183 pounds. I used the medical scales at the medical office below the PCV lounge, so this means Ihave lost 17 pounds at least, and maybe 22. Ten weeks, one-and-a-half or two pounds a week!

But I feel about 95% healthy, the only trouble is that I bit my cheek badly and its very tender.

Ill be going to Rabat this weekend for the memorial of Sou-Youn Kim. But I wanted to put my first email with WWS here on the site.

Sorry, I am at a Cyber cafe and the message sent immediately without my being able to type anything.

Hello! I live in the Sahara desert in Morocco, in the Zagora region. It is my first week here as a Peace Corps volunteer after 9 weeks of training in the North of Morocco, which is very European and green. In contrast, my town is almost exactly the opposite. Beyond the door there are sand dunes, mountains, dried river ouds and the oases of the Draa river that host different towns. My town is Kob (not the real name) and it is on one of these oases.

Im 24 years old, I come from Tennessee and I studied at the University of Memphis. This is my second time to serve in Peace Corps, because I was a volunteer for all of 2008 in Peace Corps Bolivia, but we were evacuated after being in country for 8 months. I went home for a year to be with my family, helping to watch over my 1 year old niece and my grandmother who is bed bound after having a stroke 4 years ago.

It was hard to leave Bolivia, but Im glad to have the opportunity to come to serve in Morocco. I see you are from Louisville. My good friend from Peace Corps Bolivia came from there, AndrewPorter. After evacation, he went on to serve in PC Paraguay and is nearly finished there.

I do not know anything of what ages you teach, or what school subjects you do. At college I studied Spanish, French and Portuguese, with a minor in Music. Since leaving there, Ive lived in countries for different periods of time that speak all of those languages. But as a PCV it is possible to become much closer to the people in those places because they do such a good job preparing their volunteers to integrate into the community. And working in a place for 2 years, you have the opportunity to really feel at home and to make an impact. Hopefully I can find something sustainable, since as a Youth Development volunteer I can directly share life skills that will remain in Kob long after Im gone.

I look forward to starting a dialogue with your classroom. I have the advantage of going through this process for the 2nd time as a PC volunteer, so I will be able to reflect not just on the differences between here and there but also to share what I have experienced while in countries like Bolivia, Brazil and Colombia. The first time in PC Bolivia I was an agriculture volunteer, working with a beekeeping association and a school garden program at an exchange school in Candelaria, Bolivia; I lived at 10,000 feet above sea level. Now Im adjusting to my new community and Im looking forward to competing in the 2011 Marathon Des Sables, a race near here which I completed in 2005. It was my first trip abroad then, and it was a 155 mile ultramarathon race through the Sahara desert. Maybe as I prepare for this race again, it can serve as a springboard to talk with your class about the best ways to set goals, how to make long term plans and how to properly evaluate what is success and what is not in more positive terms.

Some day we can maybe set up a Skype call, or something along these lines? I will try to put a Postcard in the mail by the end of the week, I think PC sent me your mailing address already.


Tala frask - ¨Take care of your head¨. Bslama, bye bye.
Ben Pennington

Peace Corps Mourns the Loss of Volunteer So-Youn Kim

Peace Corps Mourns the Loss of Volunteer So-Youn Kim

Peace Corps Director Aaron S. Williams is saddened to announce the death of Peace Corps/Morocco volunteer So-Youn Kim. Ms. Kim passed away on November 16 in Marrakech unexpectedly after an illness. The exact cause of death remains unknown.

“So-Youn was an exemplary volunteer, passionate about public service and creating programs that benefited communities from the Bay Area to Morocco,” said Director Williams. “She was a tireless advocate, a remarkable writer, a voracious reader and talented in many languages. My thoughts are with her friends and family who join me in mourning a respected member of the Peace Corps family.”

Ms. Kim of San Francisco was 23 years old. She graduated from Stanford University in 2007 and began her Peace Corps service in September 2008. Ms. Kim served as a youth development volunteer in Tamagourte, a small village within the Errachidia province in the Meknès-Tafilalet region of Morocco. Ms. Kim’s primary assignment was serving in a youth center where she was involved in a wide range of activities in her dual role as English teacher and youth development worker.

In addition to her primary assignment, Ms. Kim sought out additional activities focused on helping the pottery cooperative in Tamagourte and developing an apprenticeship program. She loved to teach children, support the cooperative and respect the historic craft that is so firmly rooted in that region of Morocco.


http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.media.press.view&news_id=1507

In September of 2008, Ms. Kim submitted a thoughtful and hopeful Peace Corps aspiration statement. She described her outlook on her service project, and wrote, “Youth development work is effective when young people are taught to become educated, empowered, and responsible members of their communities while being given space to explore and share the challenges of their own individual identities.” This is an ethos and passion Ms. Kim brought with her to Morocco.

The Peace Corps community will hold a memorial service for Ms. Kim on Saturday, November 21 in Morocco.

ABOUT PEACE CORPS/MOROCCO

Since 1963, over 4,315 Peace Corps volunteers have served in Morocco. Peace Corps/Morocco Volunteers are assigned to projects in four primary areas: youth development, health, environment, and small business development. Currently, 254 Peace Corps Volunteers are serving in Morocco.


Contact
Press Office
Phone
202.692.2230
Fax
202.692.1379
Email
pressoffice@
peacecorps.gov
WASHINGTON, D.C., November 17, 2009

First blog from Corn on the Kob!

First blog from Corn on the Kob!

It was a great thing to be on the train for the first time with a Morocco Lonely planet travel guide, and I open it up to my town... theres only a paragraph, but it says about Kob : The greatest secret in all of Morocco is this nice exuberant town... thats a lot better than Wes's town whose first sentence says : There's no reason to stop in this dusty old mining town. Haha, but then again there's a difference between stopping in a place while on a strict time limit and getting to know a town like we do in PC...

As it is, I'm lying on the floor on a few thin pallets that were made into a bed for me in my room, one of two that belong to me for the next 6 weeks while I acclimatize to my new town and before I find my own place to stay here. The house is interesting, very large, very spacious, full of rooms, some of them for tourists that my host dad plans to bring here in the future. There's a roof and within 10 meters of leaving the door, the town plunges downward to the Draa river and the heart of the palm oasis that cuts through the valley. So I step out the door and to my right is the rest of the town up on the plateau and then to my right is the tops of the palm trees, thick and full and gorgeous.

My room is apart from the rest of the house in a sort of tower of rooms. That's because the two different courtyards separate the rooms into different sections of house that aren't connected above the first floor.

Some random thoughts from today:
“I'm so glad I have a cell phone with a flashlight on the end of it!"
“Five dirhams for kow-kow (peanuts) goes a lot farther here than in Sefrou!” The bag was a lot heavier than anyone that's been given to me before.
“This is like living more in Tarabuco than in Candelaria, but with less tourists so everyone remains nice.” In other words, there is a lot of traffic since this is the souk town, people come here from all over each Sunday to get there groceries and practical things. But they are all locals instead of foreign people with their guide books that don't understand the culture. So it's commerce without clash.
I felt confident and happy yesterday with my level of Darija and that I was able to talk to my host dad so well. But I've since found that my host dad is an exception. Everyone else is just Tash exclusively. At least I will be spending my time at schools, the kids all know French and some Darija. The others is a different story, but at least my job doesn't depend as much on communicating with them on a regular basis, at least in the beginning.

This morning was a wedding and before that the souk, so I feel that of the 4000 people that live here, today I saw maybe 25% of them and another 500 that don't live here. And it seemed that my host dad knew nearly all of them. He's a very charismatic and fun man to know, which I saw on display today watching him play with fireworks in front of the wedding car ('il faut rigoler quelque fois chaque mois') and when I first spoke to him on the telephone and in the street when he embraced me without having the time to comprehend who he was. “ Benji!” KISS KISS, KISS KISS, KISS KISS. His head moved from cheek to cheek in a blur so I couldn't see who exactly he was.

The energy level yesterday and today was intense, and now I feel guilty for staying here while there is an all-night party waiting for me.

Things seem to be fine on the work front. There's no english teacher at all, so I have the opportunity to do some of that—maybe train an english teacher group?--and that means I don't have anyone angry at them for doing their job for free. That happened to Clark and it's not the kind of friction that you want when you're first starting out (the teacher at Clark's first town spread rumors he was a spy because of this).

I was with a friend in Rabat and I pointed out a very broad man who had a great hat and a beautiful white beard, very lush gorgeous black skin. “I love the diversity here in these big cities.” There were people from all over West Africa and Europe, and the Arab world. And it's true. But just being in my town, it's a smorgasbord of human genetic diversity. This is where the nomads came through after traveling thousands of miles in the Sahara desert. There's Berbers, Arabs, and the Romans. Romans are those that have red hair and freckles superimposed on African features. And there's even people from Tennessee (me!). Today I told how my state makes all of the country music, 'for the cowboys'.

And apparently cowboy means 'pistol' so I said that and the 5-year old girl Rislan held up her hands and made shooting noises. Then I said that cowboys were the ones on the horses (chevals) with lassos... 'Ah! Comme les indiens”. Like the Indians. Yes. And that to me is a funny thing, how that before there was a lot of regional TV, the spaghetti western TV shows from America in the 60s were imported all over the world, so talking to anyone 40 or 50 years and older, and they know those shows ! Even in Bolivia this was true. They might only know how to speak Quechua, but they can sing the Moricone songs as much as anyone else. In Sefrou I said this and my host dad there sang the tune from any Clint Eastwood movie that I could name.

-The road that I traveled on yesterday had post-markings to the nearest big regional cities. I was glad to see that it said Rachidia, 300 km or 180 miles from here. That means my friends are even less than that—maybe. There is supposed to be a good music store there, so I hope to travel there before too long, maybe come back with a guitar. This morning I gave my host brother a lesson on playing the oud, he seemed to like it. But I wonder what I can do to include my host sister, that is about the same age.

As far as going to nearby places, I'll be traveling soon to Zagora, next weekend maybe, in order to pick up my two baggages that were shipped there and to get to know it.

OK, since I should move to the party now, I will copy some of my gratitude journal to this and pick a few pictures. This is the past 4 days or so.

11-11-09
last day as PCT's, tomorrow swearing in!
-spoke to my mom today on the phone, to catch up and fill her in. Bad reception though, so I will try again soon.

-sang in the talent show! Yorda was the M.C. Sam and I played simple gifts, then he did a version of eye of the tiger singing by himself, with words about morocco-hilarious- and then later we did a moroccan song. I forgot to explain to everyone that I sang Simple Gifts because it was something that we did at Swearing-In in Bolivia.... and that's why I sang it with my alpaca wool hat on my head and my Brazil belt on... symbolism. But I was trying not to forget the words, so I forgot to give any kind of background about that. But there were some other great things. Juan did karaoke to heard it through the grapevine, pete jason and danielle did a dance version without singing to THRILLER,

-the most fun part was at the end of the song with the LCF's, mbarak jumped up and danced back and forth, jumping like a rock star.... as did I. So we were rocking out on our Ouds while the 8 language teachers sang behind us. It was AWESOME, the kind of stuff you hope to be able to do when coming here.

-rachid made some great and funny videos from footage and photos that he collected. It was nice to see everything in that way and share those moments, some funny some cool, beautiful and amazing. I just wish SBD had the same thing! Even after the few days here, they still remain a mystery to me, how their CBT homestay experience was.
-azalia said she hadn't laughed that hard in a long time to me. I think we all felt the same way<

-sat with sam and fauve watching some of HE GOT GAME before the big show began, walked in to see Rachid getting ready with Yorda, who was reading a storym the conference room rearranged into a circular area as a stage, surrounded by a ring of candles sitting on the floor (during the show some people jumped up in fright as they remembered that they could go up in flames if they got too close). He told me Mbarak wanted us to practice upstairs on the terrace. So it was cool to see them arguing and giving orders to each other in the cold night on the roof in Darija, slightly nervous and unsure of their upcoming spot in the show.
-today David Lillie spoke to the whole group and it was a nice good pep talk
-funny to hear Ewald and jack joking earlier about what kind of vehicles they could use besides driving cars... hot air balloon (my idea, not motorized), gyroscope, sailing boat. Were they off limits as well?

-nice to have good memories re-enter my mind from last swearing-in, stuff I hadn't thought about in a while as I go through swearing-in again!
-glad to know that the Dr. told me that there is a direct way from my town to rachidia, I dont have to go all the way to ourzazate first
-got two nice emails from serena
-decided to go through ourzazate, spend the night there then go on the next day to corn on the kob! With william and cara, too!

-ate a lot of yummy olives... 15 of them? 20? good sandwich with cabbage reminded me so much of cole slaw sandwiches from back home.


11-14-09
saturday, first afternoon and night in Corn on the kob!
But first, marrakesh


-thursday, rabat: swearing-in, met the ambassador, he told how he met Ambassador Holbrooke, who helped the otehrs go through Ambassador training, and that 'he told us a lot of great stories about Bolivia'. I felt proud when he spoke to us during the ceremony and he referenced Obama's 'greatest memories coming from his time as a community organizer', which is what we are doing here. He also said : “I've been in a privileged position in the 6 weeks I've been here, but there's nothing except being in the presence of his Majesty the King that makes me so proud as to be here before you.” He's not the only one that Obama sent to Morocco. I've done PC twice because of Morocco, and I feel that his receipt of the Nobel Prize last month makes sense for those of us American Ex-Pat's and PCV's that are working in the Muslim world now. The one time that PC Morocco was shut down was when the Iraq war started, after all. Now things are far better.

-glad to see fatima one last time, my language teacher, but sad to say goodbye that night. I sent her several messages from the train and things, thanking her and promising to visit tinjdad!
-nice lunch on the PC property under tents


-cara won the contest for : think of an alternate use for hammam soap, 'I'd use it instead of toilet paper'. And she shared her earnings with me, a bag of snicker's bars!

-thursday night, went to the art gallery, met very charismatic 'hasher runners' that are rich and educated and beautiful— total 'BoBos', my kind of people... ?. The art was great, I got 2 pamphlets to cut out the paintings and hang them on my wall, one for me and one for other vols I know. Met the artist, too, a Moroccan man from Azila, in the North.

-came home to discover beautiful pictures of mae were published on a blog, so I downloaded them and have been showing off my niece! GORGEOUS ONES. I need to write them a letter and send mae a post card from here.

-Kob seems to have a lot of amenities, as did ourzazate. Maybe in a week I can go to zagora.
-good breakfast, sat with rachid, a little bit with juan, learned rachid will be in spain for 10 days, everything was precious and the emotions sincere. Walked up to an italian man, asking him about if he was a karate coach and if he knew Signore Gallucci, national champion 'fa molti anni'. He said no, he was from naples but that his son was world champion for his age group. I told him “Buona fortuna” but he quickly clasped my forearm, drew me close, wagged his finger and said “In boca al luppo”. Oh yes.... you're supposed to say that, it's the Italian equivalent of 'break a leg', or of not saying 'Macbeth' and instead saying 'the Scottish play'.

Then on the train to marrakesh, had a good time with anna and will on the train, hanging with cristopher and joli while they waited by the door for their stop, got pictures of that. Sat that morning with sam and yorda and got pics of them getting on the train, I had leftover penne all'arabiata that I saved from the Goethe Institute and it was extremely goood.

-marrakesh, ate with seth, penny, anna and will at the Cafe Earth, a vegan and vegetarian restaurant run solely by a young moroccan girl. Ate a delicious veggie burger—more like a glorified potato cake, no bun, full of green beans, nuts, veggies and good stuff, plus soy sauce sprinkled around the rim of the plate. Plus some apple/orange juice mix, and I tried the other things, salad with goat cheese, god I miss it already.

-sat with Penny atop the balcony for an hour or more, provoking her to talk about her experiences, thoughts about joining peace corps, ambitions for it and what she thinks she would like to do here. That is an essential thing to do, to constantly reevaluate what we are doing here and why.

-woke up, met wes, went to buy tickets with him at 7 AM. Got spots on the bus, then shared breakfast with Will, delicious bread and olive oil, butter and molasses. Discoursed on the nature of the croissant as well.

-GOOD BREAD in a little town between Mrkesh and Ourzazate. It was hobz style bread but with yeast, 1.50 D's, and worth 10x that. Would be good for an impromptu pizza.

-met a frail old berber lady with tattoos on her face who surprised me when she spoke very good french! I held her inside arm while she slid into the front seat, but she seemed lively, just frail.

-glad to be in the sahara again! After getting off the taxi, I sat around for 45 minutes until a bus came through towards Kob. And there was a young black african boy staring at me for 20 minutes of the ride, and I met a friend, the first guy I met from Kob, Jamal. He asked what I was going to do, who I knew, and when I got off the bus later, he helped call Zaid. Not even there and I have a friend to help me.

-so, the family! Zaid, Aicha, Mohammed, Ilheim, Rrislam, and Yassine (2months old! I;ve been in Morocco since before he was even born!) after meeting them, talking in french, tash, arabic, english, we watched cartoons and part of the brasil – england game. Then part of the egypt-algeria game.

Before too long, I got a tour of the BIG house, put my things in my room, unsorted it all, sat with Zaid on the roof, learning how he was in the military for 11 years, but that 'he won his liberty and left it, won the treasure of being here with his family instead of away for 5 months at a time.'

-father discoursed some on tash vs. tam, and so many things. Very interesting and lively conversation for an hour while the stars gradually came out in abundance—the sky here is exactly as good as it was in candelaria! Shocking in fact. I'd say it;'s like being in Candelaria again, but with camels. Especialy driving through the valley here, it mimicked the process of driving through the valley in the last 20 kms before getting into Candelaria.

-told Penny how it may seem frustrating that we don't have a giant packet of info, and we don't have a volunteer that we are replacing who can tell us in a day more than it will take us 3 months to find on our own. But I said that: 'when you consider that each site had a person at the beginning who was the one that spent 3 months finding out the things that are later passed on to each successive volunteer, being able to look like that at the long-term process of site development and your place in that, then you can see that we have the opportunity of being that person who prepares the way for the rest later. And that seems like a wild, great adventure!

-im not ben anymore—sometimes Benji-- but my arabic name Nabil, berber name ADI! Several times I forgot it and I sat there thinking, what is Adi? Then they say : unta adi! Then I smile and yell, OH! ANA ADI. I am Adi now! Another time this happened, each person at the dinner table (seated on the floor), said their name and last name. Zaid Daoudi, Ilheim Dauodi, Aicha Daoudi, etc. When it came to my turn, I said : Adi Daoudi. As if I was one of of the Daoudi family now... It was the first time I got a big laugh from everyone, so it helped lighten the mood and to humanize me some on my first day there.

-mohammed seems like any enthusiastic, young person that gets so excited when the conversation goes to HIS topics of choice, and his eyes light up and he is a little bit of a nerd. Just like me way back then. Eager to use that specialized vocabular for the things that he likes. Im glad that this is a family that I will grow with during my time here. And they seem to really like each other, a lot of affection.

-nice to hear Mhmed say 'bon nuit' to me while I walked up the stairs, loud enough for me to hear even though I was just beyond the door.

tomorrow, souk day! I bet it will be crazy

Clinton lauds the oldest Peace Corps volunteer, aged 85 (serving near Azilal Morocco)

(CNN) -- U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton Tuesday praised as "one of the best" the oldest Peace Corps volunteer in the world, an 85-year old Florida woman serving in Morocco.
from here: http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/africa/11/03/morocco.us.peace.corp.senior/index.html?eref=rss_latest

Clinton recognized Muriel Johnston during a meet-and-greet session of U.S. Embassy officials and other Americans in Marrakech, Morocco. Clinton was representing the U.S. at an international conference in Morocco, during a trip that stretched from Pakistan to the Middle East.

"I have to recognize -- I just learned about this last night -- Muriel Johnston. Muriel? Stand up, Muriel," Clinton said to applause and cheers from Johnston's fellow Peace Corps workers and other Americans.

"My young staff said, 'Oh my goodness, Muriel Johnston, she's the oldest Peace Corps volunteer in the world.' I said, 'That's not the way we think about it.' No, Muriel and I might say she is one of the best Peace Corps volunteers in the world," Clinton said to more applause, emphasizing "best."

"And it's also a great reminder that in America in the 21st century, there are not only second acts, there's third acts and fourth acts and fifth acts and -- if you're ready to embrace new challenges," Clinton said.

Later, Clinton shook hands with Johnston and asked if she was enjoying herself.

"I'm having a wonderful time, " Johnston told the secretary.

Johnston is serving as a health worker in the Moroccan province of Azilal. She hails from New York but has lived in Sebastian, Florida, since 1992. Peace Corps headquarters in Washington confirmed that she is the oldest Peace Corps volunteer currently serving.

She is one of more than 7,600 Peace Corps volunteers at work in 75 countries.

First view of my town

A couple of weeks late, but no problem...

OCTOBER 13, forty-nine years ago candidate JFK gave this speech, and the students there held him to his word. A few months later the first PCVs were sent to the first PC country.

Worth seeing, doesnt seem to work to imbed the file

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaDphm_ATP0

Placido Domingo singing Porquoi me révieller in 1982

Met the woman who teaches these students

And she danced like this while the 5 language teachers, me and Sam sat around playing the oud! Mbarak played the songs, the 2 women sang, Sam and I tried

to keep up by clapping, singing nonsense syllables, and me mimicking the bass line. But then this woman came and immediately started dancing,

turns out she lives in Cadiz, is from Morocco, and they are touring here.

I showed her some clips on my computer from the Baile Tipico Boliviano, and then she showed this video on her blog here:

http://naimabakkali.wordpress.com/

So this is a typical night in Peace Corps... you can't help but start singing, dancing, who-knows-what.

Everything that I a; allowed to say about my site

Im going to live in the Sahara. WOO hooooOOOOO

So, according to Fatima, my site is 100% black people, and has very unique desert culture. Mbarek says it is on a river and the town is one of the many oases along the way, out into the desert. Volunteers are up and down from me on the river. The desert marathon in Zagora, put on by the Ahansal brothers, is very close in case I feel like doing that each New Year's Eve. The name rhymes with Corn N' the Cob. 160 kms from both Ourzazate and Zagora, both of which have airports. Ourzazate is an international airport too, for those coming to see me!

My good friends are between my town and Racheedia, where there are several Saffron people. Plus

There's a souk on Sunday, five internet cafes, two telephone companies, cell phone coverage... though Im planning to get satelite internet very soon so Ill have internet from my netbook nearly everywhere. Im kind of in a place that is equally distant from all major cities.

Ill be staying at a host family who have a one year old baby named Yassine.

I dont know, very exciting day! More to come soon, plus a map

Sitting at the cyber chewing on some great kow kow

The past two days have been very nice. After crawling home to retreat from the world yesterday after class, I was able to focus on non-Morocco things.... reading some more in L'ile au trésor, and some Murakami in Spanish. Then I watched I LOVE YOU MAN. I liked it fine, ncie to see and catch up again on some American culture, to watch a movie that says brolicious understand what it means without needing a dictionary.

It caused me some strange dreams, though. Seeing that and seeing AWAY WE GO the week before, somehow those two movies were alive enough in my mind so that when I slept I dreamt of Justin Timberlake.

Why that? It might not make sense on the outside. But I feel like he's the one person alive that is able to atone for and then supercede all of the dorkiness that exists in white people. And both of those movies were especially harsh. And I cringed because I knew it was largely true. SO I dreamt of J.T., one of the most awesome people alive-- a home grown Tennessean who happens to have grown up 45 minutes from me--and who saved last years Grammys when Chris Brown and Rihanna didnt show up, pulling in BOYZ2MEN and Al Green in order to sing Lets stay together at the last minute (http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/music_blog/2009/02/how-justin-timb.html ) . Not to mention saving SNL each year.

But Sat afternoon after this movie, I had 4 hours or so to myself, evaluating the situation, North Africa. Still bummed that I havent seen the Sahara again, but happy to see that the Marrakesh marathon is the last day of January, instead of the beginning like I feared.

I opened the door. Yasin was there. Lets go out! Im bored! I was not bored, I was happy to be still after such a frantic week. A total of 25 hours of Darija, plus teaching for the first time here. But it was apparent that this Moroccan fellow from Saffron, 3 years younger than meof Spanish descent when his grandfather came here from Madrid, was desperate (and apparently unable to relax for longer than a morning--he usually goes to sleep after me and wakes up before me each day). So I had to save Saturday night. And I did that by making pizza!

It was more involved than I imagined--P Corps is usually like that. I thought I saw some premade crusts here in Sefrou, but when we got to the store they were really premade crepes. But pizza crust is fun and not so hard, so we got some flour on the way home.

It was a big enough hit that once the pizza started cooking Yasin went to buy more flour and so we made TWO more! The funny thing is that as soon as I put the photo u on FB, Rachid our training manager (who friended me the first week i got here) had cliked on the photo and gave it a thumbs up... thats ironic because he has assigned me to do it for homework.

Iù not going to say it was an amazing pizza--just as soon as I put that first bite and I had fresh Saffron olives, and canned pineapple and real mozzarella--I cant complain too much. Maybe one of the top 5 pizzas ever made. The Moroccan Echcherki family, had a much different one. It had tuna, onion and gallons of tomato sauce.

Finally today I went to the gorgeous water falls here and saw Hannane there with her fiance Vago. Then an hour at the gym and Im now ready to skype my parents!

Wish I spoke darija

I found something

This afternoon for the first time I spoke darija to the librarie owner, instead of ordering my things in the usual French. And I got juj tambr, two stamps. But later I realized I needed a bigger envelope than the one I had, so I went back to the same man.

Ive been there before andI always buy stamps from this usually grumpy person. And we were able to accomplish the transaction. But tonite I learned he never knew how to speak French. He appeared to, and gave me all the things I needed. But tonite since I spoke exclusively in darija the first two times tonite, this man opened up in a different way. And he knew I was sending something to Europe or to the US because I requested international stamps, so he began asking me in darija about Chicago and a person he knew there. Then it seems like he was talking about the person coming here to do his thesis, to Saffron, and his eyes lit up. Then at the end of 5 or 7 minutes like this, me trying hard to get his meaning, then he pointed up at the sky. He repeated the mans name a few times... Lawrence Larry...? And pointed at the sky again.

So I guess the moral of the story is that the personality I get from people when Im speaking French to them, whether they speak it or not, isnt the same thing Id get if I can communicate to them in Darija.

At the gym earlier one of the machines cables was caught and a Moroccan youth came around to hold the weights while i readjusted the cable. He gave me instructions for 1 minute in darija, and I think he would have immediately switched to French if he knew how to speak it. But the fact that it was darija the whole time, about this important thing, told me differently.

So, stuff like this means I shouldnt ride on the laurels of my years studying French but should get more active and focused with my darija (and my berber later)

Successfully bought the oud

Photos to come as soon as I can

Updates

Fez trip this weekend! *Tomorrow*

Yassin will take me so I can maybe buy an oud. Today Im watching videos to know what they are like and how to tune them, hold the pick, everything like that.

Heres a couple of them, a short song. Apparently they are tuned in 4ths, like a guitar!

Ive been going through a lot of philosophically tough questions the past week, since one night I couldnt sleep because I had an overpowering sense of shame and embarassment for trying to be different and unusual, going to foreign places instead of spending time at home with my loved ones. So Im trying to work that out. Ive felt like a troublemaker, rocking the boat. Thats what happens when you spend a lot of time in cultures where the family is everything; they start asking you why youd leave home to come all the way over here alone... and the answers you give are flat.

If I get the oud, Im happy because in a week all of our group will go back to the hub, and Fatima my language coordinator says she will ask the other LCF Mbarek if he can bring his oud. That way, Ill be able to have some lessons on it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhgaBxvOvfQ

Film Review of AMREEKA

From here:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-zogby/amreeka_b_316100.html

The immigrant experience in America is a topic rich in meaning. For me, it is personal, since my understanding has been informed both by my family's story and my work of several decades.

Because America has a complex and conflicted relationship with immigrants, being both inclusive and generous, while at the same time wary and unwelcoming of newcomers, the experiences of this country's diverse ethnic communities has been the subject of great art. The Irish, Italians, Jewish and Latino experience has long been conveyed in film and literature, defining, for other Americans, not only the story of these communities, but, revealing, as well, aspects of the American character.

Until now, the Arab American experience has been less told and is, therefore, less familiar. That is, until now.

The remarkable film, Amreeka, the first feature length work of a young Palestinian-Jordanian American writer/director, Cherien Dabis, marks not only her debut, but an introduction to the Arab immigrant experience in post 9-11 America.

I don't often review films, but after seeing Amreeka, and interviewing Dabis on my weekly television program "Viewpoint" (airing on Abu Dhabi TV and Link TV in the US), I am compelled to write.

Amreeka tells the story of Muna, a divorced Palestinian woman from Bethlehem. As the film opens, we follow Muna home from work, through oppressive and abusive checkpoints, past the wall and suffocating settlements. Muna is not only tired of all this, she is fearful for the future and safety of her teenage son, Fadi.

News that she has secured an immigrant visa to the US gives Muna the opportunity she has craved for a better life. Their departure from home and family is wrenching, but Muna and Fadi are hopeful as they embark on the voyage that is to begin their new life.

Muna's dreams, however, will not be so easily fulfilled. Her experience with US Immigration and Customs, marked by ignorance and bureaucratic hostility, resembles, in some ways, the treatment at the checkpoints. She weathers all of this and exits the Chicago airport, where she is embraced by her sister's family, who preceded her to America more than a decade earlier.

As luck would have it, Muna has come to the US at the start of the Iraq War. Anti-Arab sentiment is raging in some quarters. Her brother-in-law, a doctor, has lost patients due to backlash, and her sister is quickly losing patience with the hatred and fear that mars their lives.

Though educated and with experience in banking, Muna is unable to find work in her field, but knowing that she must become independent, continues to search for employment, finally finding a job at a local fast food restaurant.

Tensions build as Muna, ashamed, tries to hide her place of work from her son and sister; as Fadi deals with bullying bigots at school; and as her sister's family begins to unravel in response to the pressures of the war, and the enormous hardships resulting from anti-Arab bias. Through it all, Muna not only survives, but remains hopeful and thankful for each kind gesture from strangers and new-found friends who come to her assistance in ways small and not so small.

Dabis handles her characters lovingly, making each one real and engaging--and through them a love story, of sorts, emerges. Like most children of immigrants, Dabis grew up in two worlds, loving both--the life of her family and her heritage, and the life they found in America. These two worlds are estranged, at times, but they define Dabis. And she draws on both to tell her story. Her film is, in a real sense, an effort to reconcile them.

Through Dabis' art, Americans will learn not only about the Palestinian experience under occupation, but will come to see their own country, through Muna's eyes, as a generous land, full of promise, but a land that is flawed as well.

Amreeka is currently showing in over 30 cities and will be opening in 10 more this month. It has been praised by critics, with the New York Times calling it "one of the most accomplished recent films" about the immigrant experience.

Amreeka will soon be opening across the Middle East. I urge you to see it. You will learn and you will love the experience.

That it has been praised by the critics and awarded at festivals, itself, tells a story. My hope is that this wonderful film inspires more young Arab American artists to tell our story--so that through art, our experience will be better known and Americans will see what is to be loved about this country, but what also must change, to make it better.

Read more at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/james-zogby/amreeka_b_316100.html

Conveyor belt post ... maybe the weirdest thing Ive ever written

§§Ive got pictures for this but the upload function is dragging on too slowly. Next time!§§

Sunday night October 4 09

Its funny how looking at the words Oct. 4, and I think: wow, the month is almost over already, and it just begun!

Spent the weekend so far reading a few, very demoralizing Tolstoy stories that make me question what it is in the world I am doing here. “The death of Ivan Illych” “ The Kreutzer Sonata” “Master and Mind”. It's funny but not.

This week we are halfway through training. For half a week after that we will all be reunited at the beach town Kenitra again to be sworn in. From there, it's 2 months living with another family in Our Town, then another couple of weeks settling into my own home before we are called back all together again for 2 final weeks of technical training. After that I am allowed to go on vacations to nearby countries (it only costs 8 euros to fly to Spain, 30 to go from Spain to Ireland or wherever else...).

Looking at that, it strikes me exactly the same as when I looked at the date, Oct. 4. something like: “darn, one month down and soon Peace Corps will be over.” It's not true, but it sort of is.

In Bolivia I discovered that PC is a revolving door. I have tried to exit once already but I didnt go entirely through the opening on the other side, so instead I walked in a circle, neither wholly home nor entirely free from this great organization, and so I was placed again on the conveyor belt as it trundles through the PC factory. It is a process that is exacting in the length of time needed to complete the service. So, high in the factory above us we see the omnipresent clock telling us how far along we are from completion. We even get charts that describe how our emotional state is supposed to be at each moment, as well as periodic evaluations to see if we correspond to the norm. Two months in, you should feel blindly confident, before the five month low comes. At one month, where I am now, things are mildly irritating, so we are told to think twice before yelling at our host families: “What the f&&& are you looking at?!?” when they are watching us struggle to wash our clothes by hand.

These things are comforting, but for now each experience is so ephemeral that we can only look ahead at what awaits us in the factory. Already 4 in the group have fallen off the belt and swept into a discard pile, shown out through the back door. And I'm perfectly fine with all of the things we must do and are done to us. The resources allow us to integrate more fully than any foreigner ever does outside of becoming a genuine expatriate, rather than a make-believe one as we are now. But the clock also keeps us from fully giving ourselves. After all, some of us timed this so that we'll be back at home in time for the fall semester, 2011, to start.

As it is, I'm 3.6% done with PC, since in Morocco the YD program is just 26 months instead of the stan dard 27. We need a month less because apparently youth development is something that occurs instinctively. One month from now, 2 years will be left. And the day after that in my mind, it will become: one year and some months. It will stay like that a while, but then I wont even need to look up at the clock to see that the revolving door is now rapidly approaching. And I will see that half of the people I've met here are already outside the factory door, on the street corner with their luggage trying to get a taxi ride home. Behind me to my surprise will be 100 or so newly minted volunteers and a group of trainees hoping to be that way. Those in the towns next to me will show the effects of this, as I develop a new good friend, but just for 3 months, then celebrate the arrival of someone new while we lament those that are off to somewhere different.

Because the revolving door turns incessantly. More in my group will have fallen off, and there will be no chance to say goodbye to many of those, since my conveyor belt will have taken me towards a different corner of the factory, a different workshop room or something. At that point, if I dont get medically evacuated for some absurd thing (uncontrollable burping, unexplained arthritis, constant dizziness) then I will be nearly a fully developed product.

I wouldnt be here if I didnt believe in the job, and so I will be glad when we finally get on with it. In some ways I'm more of an idealist than ever. To think that 250,000 people have finished this program, its even more mindboggling than the 1900 that finish each Ironman race, all 20 of them in the world. Yet I wonder if the program had been created in this way, as a program lasting 27+ months rather than 27 months, period. Open ended after a certain point is reached. It seems to me like we are at our most effective once we reach the end of the converyor belt, but there is a direct line to the door. And while we are offered the extra year or very rarely a fourth, it takes a big effort of will to contravene the effects of our conditioning, seeing that clock and our placement in the factory as the belt gradually creeps along at the same pace as always.

Today Yassine and I went to our rooftop to place chestnuts on the ceiling so that the sun will dry them. But as we finished we saw the neighbor has a pomegranete tree and several brances hanging over the fence into our yard. Since they are unable to pick them through the concrete wall, several of them were so ripe that they burst open hanging from the branch. We then tried to devise a way to knock them off without them busting on the floor. He went under the wall with the laundry basket and I stayed on the roof to hit them with a stick. So, after about 10 minutes we had 6 or 7 enormous, bright red pomegranates, and to eat them we went directly up the mountainside to a place he knows overlooking all of Saffron. “Now, we are professional thieves.” Yassine said to me.

We emerged from a pine forest to see Sefrou below, and in the distance a snow capped mountain 35 miles away, the second tallest one in Morocco. I didnt see the snow, but that's what Yassine said is there. We had binoculars, though, from my birdwatching so we were able to point out different landmarks.

This week we have language classes all day and nearly no time at the Dar Chebab. This is done on purpose, since training has been reorganized for our group. Normally we would spend the first month in the hub city, everyone staying at a hotel, then on to Saffron or a small town for just a month. I think the director at the Dar Chebab was happy to see that she'd be getting 6 PST's for 2 months, instead of the usual one, but since we've only been there 3 times since arriving—the Program manager's orders—she is disillusioned that we are actually spending less time there than ever before. Walking down from the neighboring mountain, this was on Yassine's mind since he too feels that we are somehow evading our contract with the Dar Chebab. All I could say was that I am following the orders of the boss, and that there's a difference between PST's and PCV's, that we will have endless hours at our own Dar Chebab's later where we will continue to learn about the 'Moroccan mentality' and the opportunity to make a difference. We just aren't focused on that in regards to his Dar Chebab.

I think our absence there is especially apparent to them because they are feeling the effect of Clark leaving at the same time we do, and no volunteer will be sent to replace him.

I think also that because I learned in Bolivia how 2 years, 3 months starts sounding like not a lot at all-- I got through 1/3 of the service and to show for it all I had done was help dig 20 holes in the ground and plant apple trees-- so to me I have that mentality already at a very early moment in the service. Having been through 30% of the factory already, I'm aware of the size and scope that it takes to get from one end to the other and back.

Yet simultaneously I was aware, too, how long exactly I'd be gone from home. I also have the hope that I'll do a better job this time, but even though nearly everything is easier for me here (though I'm learning Darija for the first time, even the language learning part is easier, because I'm actually interested and engaged, rather than hitting myself on the head trying to sit through Spanish lessons that I've already had), the feeling that I am being a more successful volunteer is elusive. Partly that comes from doing a lot more of the recommended reading on my own, and I kind of have that lost sense of innocence to the culture shock and the pain from that. I see better how little I comprehended of my own strangeness to the people I am around, and I wonder if I alienated many of them without realizing it by doing something entirely American with no Bolivian counterpart in their own culture. Thinking this way, its easy to get embarrassed, thinking for the second time of stuff I did unthinkingly the first time, from rote habit and my own cultural conditioning, rather than a deliberate attempt to filter those actions through a Bolivian mindset first.

I also think I relied too heavily on the other PCVs near me. I'll have to make more of an effort to befriend Moroccan people. It seemed rare to find a Bolivian invited to spend time with us, other than Roxana's friends from the Wasi. Or maybe, it was less rare and more something unplanned, something that happened occasionally without any warning because it wasn't something we sought to do.

Every now and then I find common threads. In Bolivia I had hoped to do the nearby Chile Atacama race, here I have the Marathon des Sables. I will try to write more such things in a later article. I did this again with the belief that I'd be able to more fully encounter the host country and to understand it better. It's disappointing to find myself be harassed by the lesser aspects of culture shock, even while I am better able to identify what is going on. In a lot of ways, Bolivia was less foreign and more inviting, maybe less judgmental. And there exists a greater feeling of isolation here at times. I think Iin my mind I feel that I had a cache of loneliness that fills up and after a sufficient amount of time not being lonely—a year at home—then I'd be able to start from 0 with my tolerance to loneliness, completely cured of the bit I had before. Instead, I feel as sensitive to ever of being lonely. That bin was never emptied but remained. Maybe that's how it feels to go to prison a second time, like the time free never was able to erase the bitterness of being incarcerated and so there's really not a first day the second time, but it's emotionally day 181. More than once so far I've thought : this is really my second year of PC, and I'm doing 3 years. It certainly is that way for my family and for Serena, even if I didnt see it like that until I got here.

Time to hit the books! For lunch we had pressure-cooked potatoes in a mild red sauce, a bowl of ' dried apricot soup' and some of the firm hobs bread, plus a carrot and red onion salad with some spicy, mustard-mayonaise-black pepper type sauce in it.

When I finish the next Tolstoy story, Ill be able to resume reading Zazie dans le metro, the novel in french I brought with me. Samiya found it today under my bed when we organized my room and swept. Somehow a pile of dirt appeared in one corner of the room and it wasn't me that put it there. But I enjoy reading the PC literature. A lot of the meetings and lectures that we have to go cover things in such a generalized way, and they repeat the basic idea in a hundred different ways. This is fine to me, because I realize that with a larger and larger group, they must dillute the message and drive it in as firmly as possible, preaching to the lowest common denominator (a little bit like a Hollywood movie?). So things are tailored to the weakest link, the person that pays attention the least or that doesn't have a lot of common sense.... which is generally all of us, at different times and in different circumstances. But it can be boring.

The Culture Matters book, though, and some of the other are wildly amazing books that are enganing and humorous, fun but informative. Talking to my friend Adriana, who worked with an organization in the Dominican Republic similar to Peace Corps, they said the organization copied Peace Corps' rules nearly exactly, since they were so effective.

If I ever have a bad day as a volunteer, I just think how glad I am to have literally hundreds more resources and tools available that didnt exist before. Speaking to Jack, who is a volunteer in my group but that did Peace Corps in Turkey back in 1965, he said that the medical questionaire was one page during the application, and the only thing on it was the question: “Are you healthy?”

Having my back examined by one of the 3 PC doctors here in Morocco, I was happy that it's not 1965. He said that I needed to take ibuprofin to help reduce the inflamation, even if it doesn't hurt a lot. That way, it will heal faster, he said.

Thursday and Friday I was in Azrou, our hub city, with all of the remaining YD volunteers. There's not much to say except that some people got shots, we got to eat pizza for the first time in a month (tasted good, though the cheese was more like middle-school cafeteria pizza than something that should be served in a restaurant), and those of us who didnt go to sleep at 11 ended up staying awake until 2:30 in the morning.... normal camp type activities, too, like learning how to play bananagrams, and upset that the portuguese word Nua didn't count, even though it was a perfect link between 'Vixen' and 'aqua'.

One of our PCT's, David, gave a presentation about Islam since that was his minor in college, and Aydin from Iran gave us a talk about the Sunni Shia split. He said the Shia's are most like Catholics, in that they feel Muslims need an intermediary between God and people. Aydin later drew a portrait of me lying on the ground, so this whole thing was a nice time away from Saffron, and a chance to debrief in a large group, lick each other's wounds and to share the books that we've finished. It ended quickly, and the next day we were in taxis going back home. But it also helped to teach me more about the people I am sharing space on the conveyor belt with, and to have some special moments with the staff, like walking to the bus station with Fatima our main security person, and hear how she is preparing a PhD on society and morality. Or to play drums at 10 PM with 3 of the Moroccan language and culture coaches. I feel like my rhythm skills were sufficient to keep up with those guys, though the Cuban/conga drum influence I have from home was apparent.

I was able too to download the newest JayZ album, that has quickly become my source of inspiration to get out the door and to engage Morocco without any fear. I'm anxious to buy the new Shakira album, since it seems like her art and actions have consistently mirrored the ups and downs, beginnings and endings in my own life. I feel as if I've matured alongside her somehow. That's supposed to be out by the end of the month... so each Tuesday, you can believe I will be checking iTunes!