Hub as Vacation With 13 Days Left.

"You're going to be the biggest thing in history? That's big talk when you're sleeping every day away."

First, I lived like a queen this weekend. Snuggled up in a friends apartment while she was on a trip, with absolute overwhelming silence. Hours and hours, of uninterrupted sleep without even having a TV on! 

In the silence I finally had a chance to think about this whole thing, and started really asking what am I doing here, and writing out my responses.I took a long warm bath. I studied fusha for hours, then darija for hours. I read a friend's thesis. I watched a couple movies, chatted with friends, finally got to see mom and dads' faces on Skype and finally realized that while this first part has been rough, Peace Corps still feels like it was the right choice for me.  This weekend, all in all, was rejuvenating. It is fascinating how much comfort a little bit of privacy affords a person. 

Now, there are just 13 days until I get my site assignment. If you really want to count we are supposed to get them at 2:00pm our time, so more like 12 days and 22 hours. I couldn't possibly be more excited. The idea of having a community, planning for it, and starting a routine is awe-inspiring. 

I don't know much, but I know that my first purchase will probably be a desk like set up, long before I think about a bed. I can't wait to set up my own little study and work world. I can't wait to start to be able to track the good I am doing in the community I become an official part of. Till then, I have one more hub and then 9 days. 

Hub, as a concept, is a place that forms the effective center of an activity, region, or network. For Peace Corps it is where half of the new staj gets together for three days to go over concepts we need to be incorporating into our dar ash-shabab as well as safety and security discussions, logistics explanations, and general support. 

We have three hubs, equally spaced throughout our training. As can be imagined, it is a perfect unwind time for loads of the trainees. It doesn't hurt that there are hot showers, delicious meals, a whole bunch of people who remind me of being home and make me feel less lonely, and sweet sweet alone time. Oh also I get a bit of internet access while at hub (usually when I am sitting in the conference room :/ )

Hub starts tomorrow, which means after I post this I will return to my home stay and go sleep there till our early morning train ride. Then I will spend a few days at a hotel learning a whole bunch more final type logistic things. I am excited to be surrounded by the other PCTs again, just because it's a little rough only talking to some of them on the phone. 

As far as my thought-filled weekend goes…here is what I got: 

I guess every day it becomes weirder, when I realize I am actually in Peace Corps. Recently, the realization keeps hitting me when a particular student comes to class completely prepared, with everything. He comes with the photocopies of all previous lessons, in order, all completed. He practices. He has a notebook specifically for lessons with me. He hands me homework. He has stopped calling me 'my teacher' and started saying 'Leanna.'

Then, even more so than him I have another girl, who came my first day of teaching with absolutely no knowledge of English. On Thursday she wrote a full paragraph for me about how she 'used to have unhealthy habits, but has changed them because she wants to live a long time' in perfect English. Unfortunately, I will only be with them for the next two weeks. By unfortunately, I mean it is making me super sad that I started them on a journey that I can't help them continue on (but I will Skype the more serious ones if they are willing and able). I am really not looking forward to saying goodbye to these students, but I can't wait to start a rhythm with the new ones at my permanent site. 

Otherwise, my camera broke. I went on a fantastic long hike with a couple of other trainees in my group (Yousef and Alison) and took a terrible fall on the way back down. Mostly I just landed full weight, hard, on a rock - which cracked my camera screen to the core. Nice work I know. Oh, also, my glasses broke (an arm broke off them). I am handing them off at hub to the medical staff who will handle getting the arm attached again (it should be a simple ish fix, we shall see). 

I imagine I will actually, despite the fact that I will be living in, thinking in, and speaking darija all day long, get shweea (a little) better at English grammar (simply because I will be learning rules for the first time in order to teach them) or all my students will end up with atrocious grammar…also a real possibility.

I am nervous about some silly things. I am nervous I will be at site with a couple. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I don't know how I would not be consistently jealous of their automatic support system for the next two years. I am nervous about finding reasonably priced housing on my own. I am nervous I might end up terribly far from everyone I know (including Moroccans). I am nervous about the dialect differences or learning a dialect of Berber if the situation calls for it. I'm also nervous about relationships in this whole situation for the next two years. Everyone I talk to seems to be all over the place about them, and all my idealized, everything will just work out when it is supposed to shit, doesn't really work in this context. Basically, it sure is a lot to think about. Glad I had such a long bath. 

I know the current requests still stand, for photos and food descriptions - and I am getting there I promise… I just now have to figure out how to afford a used camera...

Spring/English Camp is Over!

It's March. Are you kidding me?

I haven't really had time, nor internet, to keep up with this blog like I intended to so here is what you missed. 

• One shower, this morning. (Literally check out the date on that last blog post and let me know how you feel about that).
• One henna night, which was exactly as awesome as it sounds…pictures will follow. 
• One spring camp. Picture being in control of 40 children who speak a language that isn't your first for a full week, during which you are to plan everything they do. That was exactly as overwhelming as it sounds, and definitely made me wish away some of my CBT time.
• A lot of really killer meals. 
• Me and my 7 training pals doing the YMCA and the makerena on stage in a room full of Moroccan youth.
• Me realizing that actively doing something taxing for two years without getting really paid is only frustrating because I would love to get paid and use the money on the kids, and money makes shit soooo much easier here just as it does in the US. 
• Salliemae denying my economic hardship deferment that is supposed to be guaranteed because they didn't process the paperwork within thirty days of the application. If your head just exploded, just know that mine is currently also running amok, and I am working out a solution that doesn't involve leaving this program or destroying my credit. 
• Me realizing some of the many many things I don't know. Including but not limited to: singing, dancing, pop music in general, origami, how to play every silly hand game I have ever seen played, how to cook a well balanced meal that can sit for days and is great to eat at every temperature, how to spice things in general, how to explain my religious beliefs without offending those around me in perfect Darija, how to tactfully explain that I am super hungry, how to explain why I wear eyeliner (shit I wish I knew the actual answer to that), how to unawkwardly explain that I really am not looking for a husband, REALLY not, oh and also… FRENCH, jeez do I wish I knew French.

That's it. Not too much. 

I'll write a real post in the next few days (read: week)

Four honks and a bike bell...

...with stare, lip-smack, and bonjour as uncountable nouns.

*trigger warning* 

(I will censor comments on this blog post, actively. Nothing offensive will remain.)

This blog post is about sexual harassment in general and more specifically about the escalation of that harassment. It is not in line with the rest of the posts, because it has little, if not nothing, to do with my being in Morocco. The correlation is that today I walked out of our second 'training' about sexual harassment because I simply could not take it. I needed to be in a safe space. That was not one. 

I should have posted it a long time ago. I should have talked about it with peers in high school, and then delved deeper with college peers. I did, but only with the people who were clearly willing to listen. I should have gotten in some faces earlier. 


Let's start with that which should be blindingly obvious but is not to everyone.

Heterosexual males are not the only perpetrators. 

Cisgendered women are not the only victims. 

Everyone, unfortunately, experiences harassment. That being said, from what I see on a day to day basis, I can deduce, that my experience with explicitly sexual harassment is extremely different from that of a cisgendered male. As to the transgendered or queer experiences, I have no idea, and will never pretend to. 

What I experience on a daily basis, in every city I have ever been in, would appall my father. I think quite literally he would shit himself. A two and a half minute walk to the hanut here to add dh to my phone, meant 4 honks, a bike sped up to be next to me, slowed down to talk to me, when I said essentially 'leave me alone I definitely don't want to deal with you right now' he pulled off, ringing his bike bell and looking over his shoulder till he couldn't anymore, stares in the twenties, kiss noises at around 6, bonjours in the tens and a couple of unfortunate hisses. That is two and half minutes today, in my life. 

It isn't different in stores, in schools, in different countries, at events. It isn't dictated by my actions at all. Sometimes I get glorious silence in a short skirt and heels and sometimes I get the above with only my head and fingers showing. I have seen no method to the madness. The only consistency in my experience is that women bother me less. But that is my experience, and not yours, so who knows?

I have no desire to talk about the specifics on a public blog. (As an ally to all survivors, if anyone would like a more intimate conversation I will absolutely be ready to support you, talk to you, or simply listen - whatever you need or want.)

I do however want to point out the reason it is important that we try to talk about our experiences when we can. The reason is because I think that some folks I come across literally can't fathom what it is like to have to constantly check my own fear to continue safely being who I am. I think that is because, fortunately for them, some situations that seem extremely calm are terrifying for me. The example I use most often is as follows...

At about 6pm, walking alone on a very public 'normal' well lit street, in a 'safe' section of Portland a man came up to me and asked me what time it was. I was textbook following the stupid advice people still give, wear less makeup, wear more clothing etc. etc. etc. but in that moment I noticed that he was wearing a watch. He had actively crossed the street to ask me what time it was even though he had on a watch. My throat closed in on itself, my stomach churned, my heart skipped a beat, and one immediate thought flashed through my mind…that I would be in his trunk in just a few minutes. 

I recounted this story to men and women over the course of the following months. General consensus was men said, "I would pull out my phone and tell them what time it is." Women said "I would get away as fast as possible."

Was the man who walked up to me a bad person? Was he just trying really terribly to flirt? Was he the nicest person in the whole world with a broken watch? I will never know. What I do know is that I blurted out that I was sorry and didn't know, and tripled my speed until I was in a store. What I also know is that I am convinced not giving him the time was one of the smartest/safest things I have done in my life.

Why did I react like that? Because I have been mentally disarmed before. Because I have been dragged away from the perfect 'well lit, well dressed, with people situation' into a much scarier one, with as unimportant a question as, 'What time is it?' I wasn't drunk, I wasn't wearing makeup, I wasn't alone, I was fully covered clothing wise, and hey fuckers, I wasn't in the Middle East (so stop asking like it's soo different here). I was in suburbia USA. I was surrounded by people I knew in an area I know and was paying attention to what was going on around me.

By some incredibly fortunate events, notably the connection of my foot to his balls, my teeth to his hand in a well timed fashion, and another person who heard me and was willing to fight with and for me, I got away before he was able to commit rape. I know of others who were not able to get away and have much more horrifying experiences than I have ever had. 

For those people, you do not have a session with 60 people in a room and use the r word twenty times in a row without purpose. For those people, you do not spew bullshit about how you can just cross the street if a car is following you. For those people you do not act like there is a checklist you can follow to be 'safe.'

For those people you openly admit, as many times as you can, as loudly as you can, that the world has some shitty shitty people, who when so determined, will do shitty shitty things no matter what precautions you take.

(*additional trigger warning*)

No one was ever raped because of their clothing. No one was ever raped because of their makeup. No one was raped because they were alone. No one was raped because of their charisma. No one was raped because of the time of day. No one was raped for how they walked, licked their lips, or chewed their gum. No one was raped because they did something wrong. 

People are raped because rapists exist. 

People will continue to be raped as along as we keep replaying this unconstructive bullshit. 

Don't ask what they wore.

Don't ask where they were. 

Don't ask who they were with.

Don't ask why they were out at that time.

Don't ask if they yelled. 

Don't ask if they said, 'No'

Don't ask if it was their partner.

Don't ask if they liked it. 

Don't ask if they were wet or hard.

Don't ask if they went to the authorities. 

Don't ask if they are sure.

Don't ask why they keep going to class with the perpetrator. 

Don't ask why they keep going to work with the perpetrator. 

If you do, you are absolutely part of the problem. I promise you. 

To all the survivors out there, you are more than a survivor, you are a human being. You were not destroyed. You did nothing wrong. You did exactly what you could at that moment, and anyone who has ever been in that situation knows what that means. I support you. I am here for you. I am your safe space.

You and I will teach the next round of humans how to be human. We will teach empathy, love, support, protection, and how to have an effective dialogue. I am going to start with whatever children I have the ability to influence in my life. You start with yours. They will spread the message, and the next generation will be more supportive. The next generation will put rapists in jail. The next generation will not make excuses for them. The next generation will understand that nothing but yes means yes.

Nothing but yes means yes. 3oud. NOTHING but YES means Yes. 

Bright Red and Belting out the Moroccan National Anthem

In case you were wondering, the subtitle of Leanna's Service in Peace Corps Morocco is: "Two+ years of life-altering embarrassment. "

Between various stomach issues and continued correction of my active use of tunsi (Tunisian Arabic) or fusHa (Modern Standard Arabic) I have been doing a solid job of showing just how bright red a white person can get when they are embarrassed. Well, I thought I had. Then, came the group singing and games that I was always nervous about in any context. I could talk to 10,000 in any language I know enough without batting an eye, but ask me to sing to anyone but Hunter and I melt.

Needless to say I was chosen first for just such a game in a roomful of Moroccans. Roughly, you say something that translates to "It pleases me, it pleases me" and then sing a song you like - the game works because after just a sentence everyone else picks up and sings with you. I stood racking my brain, HOPING beyond hope that some moderately well known poppy song would crash into my mind. I ran through everything I listen to on my regular playlists (the 90s rock station + everything Paul Simon was ever a part of) quickly in my head and stood silent. Finally, I was red enough that one of the girls saved me by leaning forward and whispering 'Shakira' and I pulled a 'Waka waka hey hey, it's time for Africa.' Bullet dogged. 

We played a few more games which I understood but could not really sing along to, and I disappeared to check in on a friend who I was nervous needed help. I came back in and from the back of the crowd was targeted. The leader of the group said, "Sing something in Arabic.' OBVIOUSLY the only thing I could think of in the moment was the Moroccan National Anthem, so beat red, facing a crowd of let's say, thirty total, I sang the anthem which I had learned through a translation and presentation homework assignment.  THANKFULLY they stood up at his request and joined in. I managed to turn purple red at least 3 times tonight. 

Moral of the story... I have to apparently learn some English pop songs. Other point, I am so ready to break out some el General (the Tunsian Rapper I was obsessed with circa 2011) when they least expect it. Also, next time I get put on the spot I am going to belt out 'Allah Allah ya baba, Sidi Mansour ya baba.'

Otherwise though, today I felt useful. Finally, really useful. My training group sat in a room of Moroccans all in their low to mid-twenties, and set up a schedule to teach them English and them teach us some darija (the Moroccan Dialect of Arabic) in exchange. I took the lead in the conversation and learned that I HAVE to get over saying, "kima tahib" ('as you like' in tunsi) because no one here knows what the heck I am saying…and that I have to figure out how the hell to say 'you all want' correctly ('baGiitou' -for future reference) because I tried 10 times then said it in tunsi then just pulled a tureedoun in fusHa because that meant they would at least maybe understand me (they did, and all laughed/smirked accordingly…the 4th shade of red). 

SOOO We have plans, we start teaching English on Tuesday to a whole host of people who are damn excited about it. We are picking up their textbook from them tomorrow to make sure we help them learn what they actually want to learn!!

I'd call today very successful. 

Now for lots homework and a day off. My plan is to try to find an ill-described location of an illusive waterfall….inshaAllah I will take a picture tomorrow after all!

Shnu the heck am I doing in Morocco for two years?

Let's start with what I am doing here, since I didn't really explain it well to most, if any, of you.

I am volunteering for the next 27 (26 and a half but who's counting) months as a Youth Development Coordinator in Morocco. I have a training period during which time I am known as a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) and have no idea where my final site will be. During that time, they observe me, and try to decide what location/type of location would be a nice fit for me. Accordingly, I am hoping for some body of water, be it the ocean, the med, or a pool, that women are allowed to swim in every day. I WOULD LOVE TO GIVE SWIM LESSONS! It'd be incredible to do the thing I am most passionate about just in a different language for a group of people who would otherwise not really have access to it (super generally speaking: boys don't teach girls and moms have more important things to do than teach their girl children to swim…that's where I want to come in). Unfortunately though, many people ask for the coast, so there is a good possibility I will not end up anywhere near it. 

Anyway back to what I am doing. I will be working at the dar ash-shabab in whichever place I end up or literally the youth center (but remember the title of youth here lasts until you are married so we get some people up until about their 40s). It will be my job to fill whatever void that center needs, like swimming lessons. Really, our general instruction is three-fold 1. Classes (English/Arabic etc) 2. Camps and 3. Clubs. We have a myriad of resources to go through to help us identify what is needed and make it happen. Some sites will have mostly 8yr olds and those sites will accordingly need activities about germs and pollution and games etc, where as some will have mostly 30 yr olds and those sites will need job placement and interview training. Hearing from past volunteers, the reason for the length of service is most likely because of how long it takes to get your bearings. One PCV explained that the first 6 months she worked to get tables, chairs, lightbulbs, and chalk boards for her dar because it was completely empty. Others, in major cities, have robust schedules and need us to act more as stop gaps on off-days or fill in positions that no one else has time for. I won't know what my situation will be like until I am in it. 

Peace Corps is all about the acronyms. Right now I am in CBT, or Community Based Training. CBT is a three month period where we figure out how to do the jobs we signed up for by living in a populated city with a LCF (Language and Culture Facilitator) or Moroccan who knows whats up. During this training we are to A. get a solid grip on the language B. live with a host family to help us get a solid grip on the culture and C. work at a dar ash-shabab. I am about a week and a half into CBT. 

I am excited and hopeful to enact some real change but this first week has been draining because I feel useless. I feel like I am not progressing as quickly as I hoped I was going to in the language (we have 6 hours a day but our class is the most advanced and the levels are varied enough that it's gotta be taxing on the teacher…he is letting me lead presentations to keep me engaged which I am very appreciative of). We also haven't really done anything with the 'youth' yet. We have watched a couple of their incredible performances (notably, they are awesome dancers) but we haven't really contributed yet. 

I will write more about this next time but probably the weirdest thing about this whole experience is how long it is but it just feels like CLS take 5. I am not really understanding yet the length of a two year commitment.   That being said, I guess deep down I know it is different because I haven't taken a single photo yet, except some weird Photo Booth ones when my little host sister was sitting on my lap. 

Who knows, more later! I miss you all immensely. 

I have safely arrived in Rabat.

Six vaccinations deep, with a new passport, a new phone, and a new debit card it is kind of starting to sink in that this isn't just another three month stint somewhere. I have met 100 or so new people between the Americans and Moroccans, and I have no idea how or when I will meet all the others. 

My most exciting news so far is that we get to sign up for a language tutor for all 27 months if we so choose…for those of you who know me well, you can imagine how giddy I was when I found that out. I fully intend to ask for a Darija or Amazeeg tutor for the duration (and hey French can sneak in too). 

In other news, my biggest discomfort has been assuaged - we are broken into groups by language ability, meaning I should be working with a group that will challenge me instead of relearning the basics. 

Also, the world is small, at least for Americans focusing in MENA. I have already run into two people I know, and...3 of the first 4 people I met are from PDX.

I'll be in Rabat for a week or so, and fully intend to explore this city since I didn't get a chance to last time I was here. I'll keep you updated accordingly. Also now that I am at least seeing internet on occasion, the posts will get better. 

It starts...

I leave for Morocco in five days. I will be there for a 27 month stint as a Youth Development Volunteer in the Peace Corps. I have been there before. I have friends there, former colleagues there, and even a couple bags of clothes and bathroom supplies there yet still, my nerves are a bit all over the place. 

Hunter (my perfect tuxedo cat who I am abandoning at my dad's for a couple of years) is trying to pack himself in any bag I leave open. Since I feel awful moving him for the 5th time tonight to continue packing, I figured it was time to start the blog.

This is the beginning of the beginning, as scary as any big life-changing leap should be. I'll try to talk about it here without being too ridiculous. Feel free to follow along accordingly. 

(Also, please do not judge my English...I guarantee it will only get worse as I switch over to using Arabic on a more regular basis).