Day2
Realized something interesting about the developing world: even the poorest people have got greater access to the latest fashions than those in the US or Europe. Who in the US wears Dolce and Gabbana? What proportion of the population is able to afford that? But in Morocco?
Everybody and their Mama wears Gucci, all the kids have something designer-based. And while yes, it maybe doesn't come from Milano, but that's not the point. The point is more that the designs are protected in the states, and anything that rips off the company too badly on a wide-basis would be taken from the shelves. I.e., Wal-Mart wouldn't carry something carrying Tommy Hilfiger's trademark if it wasn't from the company and if it didn't cost a lot of money.
But I suppose the point is less if its real, and more if it looks like the real thing would look. It might be on horrible fabrics but it was created based on a picture of the real thing, and so that automatically retains the fashionability aspect even if it falls apart and maybe a letter is spelled wrong.
The look is there, anyway, and the look was designed by the person even if their factories were not the ones that produced them. But there are not really any thing else other than these copies. I.e., people in the US don't have money so they buy poor-looking clothes. Here in Morocco, people don't have the money either, but the clothes for the poor look like rich-people clothes, ergo : more people here have rich-looking clothes while those in the US are stuck with the poor-looking clothes, even though they are equally destitute.
Strange.
So, Camp Day 2! A successful morning followed by a mixed-bag of results in the afternoon and night. It's nearly 4:30PM now, but that means there's still 6.5 hours left in my work day! My share of the work, the responsibility and feeding the eyeballs of Young Moroccan teens has been completed, however.
An hour and a half this morning of Hangman, "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" and a short lesson of Informal English "Hello? We don't say that. We say, 'Sup!" "Goodbye? Only in the textbooks and romance novels. Instead we say : Peace out, or Peace and Love". Catch you on the flip side.
At the beginning, I was happy when I learned that I'd go from the two hour lessons to just 1.5 hours. I was less happy when I learned that I'd not have a class on Friday, though it wasn't too painful since I knew we'd be doing an English Olympiad activity instead. However, when they told me today that the Beach Trip on Thursday was given a early morning counterpart--going to a canal then with a professional Moroccan engineer--will eat my 4th English lesson, I was bummed. So what originally was promised to be 10 full hours of English became 6, which became 4.5. So I'm trying to find more to do.
Sean has provided this opportunity tonite: I am supposed to draw a world map for him before the end of supper so that he can use it for his World Cup Bingo activity. He was originally called to do a geography lesson, which became something based on the countries that will soon play at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. So that when they spend their entire summer watching endless soccer games, they will
The girl Hanna had a tough time, and what normally happens to me happened to her. Her activities seemed perfect on paper, all of them had a big "A-ha!" Eureka-lightbulb moment but once she took it to tke kids, it all became blurred into an incoherent sludge that had fun moments and a lot of spontaneity but no overarching lesson for them to take home.
She said something funny to me earlier, about how she thinks its stupid that we have to call Football 'soccer'. She's a Rugby enthusiast and brought a real Rugby ball here (my goal is to have both of them together before the kids, my football and her Rugby in order to show that it's not the same thing.... it's important since everyone calls my football a Rugby). But this argument, which I think about, too, poses a problem: if Soccer goes back to football in America, then what do you call football? It has to have a new name. So it reminded me of Christopher, a guy in our YD Staj who with his wife Jolie lived in France for a year before coming here.
Chris has a t-shirt with a picture of an American football. Then immediately below it, it has the name it SHOULD have, THROWBALL. I always laugh when I think about that and I laughed just now as I typed it.
So, voila. More later! Somehow I got off on a tangent and never found my way back on the original path. Which is a great metaphor for life!
----------
So, didn't have to do the world map, but I was able to pitch in by
A funny and ironic thing happened since my English beginner's class was in the same large room with the much smaller advanced class. Our theme was supposed to be Children's Rights, but the only class capable of delving meaningfully into this topic was the Advanced class run by Meredith. And while I was afraid we were being to loud, I crossed the room to see if I should tone it down. On her white board they had already discussed things like the idea of 'freedom of information' and how that relates to being a person. wow!
But when I came through there 40 minutes later after practicing a few songs, guess what I find! No longer did they have the heady topics on the board but a gallows-stand, a rope and a disembodied head with part of a torso and an arm. Yeah, so seemingly her class stared at my side while we did Hangman for 30 minutes, and they convinced her they wanted to do the same for the whole second half of class!
Which is hilarious but tragic, too. And so human. It is a fantastic game, but for the small group of 10 that can actually handle something more meaningful with their English? It was trumped by our baser instincts.
Of course, camp is supposed to be fun and they did do some of the other, too. And I'll no longer be alongside that class in the same room to corrupt them with sheer joy and unthinking feeling.
Because tomorrow we do the Midnight Labyrinth lesson. If you've never done it, it's where you wear a blindfold and have to maneuver between chairs and tables shapled like Mino's labyrinth from Greek mythology. And you really have to think hard about the English words "Right! Left! Stop!" when people are shouting them to you, trying to guide you from afar through this maze. And we'll be outside so that Meredith's class will be able to focus on the deeper philosophical state of existence as a young Moroccan person.
Other things? Bingo was a success, but it had major fits and starts as well. Nonetheless the desired result was achieved. And I think it's a good game that deserves to be replicated.
In place of calling out letters and numbers, everyone has a card with the nations competing in this year's World cup, and we give clues about the geography and cultural history of the country until everyone discovers which country it is.
The trouble here was something that was not considered in Sean's planning. We did a dry run with just me pretending to be Moroccan and play the game until I got Bingo this way. It took an hour, but I learned a lot. And once the game began the 100 kids participating learned a lot, also.
But the thing that was overlooked was that in my practice run, what took me 30 seconds took 40 minutes. This was the act of creating the card with the countries lined up randomly in the 6x6 grid. And Emily and Sean were able to tell me exactly the right way in English what I needed to know. But with soooo many people, and sooo many distractions, and the enormous language and cultural barrier, this was 80x longer than it needed for me to complete and move on to the actual gameplay.
So, voila. We live and learn, and our wounds scab over. Now it's the end of the day and I'm happy that today I got lost in Oujda, missing the Sports block in our schedule, and instead happily running for 10k through the outer rural areas. Then a shower, heading back to the dorm building alone and enjoying my Cormac McCarthy book alone before taking a frigid and peaceful shower on my overheated body. Hope I get to do the same thing tomorrow.
The best thing is that my responsibilities are over after 1030 AM, and then any other things afterwards are a matter of choice and desire that I am able to fit into the day.
After the day finished, we were happy to know that one counselor had finished downloading the Lady Gaga Telephone video, and so after our day of inhibition, crossing to the conservative culture and second-guessing our movements and actions, it was liberating to see something sooooooo extreme and amazingly off-the-wall. At the same time, we were a little bit too tired to fully enjoy this, and since we are so hypersensitized to skin here, it's like that, since the video was continuously beyond our threshold to me it was just kind of white noise.
I'll have to spend the two dollars and download it on iTunes, desensitize myself again and look for the subtleties that I missed the first time after overloading my circuits in such a way. And Beyonce's character is just as amazing. It's Michael Jackson-epic.
Goodnite! For the second night I successfully nominated and defended my choice of Star of the Day, this time to a very mature, cosmopolitan girl that wears overalls named Imane. She asked me to cheat during the game, telling me to ask Sean to call Spain next during our World Cup Bingo match. I did not do this, and she didn't win any of the prizes, but her attitude afterward merited the prize. She laughed and said it didn't matter, because it's just a game. Which is a very grown-up way of thinking, compared to those people that cheated during Bingo, erasing several times the names of countries that had not been called and putting in the names of ones that were called. Just to get a pack of gum. A sore winner is not better than a content loser.
Voila, goodnite! Busy day, and still somehow able to read 90 pages. 10 more before bed, and wow, this is somehow not right, but oooooh so good.
Quote of the night:
Sean
My best friend, I don't know why. He thinks I'm in the Marine Corps.
Check this email : "Hey man! How's the corps/ I just heard that every Marine is getting a new kind of M5 rifle, you'll have to let me know how you perform. Semper fi!"
Me: "It's funny but it'd be even funnier if Moroccan intelligence intercepted that and didn't get the joke."
#2
Listening to jazz music ('Round Midnight with Miles Davis, and So What), which is so powerful, and complex, and irrational but lovely. Totally individual, off-the-cuff, the epitome of American critical thinking skills and the ability to adapt. "I love America. It's soo amazing."
"Being a music major, it's so strange to be friends with someone, and to know that their whole world is.... jazz xylophone. But somehow good enough and have the opportunity to make a living at it? I love America."
#3 Let's make a sandwich
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
First impressions of Camp Flo-Rida
Seated on my bed, four of us in a room.
"That's why I like Feisel, it's very close to my name Russell . The best name I ever heard is Boujma. Because the louder you yell it, the more fun it is to say. BouJma!"
In their hands the two guys are holding the results of our English level testing. We have a lot of names that we will try to learn, but it will be tough. Our contact time with the whole group will be limited, since the activities will divide the kids between now and the rest of the week. But it's fun! Three long days, 7 AM until 11 PM full of activities, then a hurried rest before beginning. Beyond that, we have a beach day, a spectacle day and then the next morning everyone splits up to go home. Me going South to Faguig to see Jack and Ina.
A kilo of olives to my right, next to a couple of new books given to me to take back to Nkob once this experienceقÄîthe best weeks in all of the two years hereقÄîhas passed. (Big feeling of Deja Vu just now). In contrast to the past two days here, there is the din of an hundred young people bustling about. Outside our dormitory room in this large complex we have a sign pasted on the door, SEAN BEN ZACH & RUSSELL. Above us in the other floor is the girls' room, the 5 of them and maybe 60 Moroccan girls.
Now they're all quoting Ocean's 11-13, listening to the Immigrant song on my iPod (because Sean said he has not seen me without food in my hand, usually olives). Saying how it's strange to be around city kids, boys and girls how many of them could care less about learning English but that they are here for ulterior motives. What ulterior motives? Can't say, wink wink nudge nudge. Hey, that's not our concern or our responsibility. We're here to provide the entertainment and the English.
Waiting for dinner a half an hour from now.
What to say? Yesterday was a day like at the beach, knowing a hurricane was approaching, though bewitched by the calm waters and easily lulled into disbelief. But at the same time eager to have it start and then be confronted with the reality of that situation. Which is where we are now!
Sat for two hours while different groups of kids arrived, going again through my four questions to determine level: How are you? What is your name? How is your family, big or small? What do you like to study in school, art or science?
Most of the time this was all that was necessary, but I was happy when a young person sat down, confident and I was able to go further, asking " what did you do yesterday? What will you do after you finish at the lycee?"
Then we had an hour where the Moroccan staff did their rousing numbers, a clapping exercise before we led the hundred kids out to the courtyard. After lunch we were there throwing my football and my juggling ball alone, and now the skies thundered with our roards when we did our own version of the Arabic call-and-response that the Moroccan staff did prior to this. But instead of them singing "I am speaking" and the kids yelling back : "I am listening" we chose this : call :Apple bottom jeans response : the boots with the fur.
The reasoning is just that at camp last year it was a song people liked and so it became their anthem and their catchphrase, using it to get attention but also have a common point of reference and something American that is tangible and gets the students excited.
So im going to put the link to the video here without having seen the video : I do this a lot I know, but c'est la vie when internet is too slow to watch what I'm sharing, too.!
So far things seem good. The great advantage for us is that we are only responsible for our activities. We don't have the responsibility of the kids here, that heavy burden is all on the Moroccan staff, who are professionals. And it will be exhausting for us as it is, so any additional responsibility I'm glad we don't have. It was good today to just stand and watch the main Moroccan staff set the tone for the rest of camp, fun but controlled. And the man was quick to split up troublesome groups and to give a piercing stare to those who were out of line.
Most people here I've met before . There are a few brand-new people, Russell, Hanna and Maggie. But still for those that I met before, most of them briefly, I am seeing for the first time again in this new situation.
And we've already bonded over She-Wolf and the evolution of Shakira. Not just me and one other, but everyone. It's crazy! But I'm glad to have her to use to help me connect bridges to this group of diverse individuals.
A lot of Southerners in this group, compared to the overall Peace Corps population. A North Carolina girl, a Kentucky girl and a strapping Tennessee lad (me). Then three from Upstate/Central New York, two from Colorado and one Indiana Colt.
So, first impressions. Our director is a fine Moroccan lady that exhudes calm. A rare quality in the Youth and Sports profession. So, we have a plan for the week, a schedule for each day, my English lessons all ready to go and a by-line that we'll use and elaborate throughout the week (Apple bottom jeans, the boots with the furrrrrr!) So voila. And I'm happy to find that the married couple Sean and Emily have already contacted Jack and Ina and plan to go to South after here. So that means I'll have someone to accompany me "over 400 chilometri of the most barren part of Morocco" at least, so says the guide book. It's the border to Algeria and the little peninsula into Algeria known as Faguig, where I'll visit those of our staj who have the least visitors, who said to us at PPST of their town : "Come visit us! Just go and when you get to the middle of nowhere, then you're already halfway there!"
Update before bed:
Some good photos taken, some good songs sung, watched the kid's translate for each other, heard the Moroccan counselor's sing for more than an hour and the kids respond in ecstasy. And when we went up to bat everyone deflated a little bit. But they participated, even with shot attention spans.
Shared our first meal together, the loud shriek of 100 people in the same room... except our table. Wondering why noone at our table was speaking, I asked Emily and Sean: Did we pick the quiet table? Or did we make the table quiet?
So, the story of tonite
A few minutes after eating, we were given a special task. This was not the first and not the last time that the Moroccan staff threw the responsibility to us of entertaining the kids. And without any forewarning. But, the golden rule of camp is to always have something ready, a fun game and happy song ready at a quick draw from your back pocket. I had my few things. So I felt good when the lead counselor Zach whispered to me: Thanks Ben.
So the first special task was to spend 20 minutes with the kids while the Moroccan staff ate. My suggestion? Happy Birthday. If they didn't know it, then we'd teach it to them. And if it was not anyone's birthday that day (1/3 chance that it would be) then we'd pretend it was Sean's birthday today! See? You have to be creative.
And in order to stall, after the English version we sang the song in French, then Spanish, Arabic and Tashleheet! Then my other suggestion was that we sign the song Ash tatatata that I learned in guitar. But I never learned the words, so we turned to one of the Moroccan counselors, who recognized the name. Imagine my surprise when we play the first three notes and then suddenly everyone in the entire room bursts into song. I looked up from my fingers to gaze at my fellow PCVs in astonishment, who were as surprised as me.
"Today was special, so props to Ben for bringing his guitar, Hannah speaking in Spanish, and Maggie and Meredith singing in Tashleheet..." Zach
Then after a little bit of time to rearrange everything, running up to the room and grabbing my Cormac McCarthy book (just in case) I came back down to hear the same man that sang the Arabic song was now seated before the entire group of kids, chanting, playing drums at a blazing speed and holding them enthralled.
Then he and the other staffer and a few volunteers took turns dancing and singing. But they took things up to an even higher pitch when a surprise visit by a Moroccan party band came with their 6 different drums and two medieval-type brass long horns.
Now, these are city girls, as it is, capable of great surprises just in their clothing choice, their decision to not wear the veil and their liberal use of makeup. But there's a belief in Arabic cultures that each woman responds to a certain frequency, or musical rhythm or passage of music. And if they happen to hear that specific thing then they are completely unaccountable and unable to do anything other than go berserk. It's a good excuse anyway, for women living in a repressive culture. And apparently these musicians must have hit that right thing, because their first song started and these girls went out of it.
It was a strange sight, their unbridled hair which to compare this big city to my little town, I've only seen one girl that didn't cover her hair in all of 5 months in site, but they started headbanging. Hard. In big circular motions and the hair flying about. I did the Berber dances I knew and was happy to see the traditional Moroccan party band people watching me and nodding with approval.
Finally the other counsellor began to sing again, and they surprised us again by telling us we needed to fill in time. Zach looked at me, and I said spontaneously : If you're happy and you know it.
So we sang one of the more amazingly positive and fun songs, that every one of us, all 300,000,000 Americans and many others around the world know:
If you're happy and you know it clap your hands
If you're happy and you know it clap your hands
If you're happy and you know it and you really want to show it
And if you're happy and you know it clap your hands.
Then to stall we added all kinds of verses : touch your head, snap your fingers, whistle.
So this was our night, but on paper it seems deflated and not half as wonderful as it was. It doesn't capture the feeling of singing the Bananas Unite song, spinning in circles while twenty Moroccan people look at you and hoping your enthusiasm convinces them to be more open as well.
Now we are picking out the Stars of the Day. Rehab and Ahmed, because he was helping the other kids with Uno, and for screwing over Russell (awesome strategery). Rehab because she knew the words for If you're happy and you know it., and helped us translate it into Arabic: ila kuntik frhan u erfti ... sfq!
Now we are deciding which classes go to which clubs first. I'll go to Hannah's club with my class, focused on GLOW activities, or Girls Leading Our World stuff. While I have 4 lessons I'm required to teach, the Club leader's are supposed to have one amazing lesson that they do 4 or 5 times throughout the week. At the same time it's stressful in that they are repeating things, but it means for their activity they only have a small window to make an impact on each group of young people.
OK! Good night to all my loyal family, friends, and the unknown Eyeballs reading this online. Worried a little bit that each boy and girl will still be alive when we wake up tomorrow. Glad to have gone through camp counseling in high school, and glad more to finally have used it without ever having done so since the training course has finished!
Quotes of the day:
"I was impressed today, it was not so segrated as at other camps. They've been waiting this day for a while."
"Gosh, the hormones."
"SO they were saying foosah words, 'i'm speaking' and the kids responded with 'i'm listening'. Again and again. But they were using the darija word conjugated in the fooshah (classical Arabic) conjugations."
Me: "Woah, creepy."
Emily : "Yeah, welcome to the world of speaking Tam. Where it's all Arabic words but with the Berber conjugations."
Then:
"Really, why do they call it Post- Pre service Training? PPST, Doesn't make sense. Post-pre..? But I just decided this last week, we will call it Post- IST. Or P.I.S.T. Which is what we are when we get there."
"The coolest phrase ever for walking around is in Tash. They ask you what you're doing and you say, 'Zigzag'. I'm going to take tha back to the U.S."
"What's the official language for England?"
"Almost had to think about that one."
"They speak the Queen's English!"
"What's the official language for your mom?"
"This is really going to cut into my 12-hour sleep schedule. 11 to 11."
"Really? I'm more a 12-12 kind of guy."
"In Ramadan I stretch it out to 3 or 4."
Seated on my bed, four of us in a room.
"That's why I like Feisel, it's very close to my name Russell . The best name I ever heard is Boujma. Because the louder you yell it, the more fun it is to say. BouJma!"
In their hands the two guys are holding the results of our English level testing. We have a lot of names that we will try to learn, but it will be tough. Our contact time with the whole group will be limited, since the activities will divide the kids between now and the rest of the week. But it's fun! Three long days, 7 AM until 11 PM full of activities, then a hurried rest before beginning. Beyond that, we have a beach day, a spectacle day and then the next morning everyone splits up to go home. Me going South to Faguig to see Jack and Ina.
A kilo of olives to my right, next to a couple of new books given to me to take back to Nkob once this experienceقÄîthe best weeks in all of the two years hereقÄîhas passed. (Big feeling of Deja Vu just now). In contrast to the past two days here, there is the din of an hundred young people bustling about. Outside our dormitory room in this large complex we have a sign pasted on the door, SEAN BEN ZACH & RUSSELL. Above us in the other floor is the girls' room, the 5 of them and maybe 60 Moroccan girls.
Now they're all quoting Ocean's 11-13, listening to the Immigrant song on my iPod (because Sean said he has not seen me without food in my hand, usually olives). Saying how it's strange to be around city kids, boys and girls how many of them could care less about learning English but that they are here for ulterior motives. What ulterior motives? Can't say, wink wink nudge nudge. Hey, that's not our concern or our responsibility. We're here to provide the entertainment and the English.
Waiting for dinner a half an hour from now.
What to say? Yesterday was a day like at the beach, knowing a hurricane was approaching, though bewitched by the calm waters and easily lulled into disbelief. But at the same time eager to have it start and then be confronted with the reality of that situation. Which is where we are now!
Sat for two hours while different groups of kids arrived, going again through my four questions to determine level: How are you? What is your name? How is your family, big or small? What do you like to study in school, art or science?
Most of the time this was all that was necessary, but I was happy when a young person sat down, confident and I was able to go further, asking " what did you do yesterday? What will you do after you finish at the lycee?"
Then we had an hour where the Moroccan staff did their rousing numbers, a clapping exercise before we led the hundred kids out to the courtyard. After lunch we were there throwing my football and my juggling ball alone, and now the skies thundered with our roards when we did our own version of the Arabic call-and-response that the Moroccan staff did prior to this. But instead of them singing "I am speaking" and the kids yelling back : "I am listening" we chose this : call :Apple bottom jeans response : the boots with the fur.
The reasoning is just that at camp last year it was a song people liked and so it became their anthem and their catchphrase, using it to get attention but also have a common point of reference and something American that is tangible and gets the students excited.
So im going to put the link to the video here without having seen the video : I do this a lot I know, but c'est la vie when internet is too slow to watch what I'm sharing, too.!
So far things seem good. The great advantage for us is that we are only responsible for our activities. We don't have the responsibility of the kids here, that heavy burden is all on the Moroccan staff, who are professionals. And it will be exhausting for us as it is, so any additional responsibility I'm glad we don't have. It was good today to just stand and watch the main Moroccan staff set the tone for the rest of camp, fun but controlled. And the man was quick to split up troublesome groups and to give a piercing stare to those who were out of line.
Most people here I've met before . There are a few brand-new people, Russell, Hanna and Maggie. But still for those that I met before, most of them briefly, I am seeing for the first time again in this new situation.
And we've already bonded over She-Wolf and the evolution of Shakira. Not just me and one other, but everyone. It's crazy! But I'm glad to have her to use to help me connect bridges to this group of diverse individuals.
A lot of Southerners in this group, compared to the overall Peace Corps population. A North Carolina girl, a Kentucky girl and a strapping Tennessee lad (me). Then three from Upstate/Central New York, two from Colorado and one Indiana Colt.
So, first impressions. Our director is a fine Moroccan lady that exhudes calm. A rare quality in the Youth and Sports profession. So, we have a plan for the week, a schedule for each day, my English lessons all ready to go and a by-line that we'll use and elaborate throughout the week (Apple bottom jeans, the boots with the furrrrrr!) So voila. And I'm happy to find that the married couple Sean and Emily have already contacted Jack and Ina and plan to go to South after here. So that means I'll have someone to accompany me "over 400 chilometri of the most barren part of Morocco" at least, so says the guide book. It's the border to Algeria and the little peninsula into Algeria known as Faguig, where I'll visit those of our staj who have the least visitors, who said to us at PPST of their town : "Come visit us! Just go and when you get to the middle of nowhere, then you're already halfway there!"
Update before bed:
Some good photos taken, some good songs sung, watched the kid's translate for each other, heard the Moroccan counselor's sing for more than an hour and the kids respond in ecstasy. And when we went up to bat everyone deflated a little bit. But they participated, even with shot attention spans.
Shared our first meal together, the loud shriek of 100 people in the same room... except our table. Wondering why noone at our table was speaking, I asked Emily and Sean: Did we pick the quiet table? Or did we make the table quiet?
So, the story of tonite
A few minutes after eating, we were given a special task. This was not the first and not the last time that the Moroccan staff threw the responsibility to us of entertaining the kids. And without any forewarning. But, the golden rule of camp is to always have something ready, a fun game and happy song ready at a quick draw from your back pocket. I had my few things. So I felt good when the lead counselor Zach whispered to me: Thanks Ben.
So the first special task was to spend 20 minutes with the kids while the Moroccan staff ate. My suggestion? Happy Birthday. If they didn't know it, then we'd teach it to them. And if it was not anyone's birthday that day (1/3 chance that it would be) then we'd pretend it was Sean's birthday today! See? You have to be creative.
And in order to stall, after the English version we sang the song in French, then Spanish, Arabic and Tashleheet! Then my other suggestion was that we sign the song Ash tatatata that I learned in guitar. But I never learned the words, so we turned to one of the Moroccan counselors, who recognized the name. Imagine my surprise when we play the first three notes and then suddenly everyone in the entire room bursts into song. I looked up from my fingers to gaze at my fellow PCVs in astonishment, who were as surprised as me.
"Today was special, so props to Ben for bringing his guitar, Hannah speaking in Spanish, and Maggie and Meredith singing in Tashleheet..." Zach
Then after a little bit of time to rearrange everything, running up to the room and grabbing my Cormac McCarthy book (just in case) I came back down to hear the same man that sang the Arabic song was now seated before the entire group of kids, chanting, playing drums at a blazing speed and holding them enthralled.
Then he and the other staffer and a few volunteers took turns dancing and singing. But they took things up to an even higher pitch when a surprise visit by a Moroccan party band came with their 6 different drums and two medieval-type brass long horns.
Now, these are city girls, as it is, capable of great surprises just in their clothing choice, their decision to not wear the veil and their liberal use of makeup. But there's a belief in Arabic cultures that each woman responds to a certain frequency, or musical rhythm or passage of music. And if they happen to hear that specific thing then they are completely unaccountable and unable to do anything other than go berserk. It's a good excuse anyway, for women living in a repressive culture. And apparently these musicians must have hit that right thing, because their first song started and these girls went out of it.
It was a strange sight, their unbridled hair which to compare this big city to my little town, I've only seen one girl that didn't cover her hair in all of 5 months in site, but they started headbanging. Hard. In big circular motions and the hair flying about. I did the Berber dances I knew and was happy to see the traditional Moroccan party band people watching me and nodding with approval.
Finally the other counsellor began to sing again, and they surprised us again by telling us we needed to fill in time. Zach looked at me, and I said spontaneously : If you're happy and you know it.
So we sang one of the more amazingly positive and fun songs, that every one of us, all 300,000,000 Americans and many others around the world know:
If you're happy and you know it clap your hands
If you're happy and you know it clap your hands
If you're happy and you know it and you really want to show it
And if you're happy and you know it clap your hands.
Then to stall we added all kinds of verses : touch your head, snap your fingers, whistle.
So this was our night, but on paper it seems deflated and not half as wonderful as it was. It doesn't capture the feeling of singing the Bananas Unite song, spinning in circles while twenty Moroccan people look at you and hoping your enthusiasm convinces them to be more open as well.
Now we are picking out the Stars of the Day. Rehab and Ahmed, because he was helping the other kids with Uno, and for screwing over Russell (awesome strategery). Rehab because she knew the words for If you're happy and you know it., and helped us translate it into Arabic: ila kuntik frhan u erfti ... sfq!
Now we are deciding which classes go to which clubs first. I'll go to Hannah's club with my class, focused on GLOW activities, or Girls Leading Our World stuff. While I have 4 lessons I'm required to teach, the Club leader's are supposed to have one amazing lesson that they do 4 or 5 times throughout the week. At the same time it's stressful in that they are repeating things, but it means for their activity they only have a small window to make an impact on each group of young people.
OK! Good night to all my loyal family, friends, and the unknown Eyeballs reading this online. Worried a little bit that each boy and girl will still be alive when we wake up tomorrow. Glad to have gone through camp counseling in high school, and glad more to finally have used it without ever having done so since the training course has finished!
Quotes of the day:
"I was impressed today, it was not so segrated as at other camps. They've been waiting this day for a while."
"Gosh, the hormones."
"SO they were saying foosah words, 'i'm speaking' and the kids responded with 'i'm listening'. Again and again. But they were using the darija word conjugated in the fooshah (classical Arabic) conjugations."
Me: "Woah, creepy."
Emily : "Yeah, welcome to the world of speaking Tam. Where it's all Arabic words but with the Berber conjugations."
Then:
"Really, why do they call it Post- Pre service Training? PPST, Doesn't make sense. Post-pre..? But I just decided this last week, we will call it Post- IST. Or P.I.S.T. Which is what we are when we get there."
"The coolest phrase ever for walking around is in Tash. They ask you what you're doing and you say, 'Zigzag'. I'm going to take tha back to the U.S."
"What's the official language for England?"
"Almost had to think about that one."
"They speak the Queen's English!"
"What's the official language for your mom?"
"This is really going to cut into my 12-hour sleep schedule. 11 to 11."
"Really? I'm more a 12-12 kind of guy."
"In Ramadan I stretch it out to 3 or 4."
Friday, March 26, 2010
Followed this since its beginnings
And I followed Dee as he went around Mozambique and South Africa. So I'm happy to say that his documentary is on its way, and he just sent a Facebook message to us, his loyal fans, saying that the film will be presented at the Lincoln Center in NYC THIS MONTH. Hell yeah! Way to goooooooo
Streetball - Trailer from Demetrius Wren on Vimeo.
Θάλαττα, θάλαττα !
A happy day here, I visited the mediterranean sea and then i spent 160 dirhams on food for the next week when spring camp begins.
The interesting thing is that as I walked past the Auxiliary Forces, a man told me to come--he seemed official--and he said : My name is Amin, and that's Algeria.
I looked and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. 50 yards away I saw 3 Moroccan flags. Ok. They were on the beach high in the air. Then I looked and 10 yards more were smaller flags, 4 of them. Green and white with the Red crescent of Islam in the center.
That IS Algeria!
So I walked forward and put my toes in, then rolled up my pant legs and went in ankle deep (into the Sea, not into Algeria--I had already gotten crap from a hotel about not having my passport, just trying to use my Carte Sejour like I always do, so no point getting stuck on one side and not being able to come back).
When I finished there I was able to stop the taxi on the way back in order to get some things at the Marjane. Now, everyone has seen movies where the soldier comes home, steps into Walmart and then decides he'd rather go back to war than have to choose between 40 different kinds of toothpaste.
Marjane is like that, but worse. They sell motorcycles in there. And for a PC volunteer, it's great to know that I have the ability to go there to buy a tennis racket if I so need it. And the first time I went there, I did go all out. I spent half of my salary in there, in order to know that I'd have plenty of food in my town once I got there.
This was before I lived in my town, so for all I knew it would be like Candelaria, where I had a choice between green and orange soda, or the salty crackers versus the sweet ones. I figured it would be like that.
And at the beginning it seemed that way, as I reluctantly opened the last package of my falafel mix. But then I looked around at what they had, and I adjusted my diet.
This time, then, I was wary walking into the store. I spent 2 hours there, though I spent about one third what I originally did. And I'm sure I'll be back before leaving to get some cereal and a few other things.
But man, what a change half a year makes!
I stood in line and I looked at what I had. Yes, I had the Hot and Spicy 'lharj' Pringles chips. And a thing called Pina Colada pineapple and coconut juice.
But when I did an inventory of all the other things I bought-- bread, olives, cheese and dates-- I realized I bought everything that I always buy in Nkob, just in nicer packaging. Strange, huh!
Going back to the beach, again-- the strange thing was that as I left I looked at where the 3 Moroccan flags and the 4 Algerian ones nearly are touching. And as I looked I noticed something new. There were 10 people standing along the other side of the frontier. 'Frontier' because that's the French word that Amin used when he spoke to me earlier. Just to help evoke being here. And that was a thing evocative for me on many levels. It reminded me of the barrier I remember from the beach in Barranquilla that bisects the beach into a poor section and the private rich section. But the difference is a great deal more subtle than that. In my mind I thought, that's where Albert Camus was born. And the way I see it, there's much less difference between the two lands on either side, than there are between the people that live on them.
Just growing up and for X no. of years you call yourself something different, something to conform to and differentiate yourself. It's pretty powerful. Or, vice versa, telling yourself over and over again what you're not.
Night! Have a good weekend
*PS I'll send a postcard to the first person that knows what the Greek words mean... even though I think I just spoke to her.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
An AP photo from the sand storm in Beijing. When the air tastes like sea water!Here in Nkob we've had two days of a sandstorm. It comes and goes but a mile away in any direction and everything beyond that has disappeared. I spent 40 minutes yesterday washing my 5 tshirts in the aqueducts down the line from my host mom Aicha, host sister Ilhem and a couple of other ladies. Osama and Jamal were cleaning some kind of tarp (Osama is 7 maybe) and he looked up and yelled: Walu! Because everywhere around us there was just palm trees and nothing, walu, other than our tubs and the pack of Tide soap. It was like it had all been eaten up, or else we had fallen into a dream world that was still being created.
A while back in our Nintendo 64 days there was a game called Turok, and the graphics were good up close, but anything far away disappeared into a haze. This is a bit like being in a sand storm. It was bad enough one day that
Using my new blue turban I went running today, and since there wasn't much too see, the best thing is to wrap the fabric over your whole face and head. And the material is thin enough that you can still see to aim where you are going. So I ran 10 K today and I looked like this lady.
A few weeks ago and I was in Tinjdad with Sam and Will. Sam and I have turbans --or a turban substitute, the Buff--and you just pull it over your eyes. But Will didnt so it looked like he was escorting too giant, 6 feet tall -burn patients , or else maybe two Invisible Men. Not sure if there is a picture of that floating around anywhere, but it's pretty common enough occurrence all year long here.
Next blog post will be called 'Five Years ago part 1' all about the MdS, and why it's a major reason that I'm here. Then I will be able to tell you all about spring camp which starts in four days! It will be me, 7 other PCVs and about 100 Moroccan kids in an amazing tour de force experience for all of us, located about an hour from the Mediterranean and a few steps from the Algerian border in a place called Oujda.
Peace and love!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Happy Birthday -- U.S. Senate Appreciating PC (& 2 of our Vols!)
49TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE PEACE CORPS -- (Senate Statement - March 03, 2010) Senator Ben Cardin (D-MD) Mr. CARDIN. Mr. President, today I rise to celebrate service--specifically the dedication of Americans volunteering in the Peace Corps, which this week marks its 49th year of connecting committed volunteers with meaningful work around the globe.
There are a lot of ways to give of ourselves. We donate food. We donate money. We donate time. But the Peace Corps takes community service--global service, really to another level, with volunteers committing 27 months to improve the quality of life in developing countries.
Some projects focus on agriculture; others business. Some improve health, while others emphasize education or the environment, but all programs build a unique international relationship with a spirit of volunteer service at its core.
As Chairman of the U.S. Helsinki Commission, I recently saw one program up close during a congressional delegation I led to Morocco, which is an active Mediterranean partner country in the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe.
Meetings with local government officials there were informative. And the briefings from the embassy staff were important. But the time we spent with a Peace Corps volunteer in rural Aitourir was nothing short of inspiring.
The Youth Development Program there run by Peace Corps volunteer Kate Tsunoda, with help from local community volunteers, is giving children from kindergarten through high school critical education, language, and art skills.
Inside a small community center, below a library still in need of dictionaries and elementary schoolbooks, we sat down with a group of young men, some in college, some recently graduated. In a part of the world where unemployment tops 15 percent, these are the people one may see as most susceptible to recruitment by extremists, but not these men. They spoke of dreams that included higher education, better jobs, and a transforming of their local towns.
These men credit the Peace Corps program for empowering them and building their language skills. I credit the Peace Corps for something even greater--forging international understanding, something the Peace Corps has excelled at now for 49 years in 139 countries through 7,671 volunteers. On the other side of town, several members of our delegation visited a start-up small business, the brainchild of retiree and Peace Corps volunteer Barbara Eberhart, whose second career is dedicated to empowering the women of Morocco.
The group visited a fabric and embroidery shop developed by a community of Berber women aided by a microcredit loan and Barbara's guidance and unbounded energy. These women, unable to read or write and essentially marginalized in Moroccan society, have formed a cooperative where they create fine embroidered goods and sell them in local markets. Their small business not only provides desperately needed income, but gives these women a stronger sense of themselves, their community and hope for their future and that of their children.
With Peace Corps volunteers coming from all backgrounds, ages and various stages of life, this program is as diverse as our country. The local citizen collaboration inherent in all Peace Corps work helps build enduring relationships between the United States and Peace Corps partner countries.
The Peace Corps invests time and talent in other countries, but it pays dividends back here in the United States as well. Those who are taught or helped by Peace Corps volunteers are likely to have more favorable opinions of the United States. More than that, many of the volunteers themselves are inspired to public service upon their return to this country, some becoming Governors and Members of Congress, including our own colleague and fellow Helsinki Commissioner, Senator Dodd of Connecticut.
I left Aitourir thinking Kate was the exemplary Peace Corps volunteer with her welcoming smile, passion for service and genuine love for the Moroccan people. But aware of the success of so many other Peace Corps programs around the world, I know Kate is one of many volunteers--all of whom would have left as great an impression.
The Peace Corps is a program that works. Volunteers year in and year out continue to fulfill the Peace Corps mission of bringing training and education to interested countries and strengthening understanding between Americans and our neighbors in the global community. Congratulations to the Peace Corps for 49 remarkable years. I look forward to its continued success.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
I thought we arrived on September 11, but I guess not
¼ Peace Corps*
*one-quarter finished, if all things go according to schedule... no surprises or hiccups!
Spring is on its way and in another month it will be 100 degrees and up each day. Instead of buried under 4 blankets, I'll be sleeping on the roof each night under the stars.
I arrived here 6 months ago today, which means I've now spent more than half a year in Africa! One of my long term dreams is to spend a year on all 7 continents, and I'm about exactly halfway done with that. Little longer in Europe, visit Asia for the first time, find a job sweeping the floors at the South Pole science station... Though, for the second half of that goal I'll try to do it much more leisurely, that's for sure.
My 1/4 Peace Corps Review
I sat with an Italian man this morning, a guy from una citta piccola vicina a Venezia. I translated for him the night before and saw him talking to a girl online at the cyber cafe. And this morning he said he liked us enough that he'd come back to 'Kob because he found it so extremely peaceful and relaxing. 'E un altre mondo che Marrakesh o Fez'. It's a whole different world than the touristy places in Morocco! But he said also : It's the first time that I seen a town that doesn't have public lighting at night time.
In my mind I thought: but this is the way most of the world is. There are no lights above most homes in the world. So for him, it's good to come here and see such a place. But what I've found is that even if that is the case, the people have cell phones that they shine before them to light the way. And if they all have lights like that on the end of their cell phone, why pay for a public light way above that does the same thing, but less efficiently? (this phenomenon is called the great tech-leap.... in the US we went from VCR's to Laser Discs to DVD's to Blu-Ray while they get their first TV this year and jump directly to the DVD player.
Another example of the great tech-leap in the world is that in many poorer countries there's no infrastructure for telephone lines, and they will never make the infrastructure for phone lines. Why would they? Because they can just put a cellphone tower there instead. Or, electric lines? For thousands of miles? You can build a hospital far from anywhere, and you can just put a solar panel above it instead of having to build anything that crosses the continent for so long just to get there.
Similarly, the incoming culture introduced to a conservative country no through movies and satellites is nowadays many steps further along. They have these bold ideas that are introduced at a blinding rate, much more like a Pandora's Box than when TV came to the US in the '50s. An example is Guadalupe, the Mexican telenovela that is dubbed in Arabic and plays nearly every night. People love this show! But their lives are nothing like what they see reflected in it. In the book I read last week, HALF THE SKY, they said how revolutionary it is to see women on television who do not ask their husbands for permission to leave. “It's less about asking for permission to leave, and now it's more about 'notifying' him that I'm going to go out” one woman in the book said, because she never knew there was any other way, if it hadn't been for watching a lady in a Mexican telenovela act that way. It's less a gradual change like the US experienced over a period of 100 years, and instead it's the most modern of modern things juxtaposed alongside the unchanged lifestyle of 200 years ago.
But to bring it down to the day-to-day, now... Peace Corps!
Writing now, I'm sad because by the time fall comes, I will be the only volunteer in my region that is old. Everyone here now in Zagora is YouthD and their replacements will arrive in September. Though we might get a person in Zagora with this incoming staj... though I don't think we will. There were 65 of us in my group and they put just one of us here!
REBIRTH
I left my house in Tennessee in the early morning with my amazing mother, who took me to the airport on a Monday, September 7th. Can you imagine?
Yeah, Monday's suck. Unless you're in Peace Corps, Mondays don't suck here!
And half a year later, I've yet to see a single person that I knew in my entire life before then. And I'm not sure when exactly I will next! But PC is a person-oriented thing, made for person people, and you're guaranteed to meet someone who'll change your life. Or hundreds of them. So writing now, I'm hoping to join those two worlds of people together, those throw-backs that I miss all the time, and those new ones that I'll miss when the day comes that this ends.
Like I said, in my region Zagora I'm the only one of the 65 that came here that lives here. The others are to the East and to the North, and my goal is to visit all of their homes before I go home. So far I've seen about 8 I think. But since I am only around the 2nd years, who are approaching their final day here ever more quickly, it's interesting to hear them talk about PC with a very definite sense of possession. “My service”. I want to make this happen and have it be a part of my service. That sense of ownership can be trying, since so much seems to be out of your hands—ask my friend Z, who has only gotten one lucky break in the past 4.5 months—but in that spirit I wanted to spend this week leading up to this humble anniversary in order to evaluate and write now, looking at my service and seeing how things have gone until this point.
This past month I told my Mom in my belief that people are able to do stupid things now that kill past happiness.... i.e., you do something now that leaves such a foul taste that between you and the other person, it is able to alter everything you felt about the good things from before. Times you remember as happy stop being so. You can't imagine them ever having been so. This is what you do not want, you want all of that hard work from before, those happy moments that you stole despite the adversity you faced at the time, you want to keep those experiences that way. It's a tough thing to do—in a way this is the argument for a clean break, over resentful languishing, and should be given a second's thought—but I suppose that taking the time to review and write down my impressions now will allow a little bit more permanence to those happy times and also help diffuse some of the harshness of the past.
I said when getting on the plane to come here that Peace Corps is a galvanizing force. There will be those of us that think it's the greatest thing that can have happen to them, and others who will later wish that they had never heard of Peace Corps ever. I certainly knew people from Bolivia that felt both ways.
The difficulty, too, is that things can go great until that point when everything takes a disastrous turn. So PC being a wonderful force in a person's life is the ideal, and it has that ability but it can be fickle. I hope that for me and my friends we will make it and there'll be nothing more difficult than what we've seen already. If we've made it this far, we can go all the way.
To say it in other words, while I'm feeling great I want to get it all on paper in case it changes!
PHILADELPHIA
It's fun now to look back at the photos that I took during staging in Philadelphia—the 2 days there where we discussed our expectations, did some team-building activities, some impromptu dancing, eagerly bonding with other people in the hopes that with them we'll somehow halfway fill the void of those we are leaving behind—the photos are interesting because when I took them the photos were of strangers but now I've spent hundreds of hours with them and when we see each other we seem to go into a sort-of survivor mode, acting together now as if noone else in the universe can understand each other as well as we can.
Reading RAYUELA by Julio Cortazar, he describes a writer's job as taking the memories we have, which are more like photos, and turning them into a coherent story, like a film.
So, some of my snapshots from this short, inauspicious but gently epic period are : arriving a day early and spending the night cramming to study the Arabic alphabet while eating Vietnamese food for the first time (in case they sort us into groups based on that... they didnt) ; lying amazed while watching my final Netflix movie after exactly 12 months, a Wagner opera staged by Werner Herzog; Brendon arriving to the room late while this is playing, then spending 45 minutes talking to him about Tolstoy and living in Germany. Then, another half hour about music, and impressing him by catching bits from Balkan Girls, Frou Frou, and Julieta Venegas, and throwing out the titles of the songs after just another second. He impressing me by saying how he had a Master's in War Studies.
The next morning : walking around the room, half-asleep and trying to find my second bag. My last night in Tennessee I only slept maybe 2 hours, so when I arrived at the hotel I was damn tired. I felt halfway OK, but apparently I was so tired that I left my second bag, 40 pounds (20 kgs) of things on the sidewalk. Or did I ? Somewhere! But I sure as heck didn't know what happened to it. And as I am good at doing, I capitulated to fate and said goodbye to all of those things. I couldnt even remember what the other bag had,anyway, and all of the most important stuff I saw was in the two other bags I had with me. Luckily fate wasn't so harsh: the day we left for the airport it hadn't come, until I get a phone call in the room, saying that the bag had arrived. It had been left in the back of the airport van, and the man was able to call the telephone number to my Mom's workplace, ask her what hotel I stayed in and then the next day he drove there to drop it off again.
Unlike the first day, where it was an empty hotel and 3 or 4 soon-to-be PCVs roaming around, the next day people began to pour in. If I'm correct, we had two nights sleeping there then the 10th we left for the airport. I sat behind Sam and Z, and was glad when our bus took us through New York one last time. If I had planned ahead, Wilson maybe could have met me there. Z is from Queens, I think, so her mom met her there with some of her luggage. We came from the wrong direction, though, because otherwise we would have driven in front of her house, she said!
Other things from Philly: met Sam, whose hands seemed to be shaking badly at the back of the line when going to our first meetings. Adrenaline, I'm sure, just like all of us. But a half an hour later and he seemed just fine. We were standing at the back of the line and met Jack and his wife. He was a PCV from Turkey in the 1960s, and he told us his medical questionaire was only a page long! One question on it, saying : Are you healthy?
I was glad to see Bethany (or Brittany?) as one of the 3 PC staff that came to process us before we left for Morocco. She and her husband were one of the sweetest people in Bolivia with me, and I feel as though I saw her when I went to the PC Job fair in Washington in February.
At the airport later, sitting with Cat and Jeff, talking and comparing stories as evacuees. One came from Mauritania and the other from Madagascar. There were enough of us to form a group of evacuees, I feel like nearly 10% of our staj. It shows you how Morocco is the most requested country for applicants, since those that are able to firmly say where they want to go—evacuees--had so many chose to go there.
Unlike me, they all came nearly directly from their first countries, though with Jeff there's a twist. He traveled over land from Madagascar to Morocco, and he stayed with PCVs here in country (some of which are now his neighbors! One in particular, Tim, they stayed several days together during that time, last summer). He even met the staff and so he knew more than most others what awaited us when he got on the plane in Philadelphia to go back there.
Most people's personalities were ultimately different than what those first impressions gave me, and Im sure they'd say the same about me. But those are very unusual circumstances, signing a contract for two years and knowing nearly nothing of what to expect. Many question marks, but also the chance to reinvent yourself. To decide to go by Samuel instead of Sam for the first time in your life, just because there's another Sam in the group.
One great joy is that the last person I saw that I knew before Peace Corps Morocco was one of my closest friends from Peace Corps Bolivia. A Philadelphia girl, Dianne, who took me to eat at the Farmer's Market, and around the city. It was her last week as a professional bicycle activist/promoter and so we each had the same air of new beginnings and nostalgia. She was also able to show me one of her favorite cafe's, and she helped provide me the reassurance and emotional support needed to step on the plane, in the wide-eyed optimistic way that only Dianne can do*.
After all, if I'm blessed by having a person like Dianne in my life only because I was willing to go do Peace Corps Bolivia, who else might I discover by going again that would turn themselves likewise into an indispensable part of my being? (It's similar to going to study abroad at a place named Lille and sitting down for the first time in that enormous room with 40 students from all over, listening to the role call for the first time and noticing the 5 ot 6 who did not speak English with the same accent as the others. And maybe the first week you are so homesick that you want to leave and go back, but by three weeks, you're ready to give them your everything... Just saying, you have to have faith that it'll work out, and it usually does.).
Sam turned out to be such a person. It seems like most of the others, too, by now. And if not some, mainly because I haven't had a lot of contact time with them still. (Unless they complain constantly)
*Not only was Dianne changing jobs, but a few months later would announce her engagement to a man that she dated before PC Bolivia. Congratulations!
IN COUNTRY
Same Royal Air Maroc flight from the same NY airport, same good food, and the same destination Casablanca as back in my 2005 Morocco trip. It was the first time I ever travelled anywhere alone. But this time for a very different reason, a very different Ben. A different length of time, about 60 times longer! And also a different set of expectations and challenges. Trying to give back to the country that had changed me so much in such a short period of time. To live in a home there, rather than running a marathon through the emptiest parts of it.
And, in fact, it was in this group that I heard for the first time what a Peace Corps volunteer was. I dont think I'd ever heard the name, can't be sure of that. But as a twenty year old that had just run 156 miles in seven days—one day running through 25 miles of sand dunes, another running 50 miles through the day and the next night—I happened to go to the buffet, tasting these strange Moroccan salads and then sitting at the banquet dinner across from Pam and Becca. Before long, the conversation between the two turned to Becca asking Pam about applying to Peace Corps. I don't know if she ever signed up or not, but I did! Twice. Of course the application process is so long, and I'm able to retrace my emotional journey back to then, pinching myself now and asking if this is really what it is, strange still that it's really happening, that all of these things around me stem from those moments back then.
Pic of Ben now, ben then
EXPERIENCING TIME
So far the big trend seems to be this: everything changes every two months. Everything.
Two intense months in training in Sefrou, followed by an equally demanding first two months in 'Kob. Now, finishing the third Two month unit here and beginning the fourth. They all seem completely distinct and different experiences in nearly all ways. This two-month block now is moving even faster than the first three, and appears geared towards the time getting ready for spring camp—and is qualitatively different, too. I'm free to travel for the first time to Istanbul, to Porto, Roma, Warsaw, or Luanda, provided my vacation form arrives in Rabat two weeks ahead of time. This is the two month unit just before summer arrives. In Morocco, summer arrives early and leaves late! So, these are the days I'll look back and miss, when the mercury in the thermometers has long since bursted; true story, this happened to Rachel's medical kit thermometer inside her house.
Then once Summer comes, it's another two months or four month block where it's so unbearable that the staff allows you to travel to the North just because it's so hot! And by then I'll be writing my ½ Peace Corps look-back. The Dar Chebab where I work will close for a month during this time and of course will change things a lot. Then at that one year time, it's just repeating the same things, but more wisely, doing the projects more accurately, the end swiftly approaching. The final two months of my service, then, and I'll be neither here nor there, instead saying goodbye and looking forward to saying hello to many people. How much time does that leave, then?!?
But each unit seems to be distinct from all the others, with its own flavor, its own hopes and loathings, its own markers, sights and smells and memories that transport me back. It's like a roller coaster that, yes, you can look at it from ground-level, but only when you're inverted, one hundred feet above ground and going sixty miles an hour do you appreciate what it is you were looking at from afar.
WORK
Many days here it feels like my biggest accomplishment is that I ate lunch. But sitting here look at everything that has happened in this time, I see that Christa's parents were right when they said : “It seems like living there is : long periods of extreme boredom punctuated with short, fast periods of extreme danger”. That's about the truth!
My biggest crisis coming here was the realization that Morocco is doing just fine without us. Its economy is stronger than ours now, they can't seem to build infrastructure quickly enough and they're doing it already at a blistering pace. English and French and the other international languages are readily available and taught already in the smallest communities. Then you add to that the fact that my program puts people in larger communities, and you start to wonder if you are expendable.
This was the first half of my time here, but I've since come around. There are 3 goals to Peace Corps, as outlined by President Kennedy: sharing technical skills, sharing cultural knowledge about Americans to the other country and sharing knowledge with Americans about other cultures. Now I feel that PC is necessary here, but not so much for the first goal as for the other two. The Muslim culture here is so distorted in our media, and vice versa, that it makes sense this being PC's second biggest post in the world, after Ghana.
And of course, you show up to your town and you have doubts about what you're doing here, but then you meet 10 people that really care about your work and what you can offer. And that number grows each day more and more, people that rely on you to help pass their college entrance exams in English. Or even further, you discover they need you less than you need them! That it's so peaceful that you'd come live here even without the impetus of being part of an organized program. A lot of nights, I go to sleep feeling horrible, to wake up seeing my host family and feeling amazing. Other nights it's the opposite. You start horribly but it changes and you go to sleep peacefully. So if anything, the main difference between the next six months and the one I've already passed is this: the question of feeling capable to fulfilling those needs becomes the mental minefield, more than suffering over whether there's any point to you for being here.
ACCOMPLSHMENTS (?)
“It's the risk that I'm taking, I ain't ever going to shut you out”
I wish PC were a UN-program. They have such a thing, but I mean it more this way: the UN program has very strict demands and qualifications. Peace Corps is more ambiguous and accepts a lot of people that are unqualified but are willing to learn and work hard, to share what they have and to continue growing, even while the country changes them and opens their minds and hearts to the struggles of the wider world. And I wish someone from the D.R. or Bangladesh could sign up and come to Morocco alongside me, get the same training. Since I've known Serena, it was a big realization this year to think that she's been in the same place the entire time I've known her doing the same things. And she'd do as good or better at this than me.
But I've been on the move the whole time. Since leaving my home in Jackson, Tennessee, early in the morning with my mother and then going by myself to Philadelphia, I've studied 2 languages intensively, visited half of the regions in Morocco, met 500-600 people or more (65 of which flew with me here in my staj, then maybe 150 people in my town, 30 staff members, the two PCV's that worked in our training town Jonathan and Clark-- 20 people in the regions next to mine, as well as meeting briefly the entire staj that we replaced when I went to Sou-Youn's memorial service, plus another hundred working here, taxi drivers, restaurant owners, teachers, trash men and a hundred tourists that have come through—one week alone we had 10 people staying at our home, and we had an Italian man from 'una piccola cita near Venizia—the nice family that owns the hotel in Azrou, the 5 host families in Sefrou that hosted us during training, Sam's new host family in his town, Will's friends in Tinjdad, etc. etc.!)
Maybe that number is low, it could be 2 or 3x that many people that I've met. My first day in my town, I didnt' meet everyone but nearly the whole town met me because I went to a three-day wedding, each room of their Casbah filled with 60 people or more, always new ones coming in and out. And the wedding went on each night until 4 in the morning.
I also bought a guitar named Piccolina in Tinjdad and my oud Delilah in Fez. A bicycle named Priskah, after my favorite francophone adult film actress. I taught my first hour long lessons in my life, and expanded classes from English to begin teach French Spanish and International Cuisine. I also worked hard to get an audience to come, then lost nearly all of them after going away for 2 weeks to Azrou for more training.
Most days here I read about 130 or 150 pages, and one day I read twice as much as normal, an entire book 250 pages long HALF THE SKY—directly related to everything I do here—and I read an additional 30 pages in Rayuela after that. In the same day! Last month I finished my second book in Italian ever, and it's among my top 5 that I've ever read, IF ON A WINTER'S NIGHT A TRAVELER. And as of now, I'm 150 pages into my 3rd one, L'OMBRA DELLO SCORPIONE.
Work accomplishments are more scarce, but I feel pretty well integrated into my community. My most successful things at my Dar Chebab/ Youth House is that I introduced falafel and calzone sandwiches to about 30 women. And the second most interesting and rewarding thing is that I correspond with a 6th grade class in Louisville. I realized how important and interesting this is when I went to the post office today and I got a stack of 70 letters from the entire class at the school. It seemed like 2 letters each, and they sent a red construction paper heart Valentine with each person's name written on it.
I incorporated these letters into my lesson today, telling each girl to read the notes from the students, then flip the paper over to write a letter back to them, introducing themselves. The more complicated letters I gave to my 3 best students, and they will work on a letter for the boy Garrett this week to mail next week. His letter I will post on my blog and I'll post the response they write, too. After I gave them the letter, I could tell they were worked up, and they didnt write anything at all, instead arguing with each other and with what the person said. The topic was : American stereotypes (violent, sexual, obese, etc.), and how do I deal with that? They read the whole thing and the girls when they finished I asked them, “Now, the problem is that many Americans think crazy things about Moroccans, too” So I want them to respond talking in the same way but from their side and the stereotypes they are angry at people having about themselves. But even just reading that 12 year old boy writing that way, maybe it helped cause them to reevaluate what they felt about Americans, regardless if they take the next step down that train of thought, asking if they, too are misrepresented in the media.
This past weekend we had our first-ever English day camp that we did in the desert town Mhmid. It was especially nice, and they gave us all blue turbans as commemorative gifts, a delicious camel tajine, and before teaching English to them for a couple of hours, we had a panel discussion. The way I described the stereotype problem then is like this :
America is this big. (I hold up my hands.)
And Morocco is this big (I keep my hands the same size but I move over to the other side)
The problem though is that television is this small : and in the middle I make a little oval with my hands.
It's like a window, and the window is too small to see the other side. So you just see a little bit, part of a jilaba or part of a pair of pants. But you can't begin to understand the complicated people just by what you see on that small television screen.
Instead, you want to bring them together so that they can completely understand each other.
While the 2 week training in Azrou caused a lot of problems, it helped crystallize my desire to work with Gender and Development almost exclusively. This is basically women's issues and empowering girls. Part of that is including guys in the process. Because if you can get men to treat women fairly, then you're halfway there. But this is a much huger issue than just being treated fairly. Infant mortality, literacy, family finances and so much more depends on this. But for my work, partly it's just this is what interests me, and its these people that I get along with the most. Also, the girls and women in my town are the most dynamic force in the society, with the most new opportunities and they must be supported fully to keep up.
In the half year here, I also had deep periods of doubt, followed by short moments of ecstasy. Other times I lost faith and felt the worst shame and embarassment in my life for having come here. And I tried hard to share how and why I felt that way, but I suppose this is all so unique that noone can really empathize what is going on inside me. Life has yet to become regularized and I'm not sure if it will, but when it gets bad then I always open my cell phone and look at the message Serena sent on October 12:
“Ben, you are not causing pain, you know that! It's just the distance and the missing part, don't be sad or ashamed please and try to live Morocco at the fullest!we love you no matter what!”
I'm very glad to have that on my phone to look at. A life-line. And am glad for the great people that support me. You don't even know how much!
MISC.
I've been able to stay on top of culture in the US with my Kindle, subscribing to TIME magazine and downloading it once a week. And since you can buy iTunes online, using a US credit card, I went to the cyber anxiously four different times, to download Jay-Z's amazing latest album, other times going for SHE WOLF by Shakira, THE SEA by Corinne Bailey Rae and finally SOLDIER OF LOVE by Sade, plus the Hope for Haiti telethon album and video and THIS IS IT. Knowing that I'm able to do so is reassurance that I'll come through fine the next time a personal crisis might hit.
COMING HERE AGAIN
I felt like I was on a losing streak since about... 2006. Something like that. Mostly because everything before that seemed to work so smoothly that I stopped planning well for all the things after that. But also because of things out of my control like what happened in Bolivia. I came back from there, and it seemed like the economy would only get worse and worse, with jobs being the hardest hit area: I felt fortunate then knowing that I had job security so long as I decided to come here. I would likely have done things much differently if I felt like I had more chance to take risk in a stronger economy. For all I know, I might still be at home looking for a job if I hadn't re-enlisted. Coming here I knew I'd get my student loans delayed, at the least, and I was happy to come here as a Youth Development volunteer, a job that I knew instinctively more than Agriculture like in Bolivia, one related to my career goals as well as the opportunity that I'd be living inside historical Iberia and close to the rest of Europe. Italy, especially.
Of course, way back when Obama inspired me to sign up for P.C. Way back in the first months of his campaign. And the fact that he went to Cairo for his first major foreign speech to talk about Islam and the West? That certainly was a major influence that helped me sign up again, for sure! Now, when talking about his Nobel Prize, it makes a great deal more sense why he got it when you are a person living in a Muslim country. Yeah, the nuclear nonproliferation and disarmament is a big deal, and mostly still forthcoming, but the change in atmosphere here is a much more legitimate reason for him to have won it.
I decided partly on Morocco just because I believed it was 40 years of continuous work here, but no, they've evacuated in the past 7 years. Why? The Iraq war. People were so angry, volunteers were threatened and security was too risky for vol's to stay here. And it was that bad despite this being the country that is America's greatest ally in the Middle East/North Africa region, the first country of all of them in the whole world that recognized America at its independence. But since Obama was elected, now the atmosphere is back to the way it was before that, pre-Bush. Or even better since President Obama is demonstrably standing up for the rights of the Palestinian people. Arms open fully again, in a mutual embrace. And that's worth a Nobel Prize, or at least enough to make me want to come live here.
So while there is the less proud benefit that my ass was covered at least for the period of the depression that was imminent.... but I felt it could only be as good or better than the amazing experience I'd had before: I had both more realistic expectations, and I knew the country ahead of time. Yes, I was cocky coming here, to a degree. But of course, I got all the same scars as each other person did during training and cultural integration. You wouldn't think so, after having visited 25 or 30 countries in my life. But it's like working out a muscle that you've never used before, your Morocco muscle. And you don't know after those first workout sessions if you'll ever be able to straighten it out ever again in your life. Now my Morocco muscle still gets sore, and I'm still exhausted at the end of the day, even after the best days. But it's not as sore as much, and I'm able to do the workout more regularly without feeling it too badly.
Now visiting my friends, they tell me how at first it sounded like I was a big hot shot, 8 months in Bolivia! But we are all approaching that point now, and they see more clearly how little that can be. Just enough time to start to relax in your own personality. “If we had to evacuate in May, I'm pretty sure I'd sign up again, and I'd do it somewhere completely different than what we have here” Sam said.
Pretty big words from this guy, compared to when I met him at the back of the line in Philadelphia!
But he also mentioned how : “I can see how this is supposed to be the most mentally difficult part... (according to a chart that PC gave us) . For the first time, people expect a lot more from you, you have more responsibility and are not quite good enough to comply with your desires and their needs. The honeymoon is over and no there's a difficult period of adjustment to these new pressures.” And you're also at a point where you feel confident enough to get into big trouble! Just enough knowledge to cause major damage, but not enough to avert some of that.
**pic of Sam with my guitar
FOOD
My first two months in site, I ate host family food for half the time then the next two months almost exclusively bowls of milk and cereal, four times a day. I had one set of Moroccan friends the first two months, then nearly all of them left for Spain or Agadir. I lived on expensive food that I bought in the capital Rabat and took with me in a suitcase or 500 miles to my town. The Americans I saw were those that lived West of me, the 2nd year PCVs that live in my province. I went to Ourzazate several times, Marrakesh a couple of times, Rabat more than once.
Work was lacking and I didnt mind. I was sick for exactly half of that period and did little more than drift in and out of consciousness, reading constantly and going to the bathroom or else sleeping 15 hours a day.
The Second two months in site has been totally different in nearly every way. A new room full of my things and my new furniture, not sick like the first time. And Ive seen the Zagora volunteers rarely. The Americans I've seen and the sites Ive visited have all been East of my town, seeing Tazarine several times on the way through to Azrou in the north, visiting Erfoud twice and Errachidia on the way up there. Met Sam's town Aoufouz, Wes's town Tinrirt, and the many places between. Ive seen people more from my staj than from those in their second year here, and Ive been able to see the new (and bare) apartments of those people that arrived here with me. After going to Tinjdad, I saw both Will and Sam, and said to them: “OK, I'm throwing the gauntlet down! Ive visited both your towns and none of you have visited me yet.”
A week later Sam took the 6 hour trip to my town for my birthday. But I didn't know he was there. My host dad woke me up, I was unhappy and tired, class didnt go well. “Addi! Wake up, we have a tourist. I need you to come translate English for me.” So we walked up to the roof overlooking the palmerie, and when I rounded the corner, it was him! And I was especially grateful that he'd be there for my birthday, and gave me a stone chess set that he and Will went in on together, considering that he had to leave at 10 the very next morning, do the whole trip again and be back at his town by 6 in order to teach.
WORK
Work has kept me busy and I have a set schedule of where to be, teaching French and Cuisine on Tuesday afternoon (the first time was falaffel, and next time I will teach Thai peanut noodles), Spanish each morning at noon and again at 730 PM, then English for girls two hours each day and an hour for boys before the Spanish class, 4 days a week.
Food also has been more local, cheaper things, more simple things that I can make a bunch of and save in the refrigerator. I miss eating cereal, but I haven't been to Ourzazate to buy any more in 3 months! I eat host family food only twice a week and always the smaller night meal, soup or noodles. Sometimes the german couple are there, and I'll share a vegetarian tajine with them, my favorite thing of all.
This past 2 months I also spent more time in the town, meeting new people, being invited for tea or going to sit at the cafe while eating my Omelette matisha, going alone and chatting with whoever shows up. I havent been to any major city that had cereal, so Ive not used any of the dehydrated milk that I went through so quickly when I ate all cereal only. This half year that I've been here, I've been proposed for sex by the poorest men (in French... when I figured out what was going on, I turned and walked away as quickly as possible), but I've also been invited to the home of the richest man in town, the President of 'Kob. His sons showed me the photo of him with the King of Morocco.
Here in Morocco, I suppose it is easy enough to get halfway to any goal, but its the obstacles after that moment that make things so much more difficult. In the US, everything is smoother and takes less time.
LANGUAGE
Language learning here is very Platonic. “PST (Training) is when you learn everything very quickly and then forget it all. The 6 months after training is when you start excavating all the things you crammed into your mind in those 9 intense weeks, dusting it off and polishing, making it a part of your routine. You're learning everything again, but PST gives you so much, it's all already in there, you just have to bring it back out on your own, in the conversations you have and the way you maneuver in the culture without anyone there to help you... exactly what Plato thought people did for everything learned in their lifetime, the idea of each person having a kind of primordial knowledge that we are born with, then learning is less finding new things, but rediscovering (or not) the knowledge that you were given before birth.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
random photos from Facebook with me
Mostly music photos, that's me on the floor
This is something funny from the Admin team that they just emailed me
-------
Great, but one year supply? more like 2 weeks to me!
And this is the song we were singing, minus the rap part
( i havent seen this video yet, so im not sure if it's suitable, but i think its OK. Its the part that goes Chta tata tata in Arabic or Tamazight)
This is something funny from the Admin team that they just emailed me
First winner: KEDAR MANKAD won one year supply or 2 large jars of American Peanut Butter.
On March 16th, we will do a raffle for 5 winners.
On March 30th, we will do a raffle for 5 more winners.
Good luck…
The Admin Team
-------
Great, but one year supply? more like 2 weeks to me!
And this is the song we were singing, minus the rap part
( i havent seen this video yet, so im not sure if it's suitable, but i think its OK. Its the part that goes Chta tata tata in Arabic or Tamazight)
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