The Other Street Sells Plastic

I’ve moved into a new apartment!!!

While this is typically exciting news in my case it is the most exciting news possible at this point in time.

I’ve had a rough go of my first year housing situation. Stress, noise, theft, a person being murdered just outside my apartment building (someone took a brick to his head), harassment, all rounded out with (this is literal) two cups of pee thrown at me through my 4th floor window from the roof of another building while I was tutoring.

Everything was more or less manageable except for being followed.

Being followed is terrifying.

Being followed throws your heart into your throat. 

Being followed in a place where telling people you are being followed gets you no allies is the kind of things that makes you lose your mind. 

It was really bad. 

I ended up with a whole pile of creeps who knew exactly where I lived and waited outside my house for me to come out - at which point they would level things as charming as “F-ck you c-nt.” 

My neighbors were silent on the matter- but put up a security camera facing just their door. Just feel the community spirit.

After a particularly harrowing day I got on a bus to Rabat. I didn’t have permission to leave here or go there. I just did it. I figured it was better than punching someone and I was at the brink.

In Rabat I started the process for a formal request for more money to switch which community I lived in.

I got approval - for not quite enough but for enough that if I supplement with a bit of my other things stipend I can do it just fine. 

I moved immediately into a house that a friend’s husband found me. 

How's that for the privilege of movement.

I was scared. I said so. I was taken care of. 

I moved to a place that is: safer, more well lit, with warm water, with more physical space, with less noise, with less neighbors, with more people watching out for me, closer to a mosque, and closer to all things I might need like a post office, bank and various stores. 

It’s like the privilege of movement home. 

It’s knowing that if there was an emergency America would get me home as quick as possible.

It’s knowing that I leave here in a year. 

It’s knowing that I could do Peace Corps again if I decided to and have the same privilege in whichever country I got sent to. 

It’s knowing that if I needed to leave here my bank account would allow me to.

It’s incredibly overwhelming to have the privilege of movement. 

I am thankful for it and surely won’t ever forget about it. I also fully intend to get right back into the inclusionary zoning political debate upon returning to the US. 

As for the process of movement I am guided by the system here under the same restrictions, both legal and societal that all single women moving in my town would face. 

My new landlord insisted on having a male present at the meeting where we wrote the contract. He went so far as to say he would prefer my new sitemate to me as the person doing the negotiations despite the fact that the contract was for me not him, and that he admits to not yet having a strong grasp of either of the local languages. 

My landlord also followed up asking if I had had relations with the men who followed me looking to blame my assumed promiscuity on why those assholes felt entitled to scaring the shit out of me.

Upon filling out the paperwork everything had to get stamped all the requisite times at all the appropriate places. 

I have to refile residency paperwork.

I have to refile all my Peace Corps paperwork.

I had to get another volunteer to come here and 'okay' this house.

I had to pay a bunch of money to move my internet, my electricity, my water etc. 

Beyond that making an empty apartment into a home has been a trip.

My big settling in gift to myself was a couple hundred dirhams worth of plants (have I mentioned I have incredible sunlight and a gorgeous private roof?).

Many things still need to be done. My shelves are sitting on the floor waiting for electric tools that might be a couple weeks off. My schedule has to get back to regular.

My current struggle is looking for a bath mat. My bath is REALLY slippery, as is my whole bathroom. 

I don't know the words and have tried just about every explanation I can think of.

The most recent response I received from a store owner after a really long discussion of what I wanted and why was a sarcastic, 'the other street sells plastic" not actually referring to any other streets.

For some reason when I heard it I chuckled and thought, "Yeah, the grass is always greener."

For once though, I surely do have the greenest plants. Now I just have to keep them alive. 

Anxiety 'straight from the heart.'

"The state of mind which enables a man to do work of this kind is akin to that of the religious worshipper or lover. The daily effort comes from no deliberate intention or program, but straight from the heart.”                                        - Robert Pirsig

When the list of things you have to do is really short but full of seemingly unaccomplishable tasks and you are like me, you make it extremely long with accomplishable tasks. 

Delete 600 emails

Practice Spanish for 10 minutes

Practice Portuguese for 10 minutes

Write a blog post

Workout for 30 minutes. 

etc.

You do this to avoid sitting down and doing the real overwhelming year-long projects. You do this to avoid the anxiety of timelines and long-term goal planning.

In the process, you give yourself serious anxiety because you are consistently not making progress on the big projects. 

It’s senior year of college thesis time all over again.

A cup of coffee focuses you, but it makes your heart race. 

A glass of water settles you, but now you have to get up and pee in the freezing cold outdoor bathroom.

A song is centering, but they hit high notes that make you realize just how stressed you are. 

Making the big project into small goals is nice - but then someone else asks you when the big project will be done. 

Another person adds another great idea, which adds another month. 

“You are going to have to run these units in focus groups in a Peace Corps volunteer's classes.” 

You plan to fill a void. 

Then you realize just how large the void you are trying to fill is.

You plan pretests and post tests. 

Then you realize you have to write every pretest and every post test.

You realize somewhere along the lines that no matter how ambitious you are, writing a Content Based English Health Curriculum is a huge project. 

You like huge projects, but not alongside working every evening in the youth center, working to make the sexual health committees work accessible and valuable, working to make the community blog a place people realize they can share in. Not alongside trying to muster a meaningful "See you later," for the person you love. Not alongside trying to cope with just how far away "later" will actually be. Not alongside trying to hold yourself accountable to all the other things you said “Yes" to.

I don’t like it alongside long journeys north for something Peace Corps asked me to do only to be denied permission to do what I want to do. 

(I also don’t like it alongside e-mails that say my diversity related experiences are not valuable to the new staj - I chalk it up to Peace Corps consistently unaware writing style slip-ups but jeez, “you aren’t gay/atheist/in a meaningful relationship enough” to have anything valuable to say to the new staj seems like a pretty shitty thing to imply, but who the hell am I to know.) 

Some of you have been asking. This is what I have been doing. I have been working on a Content Based English Health Curriculum. I have been compiling the work of other volunteers and writing lots and lots of lesson plans, so that hypothetically, down the line, students being taught English by a PCV will also be taught how to protect against STDs, how to keep their bodies and minds healthy, how to respect each other and themselves, empathy and all the other objectives of Peace Corps Youth Development Work. 

PCVs will enter site with a lesson plan and a workbook and can hit the ground running. They will have a guidance my group and groups before mine have not. They will have a way to turn to other volunteers and ask best practices for particular units. They will have a base of knowledge about how to broach sensitive topics without putting themselves or their reputations at risk. They will have lesson plans without the anxiety of researching grammar they don't understand yet.

In order for this to happen though. I have to continue to make time for the big goals.

It's hard, but I am working on it. 

And this right here, is what an upswing looks like. I have copious amounts of meaningful work - so much so that I find it hard to make room to try to meet my me-goals. 

So much so that my anxiety is through the metaphorical roof. 

So much so that I’m finally out of what was a dark mid-service crisis where I contemplated ending my service [more on that in a different post, when I am less anxious ;) ]

So much so that I’m happy and proud and fulfilled and crazy busy.

So much so that I am extremely grateful to be here. Now if only I could get all my fingers to stop twitching.

At least I can still make a straight line with the computer: Write a blog post.

MISdirection: Their lives have no value.

MISdirection.
or on how we teach children that Their lives have no value...

We are all teachers: Today was the start of environment week. Sun, sky, mountain, beach, tree, to plant, to grow.

Their eyes get wide as they repeat; They mimic the sounds you are making.   

They get confident; They realize they can conjugate these verbs on their own.

They realize you have taught them a tool, and they know how to use it.

We plant ideas; Treat the earth well. Protect it.

They grow; They know how to respect the world and each other.

They incorporate them: They do a coloring exercise.

We give them an example; Draw ‘an environment. ’

They see what we have made: a picture of a beach.

We give them the tools to replicate our work; They each get a couple different colored pencils.

They organize on their own; They sit in a circle to share ALL the colored pencils

They think outside the box.

They share their ideas, their colors.

In the end, they show us what they have made: 15 students. 15 beaches.

It is what we taught them; Each angled in the same way, each with one palm tree. Each with a bright yellow sun. Each with a cloud dead center.

Children instantly teach us everything we could ever need to know about social systems.

About wars.

About centuries of feud.

They teach us it is extremely hard to do something different than the examples we were given.  

Today I saw the number of children who have died as of June 2013. 6,561.
I taught my children up to “10.”

I saw a picture of a seven year olds’ funeral. He was wrapped in a flag. He wasn’t even as tall as my chest.
I taught my children “chest” yesterday.

I saw a picture of a three year old being carried away from an explosion by her weeping father. She was covered in her own red blood.
I taught my children “red” on Friday.

I look at pictures of international human rights violations and I keep coming back to one thought…regardless of which sides you are on politically, a three year old should never be blown up. A seven year old should never be shot. A four year old should not be driven over by a tank. A two year old should not be gunned down in his father’s arms. A mother should never need to run with her child covered in blood to the hospital in less that child fell off the swing while it was all the way up in the air.

A parent should not bury their child.

No land is worth that. No power is worth that. No money is worth that. No government is worth that. No sovereignty is worth that.  

No child should be taken. When they are you should know and understand that their classmates will take the lesson from your book as their creed. It is alright to murder innocent civilians.

Violence begets violence because we as a people show children that violence ‘works.’ We condone it. We pay for it.

Their beach will not be too different than the one we drew. The one we shot and killed four children on.

Call me a pacifist, an apologist.

Call me guilty.

Call me whatever you want.

 
Killing innocent children is killing innocent children. I don’t care who is doing it. I don't care what their parents do or did. I don't care where they live, what language they speak, or what you think they might become. It is genocide, and it is wrong.

 You cannot convince me otherwise. You cannot.

 I stand with justice. I stand for a future where children know a full life, long before they know a violent end. Stand with me.

"Buenas noches hey chicken"

Every year on Thanksgiving my sister lets me into the kitchen with a very specific task an ape could complete. Cut this-like this, mix this already made mixture, crack eggs into that bowl. I complete said task, not always successfully, and then try to avoid touching everything else so as not to mess up the cooks magic – but mostly actually because I have no idea what I am doing.

It’s Ramadan – not, in my opinion, terribly different than Thanksgiving in one of its major manifestations, lot’s of food with family (and some stragglers). Just like the turkey, there are traditional specific meals that Moroccans eat at break fast – but because Muslims are fasting for a full month on the Islamic Calendar from sun up to sun down, there is variation in what gets eaten each day. 

Just like my last 4 or so years, I am fasting. Unlike all the other years, there is no one making me really filling meals that I just have to show up at, regularly for the whole month. Though Tarah, and I are getting our fair share of community meals, we are still cooking a bunch in my kitchen. And by we are cooking I mean Tarah is cooking.

Anyway, the way it works is at sun up, around 3:30ish am you take your last sip of water, or last bite of something. Then you fast all day, not even a spoon lick. Then around 7:30pm you break fast with the meal called ftour.  During this meal it is typical to have soup, some sweets, and a lot of liquids (water, milk, coffee, tea, juice etc.). You then digest for a while, depending on the family an hour to a few hours, and then you eat a larger dinner. Then you either sleep or stay up, again depending on family and mood (and whether you did in fact have the coffee at 8pm) until around 3am when you prepare the last meal before the fast.

Yesterday, Tarah decided she wanted to make apple pancake cake for the morning meal. She loves me, so she trusts me to be capable of basic things. She asked me to mix the pancake mix while she sliced the apples. (Might I add, this was after she cooked delicious homemade pizzas for the dinner – I got extremely lucky in life if I do say so myself). Anyway, I took out the cookbook -  a Peace Corps production  -and started to mix all the ingredients. While reading it, I was not surprised that just like the accidental spelling mistakes in our textbooks, this cookbook used capitalization liberally. It called for 2 T sugar and ¼ t of salt. I was doubling the recipe as per Tarah’s request, so I added 4 tablespoons of sugar and 2 of salt. Now for those of you who are functioning adults in society, you see that A. ¼ x 2 = ½ not 2 and B. a capital T in a cookbook is a tablespoon while a lower case t is a teaspoon. Anyway, while doing this I say out loud, “This looks like a lot of salt,” and Tarah says “I mean, it doesn’t matter what it looks like as long as you are following the receipe.”

A half hour or so later, out came the most disgusting cross between street pretzels that have sat in the wet salt thing for way way way too long, and a delicious apple cake.

Thankfully Tarah didn’t mock me too hard, and we made smoothies for breakfast, and fed some of the neighborhood bugs/cats.

I guess Allie never letting me touch anything for Thanksgiving was a great idea.



This Ramadan is also a bit different than the others, I have experienced because I have really consistent work throughout the days. Men’s swim practice early in the AM – English camp during the afternoon – children’s swim practice just before break fast and Women’s swim at night.

Unfortunately, but understandably, the hours for all of the above have been cut down drastically from what they were before Ramadan. For example, the women are only practicing 2 days a week for an hour each time, when it was 3 days at 3 hours each day.

Tonight we had both children, from 5 to 7pm and women from 9 to 10pm. These were our first Ramadan swim practices. I was convinced no one would show up to either.

I was almost right, because I usually work with the oldest children, so they are almost all fasting, and are still new at fasting so aren’t expected to swim a full practice just before break fast. My students barely showed up (and the coach I usually switch off with wasn’t there accordingly).  One of the other coaches reshuffled all the groups and gave Tarah and I each groups of our own. I had 15 pretty young children, and I started just watching them swim some very silly versions of freestyle (said with love, not mocking, I promise). We spent the whole practice doing silly drills which they had no idea were absolutely making them better swimmers. At the end of practice I had them swim again and was just so proud.  I debated dancing around but settled on a huge smile and high fiving them all and asking them to focus on what they learned when I work with them again on Friday.

The next group I had were a slightly older bunch of knuckleheads and their regular coach told me they were starting backstroke. For those of you who don’t know, starting to teach children backstroke when you aren’t in the water with them and when there is nothing over their heads that they can watch to make sure they are swimming straight is hysterical. The number of times I had to run the length of the pool to stop them from hitting their heads or flag them down to stop them from hitting into each other was very high. I explained as best I could though, how the trick is that both sides of your body have to work equally hard, if you kick stronger on one side you will swim at an angle. After many drills, and games, they were doing great. We finished with a few silly random things to work on strength (races, underwater contests, tredding water monkey-in-the-middle,, and dives to the bottom of the pool).

Walking home from there I was in a glow. I am completely in love with the Moroccan youth that I am blessed enough to be surrounded by.  I was gone for a couple weeks for In-Service Peace Corps Training and when I had no idea what my return would be like, I was completely welcomed with open arms. One of the little girls said in Arabic ‘lady teacher we missed you so much.’ The other coaches all asked how my training was, and about how Ramadan is treating me etc.

I also am probably in an excellent mood tonight because I receive about 1/50^th the harassment on the streets of my town during Ramadan that I normally do. People are on their best behavior because it is the holy month. What I do hear/see during Ramadan is also of a different nature. It becomes French or English phrases, that aren’t curses or sexual in any way but are just interesting. Today a man said, “Buenas noches hey chicken,” as if it were one correct phrase, in the language I speak. I laughed hysterically, and tried to contain my smile so it wouldn’t be on my face in the street.  

I don't condone any harassment ever, but I much prefer the kind that makes me laugh to the kind that makes me cringe or cry - so Ramadan man, I love this month.

I Should Have Studied French, Ever.

They tell us to blog on our good days and journal on our bad ones. 

My journal is empty. 

Unfortunately, I’m so busy having good days that I really am not paying much attention to my blog either. BUT, today was a day that by that maxim NEEDS to be blogged about. 

Well really, I need to start with a snippet from yesterday. Yesterday, I was taken out of my fusha class (I am a student in a class for women learning fusha) by my boss, to sneak into the pool a day before it opened to the public and meet the people in charge of the associations I will be volunteering for. 

When I tell you it is the most beautiful pool I have ever seen that is not an exaggeration. It is pristine, goes from 1.5 m to 4 m deep, is Olympic size (100 m long not 50 and about 50 m wide) and is surrounded by various trees and greenery. The walls are such that you can’t see out and feel like you are in the courtyard of a castle. 

I sat down with the main associations President and discussed what we each wanted from the experience. I left with a 15-hour a week schedule (5 hrs with women, 5 hrs with children, 5 hrs with men). They explained that I am going to be weaned into the process. For the beginning they have a male coach who will teach all of the lessons, but I should be there from day one as an assistant coach to all the teams so everyone knows me very well. As time passes, we will split the men and children up and co-coach all their practices and the women will slowly become only my team (so that the entire place can be void of men so the women who want to participate but can’t while men are present can start coming/swimming). 

From what they have told me: the women are mostly learning, the men are mostly getting exercise, and the children are mostly competing nationally. They sent me out with a DVD of previous competitions, as well as videos of the dinner gatherings they have the night before each race (remember greenflies and ohs pasta parties? Think that only the dishes are communal and involve a lot of eating with your hands). I was also given an official swim team shirt, for the association I will be coaching for! I left there on an incredible high, which was followed by a feast of Mexican inspired food in honor of it being Cinco de Mayo. 

Today, I got up intending to be super productive – washed all of my clothes, studied tashelheit for a solid hour, studied fusha for a bit and then wrapped up a few letters I’ve been meaning to get in the mail. I left the house to rush to my 3pm fusha class (I know the aforementioned doesn’t seem like it should have filled all my awake time till 3pm but handwashing a full suitcase worth of clothes is more impressive than it sounds). When I got to the class, the teacher politely informed me that my mudiir (boss) was waiting to have a meeting with me because the class would be a Qur’anic recitation class instead of the usual. We met about the upcoming summer plans to finalize a schedule for  my regional manager. Driss, the aforementioned mudiir, and I made a very beautiful schedule. It includes what he expects of me & what the associations expect of me, as well as our trainings and the days around when I will move so everyone knows when I will be working and when I can’t. 

After that meeting I went shopping in a store I haven’t been in before where the owner quoted me the post-haggle prices that Moroccans get, for even my more expensive purchases (smart man, because I will surely patronize his establishment regularly now). Then I went to the first swim practice of the season, starting off with the women. Three women, myself, and their male coach – as well as a bunch of women watching from the sidelines – all of whom are interested in getting in the water when the man leaves the picture. During the practice it started thundering and lightening. I hopped out of the pool accordingly and when no one followed me I looked around and said, ‘What are you all waiting for?’ implying they should get out. The male looked at me like I was absolutely absurd. He went on to call me (jokingly, not rudely) just about every kind of ‘weakling’ name he could think of, and pulled a whole bunch of, ‘What are you, scared?’ type comments. I proceeded to say, the best explanation I could possibly muster about how lightening could kill people in a pool (which ended up with a serious amount of circuitousness ‘the lightening could hit this pool and then it would make the water electric and then you would all burn’ WHO THE HELL KNOWS ‘to electrocute’ and ‘to strike?’ I was just impressed I could muster up ‘thunder and lightening’ from the deep recesses of the Arabic half of my mind.) Anyway, the three women stayed in the pool, and he insisted Americans are crazy and scaredy cats (sorry guys, my bad on dropping the ball on our rough exterior, I play with a lot of things, lightening while I am in a huge pool surrounded by trees is not one of them). 

Anyway, practice continued as the weather got better, and I went back and forth between working with the woman who knew the most and the woman who was in the water for her first time ever. (I hopped in with the latter woman and she told me afterwards in the changing room how thankful she was that I was there and how she already trusts me and looks forward to learning from me!) 

The woman who knows the most has clearly swam most of her life. I gave her a few tips to help with her breathing and her kick and watched her freestyle get stronger with a more effective kick in a matter of hours. When we got out of the pool she said, “Where have you been– and where did you learn what you know?” She asked me if we can focus on backstroke so I can’t wait to do so many drills I haven’t thought about it years. 

Aside from it being incredible, to be in a pool in Morocco instead of sweating and to consistently impart knowledge I am fully confident in, I had a couple revelations while at the practice: 1) The particular coach and I have VERY different approaches to coaching/teaching in general. He asked the woman who had never been in the water before to dive in (she has NEVER been in the water and didn’t even conceptually know you have to blow out your nose). He also pushed her in and when she panicked accordingly and I helped her by putting out my hand, and saying, ‘Don’t worry, everything is okay, you can stand here,” he yelled at me/berated me for interrupting his process of ‘teaching her not to fear the water’…. :/ in the locker room she said how thankful she is that I will be coaching them, and I’m taking it as a sign that my approach might work better with at least her. 2) HOLY SHIT I NEED TO LEARN SOME FRENCH. Every single instruction was in French. Some of it was simple for me to figure out, crawl (with the French r) = freestyle, sure. Some of it, I was like WTF?! He asked me to ‘something something something a plunj.’ so I assumed he meant dive in (‘plunge’, dive, you know?). Apparently he meant, ‘Get me two kickboards.’ Accordingly, he was not amused when I shook my head 'yes' and dove in. 

(I am going to absolutely have to figure out what kind of chocolate he likes and conveniently bring it to the next practice for him – If you have other ideas, inbox me). 

I wrote down a bunch of words and I asked a fellow volunteer who is fluent in French if she could help me try to pronounce them correctly, and in the process check that I am not making a total fool of myself. She graciously agreed so I feel like I can breath a little bit easier than I was when he was barking at me earlier. I also made them laugh a lot trying to figure out how to say so many things. I realized apparently I only knew the street slang for ‘ass’ and couldn’t come up with ‘butt’ or whatever is more appropriate (I know now, don’t worry, the ladies on the side of the pool taught me). I also made so much up (point your toes at the wall I used ishar illa – which is translated as ‘points to’ but also as in ‘indicates’ so I assume it doesn’t translate). 

I also need so many new analogies, you can’t tell a Muslim to make their belly like Santa Claus to float (my quick thinking said, ‘You know how big your belly is on couscous Friday, make it that big’). 

Because the weirdness in my Morocco life never ends, I walked out of the pool and the parking lot, which had been completely empty 2 hours before, was full of monster trucks. Yes, you read that correctly, monster trucks. Each truck was surrounded by roughly 5 white people in shorts and tank tops. I attempted to ask a couple what was going on but because no one spoke English or Arabic they all just kind of nodded at me and continued tinkering soooo I went over to the parking attendant, who explained – ‘Oh, a bunch of random tourists are going to race these big crazy things from here to Massa on that straight road’ (Its about 30/40 minutes on a bus). I followed up with things like ‘do they need permits?’ and ‘Is the road closed off for the event?’ and to both questions he was like ‘heck no’ (alright really he said ‘ohho’ so just ‘no’ but he said it in such a tone that I heard ‘heck no’ both times).

Next, I headed over to my host families for some good ol’ kaskrut (the light snack between meals, usually mint tea and something sweet). My host moms got a big surprise for me and she told me a bunch of times in the past few days to come over today to see what it is. The surprise was that her family members came over from Holland and brought with them a whole bunch of random snacks, including two things she had never seen before: marshmallows and pumpkin bread. She was super disappointed that we have both in America and in retrospect I maybe should have lied on that one, but I tried to impress upon her how thankful I was to have been included in the surprise. It was phenomenal. 

I headed for home because it was starting to get dark and she piled gifts into my hands. A big thing of the olives I can’t get enough of (these particular ones come from Agadir and are just unbelievably delicious & spicy) a whole bunch of food she cooked for me including Moroccan soup, a pj set that is red with black cats all over it that says ‘le chat noir’ or ‘the black cat,’ AND a whole chunk of the pumpkin bread and a pile of candy. Oh, she also gave me a new package of tissues because I had come to her house (from the pool) with wet hair and so most assuredly I will catch a cold. (It seems many host families here believe that if you have wet hair outside you will surely get a cold). 

I walked home to a text from another host family member, saying they want to see me tomorrow at her house because they have gifts from their weekend in Rabat for me. 

The generosity is ENDLESS. The people are incredible, and I am just consistently overwhelmed by how blessed I am to be here. I love this place. I know the honeymoon phase is supposed to end or something, but if I get to that dark place (which I imagine will be in the winter, when there is no more coaching) just remind me of how absolutely incredible this time was, and will be again next year. Remind me how I spent Sunday on our beach, Monday learning fusha, and Tuesday in our pool, and how every one of those days I taught someone something they had little or no access to before I got here. 

Remember that time I was nervous about joining the Peace Corps? Yeah, me neither. 

And uh… something something something a plunj. (I’d try and translate, but I’d be soo wrong).

Should You Join the Peace Corps?

Since I got here I have had multiple people from home ask me, "Should I join the Peace Corps?" and follow up with all sorts of questions that go in the same vein. I think the best I can do is make my general response public for everyone, and then individually follow up with anyone who wants to. 

PLEASE NOTE: I am speaking only from my personal experience. What it was like for me, applying, and then getting accepted, getting nominated, getting sent to Morocco, training, and now my mere 20 days at site. I make absolutely NO claim that any of this will apply to you. Also, I am at this current moment, head over heels in love with this program, so maybe check in again in a few months? 

Applying: You don't get to pick where you go. You don't get to go somewhere where you are culturally acclimated. You don't get to go somewhere where you speak the language. 

I was an exception for very specific reasons, and those reasons made my first three months here a work-in-progress and probably made me the program manager's least favorite person and my teacher's least favorite student. They were opening a post in Tunisia, and they wanted people who spoke Tunisian already, because the program was going to be new so there was not infrastructure prepared to teach people the language. When the revolution happened (tahya Tunis) Peace Corps in collaboration with the Embassy decided it would not be sending us there. I was notified I could choose to either go the next available place or wait 18 months. If I chose to wait, they would either send me to Tunisia if it opened in that time or send me to Morocco. I chose to wait, and with Tunis not opening I was sent to Morocco. Accordingly, the language training was set up for beginners, and I was not the happiest student (in retrospect, I was an unhappy jerk - that somehow my teacher, classmates, and volunteer who came to visit put up with me). 

Normally, you pick a region and if the stars align you get sent there and if they don't you don't AND the regions are huge. They are: the Caribbean, Eastern Europe & Central Asia, Asia, North Africa & The Middle East (mine), Africa, The Pacific Islands, South America, and Central America & Mexico. They also supposedly try hard not to send you somewhere where you speak the language (unless you speak Spanish or French: then they tell you those are helpful in your application and they maybe will put you in places where those languages are spoken). 

Their website can explain that process way better than I can because I just don't know how it works from the inside: http://www.peacecorps.gov/volunteer/learn/howvol/faq/ 

They also decide what you are best suited to do. I would say, no matter what, don't accept a nomination for something you don't actually want to do for two years. I was slated for youth development, education, and business development, despite the fact that in every stage of the interview process I said that I wanted to do construction projects (I wanted simply to be extra hands where more hands were needed- and have experience roofing and siding so I felt my skill set matched that desire pretty well). I told them that no matter what I would not accept a business development post because my approach to development does not involve me pushing American capitalistic ideals on others, and I have absolutely no qualifications to make me capable of actually helping anyone do anything entrepreneurial (it would be a case of, I am from a country with more money so maybe I know something, and that just isn't what I accept as service). 

As for your skill set, they try really hard to find things that you seem suited to do, and they try during training (which is different in every country) to give you some skills you are lacking - but mostly you have to be VERY willing to self-teach (so all the Hampshire students who have asked me or thought about Peace Corps, you really will get to use some of the skills we learned there, undoubtedly). The resources are phenomenal (in Morocco our library is incredible) to help you become the best volunteer possible, you just have to be determined to do it, often on your own.

Healthcare/Dentalcare: One thing I wish I knew long before applying for this was that the hoops for health and dental clearance were expensive for me. From what I understand you have to be the healthiest person of anyone you ever met. I understand why, but I also dislike it. More frustratingly, they don't care if you don't have health or dental care, they reimburse you only for what each procedure/exam/test would cost if you had healthcare. I think all in, because I had to go through the process twice (because the time between my two departure dates was more than a year off, and all your exams have to be within a year of they day you get on the plane) I racked up about $3000.00 in credit card bills that I will be paying off for the next long time (because I surely don't have enough cash in this program to start making any payments, though I am trying to make $20.00 payments a month so the interest doesn't kill me and my credit doesn't fail). 

This all was frustrating for me, because all of those tests etc. were things I never would have done if not for Peace Corps. I think if you don't have either health or dental you should seriously consider other ways you can volunteer, or decide if you have that cash to spend/that credit to use- and look into dentists who do the exams for free (some do which made this all bearable cost wise, but they have limited schedules when they are able to do them so plan accordingly). Similarly, my student loan deferments have still not been accepted, and it is stressing me out every single day I am here. Money issues do not leave you alone no matter how far you run, or how fast, or in what direction. 

That being said the housing/living stipend is REALLY enough to live on. You will comfortably live, better than many around you. You will not be able to afford the silly American things that are available here, like McDonalds, except on the occasional splurge, but you will get to eat excellent meals you cook yourself every day for 2 years. Truthfully though, if I could do this all again so far, I really would have saved a lot lot more, because the purchasing power of the dollar here is so incredible that I realize with a couple hundred more dollars in my home bank account I could lavish the people I adore here with some pretty excellent things and could travel this country a bit more. I am doing my best to save up for a bike and a camera now, and again, those random expenses I didn't expect, would be nonexistent if I had been able to save more before I left.

Health and dental in country, at least in Morocco is INCREDIBLE. Our medical kits are clearly tried and true, everything you could ever want (except maybe dayquil/nyquil). Unlimited and restockable they make me feel like a billionaire. Even the less obvious but still preventative medical things are supplied to us, sunscreen, dental floss, bug spray, and mosquito netting, for example. So far, my encounter with the Peace Corps Medical Office (PCMO) has involved breaking my glasses. The arm of my glasses broke off in my sleep. They asked me to drop them off at our next meeting rather than try to fix them myself. I did and rather than crazy glue the arm back on which would have been my solution they went ahead and had a whole new pair made for me -which they just handed to me a few days later!! I was stunned. What incredible incredible support. They also managed to get me a new carbon monoxide dioxide detector in about 3 days when mine broke. 

As to the veracity of the general horror stories about how PC handles sexual assault I can not speak. I thankfully, have no idea what is or is not true. 

What I can say is two completely opposite things: I absolutely hated our original, DC required sexual harassment training. I in fact, reacted so harshly that at one point I raised my hand and said "Everything you just said was bullshit" really disrespectfully to our PST director because I was so agitated, and left shortly thereafter. That being said, our country director and a number of other really incredible administrators, and volunteers, reached out to me. They acknowledged that the presentation of the information was not as good as it could be, and asked for more constructive criticism. Though I am still working on my formal letter (because as you can imagine this whole thing has been quite a whirlwind) I feel really listened to. I can't decide if that is because our country director is a kick-ass phenomenal woman, and our safety and security lady is clearly one of the coolest women I have ever met, or because Peace Corps really listens. 

As for what they do when something happens, I can say from first hand experience there is a definite system in place that works within the context of the assault. I had a very scary situation, and Peace Corps reacted perfectly before I even picked up the phone. My host family called my teacher, and he met me at our house, before the police even got there. By the time we got to the police station the regional manager was there waiting. Both the head of safety and security, and the head of our training called me on the phone, and they actively explained what courses of action I could take and how each would look. They spoke with my host father, and found out that he wanted to press charges, and then spoke with me again to ask me what I wanted now that they knew he was going to. They quadruple checked that I still felt safe in my town, and offered to put me up in other towns/with other host families/in a hotel etc. Within days I was contacted by the victims advocate in DC and the safety and security director had come to visit me in my town. They continue to check up on me, and asked if I wanted mental counseling as well. 
All in all, I feel like I have a really strong safety net, and I wish I felt like I had that kind of administrative support back in the US. 

Some of you asked for the most negative thoughts I could come up with, here they are: I have made the comment that this program makes me fall in love with it and fall in hate with it every day. The hate part is usually due to some weird rule that makes me feel like I am 8 and not trusted and underutilized (for example, we had to do serious training for spring camps, I worked my butt off to plan what would be a cool one, my town isn't having one, and I wasn't granted permission to go to the closest town to help with theirs…whomp whomp whomp - I feel pretty useless and like I am wasting this week because there is no volunteer work to do while my town is on vacation). I really expected Peace Corps to be nonstop volunteer work, and so far it feels like I could have come here on a paying job and just volunteered 20 hours a week in my spare time. I think that has to do with the learning curve/work curve of the first few months - and also with the fact that I am living with a host family that really loves just hanging in the living room with me. I won't know that until I get to know my community much better and am submerged in whatever my work will look like in the future. 

So far, my previous volunteer experiences feel like they have had more depth of impact up to this point, despite the fact that they were shorter or less full time. I know that will change, I just don't know how soon. 

I was also really hurt by the language exam. You all know how I feel about exams anyway (that they don't mean a thing, especially because I pour sweat the second I think I might be being tested), but despite the fact that it was supposed to all be private knowledge, the information was presented in such a way that they told 100 of my colleagues they don't think I am an advanced speaker of the language, based on asking me questions only about really basic concepts. A bunch of people I don't know from a hole in the wall made direct eye contact with me as they announced that there are no advanced speakers in our group. My practice tests included some pretty serious tough questions about stereotyping, terrorism, & international relations and then on actual test day the questions were much simpler...'describe your family and your favorite book.' It was a kick in the pride. They also decided semi last minute that the speech at our swearing-in ceremony would be given by someone who had no Arabic background (rather than who had improved the most which I believe would have been fair, or what it was originally, who had scored the highest). I studied my ass off during CBT, lots and lots and lots of conversations, books, and flashcards, only to be told I wasn't in the running for the speech because I studied fusha in college. It took all the wind out of my sails and made me second-guess other things this program had me excited for. That being said, the girl who gave the speech did a great job and if that small kind of frustration is the worst this program has to offer, I just need to become a bit more humble and shove my head back in a textbook so I can achieve the advanced level next time we are tested. _______________________________________________ 

My final answer is, look at Peace Corps only if you are flexible and okay with understanding loneliness on a level you didn't imagine before. Don't look at it if you have some really tangible particular goal in the next couple years of your life that involves making money or directly starting a career. DO NOT DO PEACE CORPS TO 'BUILD' YOUR RESUME. Please, for the love of all that is good, this is actual service to actual people, who only really need someone who actually wants to help them in the ways that they ask for help. And surely, don't apply if you think you know what other countries need already. You need you be willing to hear people ask for assistance and then give the assistance they ask for. 

You have to be outgoing at least to the extent that you won't drown in loneliness or stay inside all day. You have to not embarrass easily. You have to want to change things for the better. You have to want to grow. You have to be willing to criticize your own understanding of development REALLY consistently. You have to be willing to be treated like a child, and called 'meskine'/'pobrecita' as all the people around you consistently tell you how unfortunate it is that you are so bad at speaking their language/following their customs/cooking their food/sleeping in 100degree weather. You have to be willing to leave your comfort zone, and... your life will be easier if you are willing to eat everything ever cooked, drink really weird things, play silly games, learn awkward dances/songs, be the odd one out in every room, and to be misunderstood, consistently, no matter how many languages you speak or how hard you study. 

I once read a quote about a woman opening her coin purse and having rials, dirhams, pounds, quarters, and yen fall out. That is the woman I am becoming/have always truly been. That wanderlust made me sure that my future after getting my degree was not meant to be in the US. I didn't choose Peace Corps, it chose me, long before I was ready to start applying. I always knew I wanted to devote my life to service. The privilege of being from America, and young, and healthy, meant that I could do it long term, abroad, without raising money for the travel first. I feel like the luckiest woman around, and I am incredibly excited for these two years. If this paragraph made sense to you, then apply, and feel free to ask me to read over your application/essays. 

If you have any personal questions, or follow-ups PLEASE don't hesitate to ask. I'll continue to give you the best/most honest response I can.

I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) #selfie

Site site site site site site site doo da doo da.

But really, this is incredible. 

On March 29th the Peace Corps told me my final site placement. After finding out I posted this:

"'Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories…'

It's not official yet. I still haven't sworn in, or officially received a passing score on my final oral exam (and I'm not going to jinx it here) BUT I have been given my final site.

According to Peace Corps rules I can't publicly tell you where it is but if you want a message with the name just let me know. What I will tell you is I won, completely.

I am on the coast (15 km from the water) in the south. The catch is that I will absolutely have to learn a new language (a dialect of Berber). Though it will be challenging I am really excited for a new linguistic journey - and can't wait to get my hands on my textbook tomorrow.

There is a pool there, that I could be able to convince them to close for swimming lessons for women only! I also have a couple good friends of mine 'close' (read: under 9 hours away by bus). I clearly won.

I swear in on Friday. I'm about to see the world and stuff my eyes with wonder for two years of Peace Corps service and I couldn't possibly be more convinced that this was the correct next choice in my life.

'…Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal. And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth which hangs upside down in a tree all day every day, sleeping its life away. To hell with that, shake the tree and knock the great sloth down on his ass.'"…

on my Facebook page. 

I didn't have the wherewithal nor the internet nor the knowledge to sit down and write out a real blog post about it. Instead I lived life to the fullest for the last few days, trying to figure out what was going on in the whirlwind that was the final days of training.

We found out a little bit more about the cash payments, how we will be paying our host families, what we need to do to get our housing approved, and what each of us needs to do in case of emergencies. We also learned a lot about our sites, and got visits from our mudiirs ('directors' which basically means our boss/point person in the context of PC. Since our main volunteer location is the dar ash-shabab the director of that building is the closest to a Moroccan boss we have). 

Let's start with site information.

A picture of a wonderful PCV (Peace Corps Volunteers, sorry but heads up this blog is going to be full of acronyms) who is COSing (Close of Service - i.e. leaving after completing her full two years) and they announce someone will be replacing her. Immediately I cross my fingers because she and I had discussed her site and it sounded so ideal for me. Then the photo of who will replace her comes up and its yours truly. I was ecstatic. I won. Paradise for a couple years, during which I will get an opportunity to learn Tashelheit (a Berber dialect). 

I speak to her online just a few hours later and she sweetens the deal over and over giving me details about the process and OUR site. First she lets me know she hand picked me to her replace her, so already I feel like a million bucks (I imagine having someone replace you is a whole boat load of feelings and for someone to think I am worthy of being their replacement enough to ask for me by name makes me feel oddly proud and prepared). Then she lets me know that her and my current site mate have picked out a sweet host family, and that essentially my moving process will be way easier than I ever could have imagined (she came up and met us in Agadir… and then brought me all the way to my bedroom). Then she explained how many things of hers I can have, free of charge, when she leaves in a month and though I wish she wasn't going so quickly (I kinda adore her bizaf) I am so thankful to not need to spend all of that cash out of pocket to get things like a bed which I simply might have not been able to afford. Finally, she tells me she is going to set me up with a whole bunch of contacts in town so that I can easily settle. 

April 4th rolls around and we head off to go get sworn in. There is extreme security for Morocco - metal detectors, a bomb-sniffing dog, and some brawny secret service. Why, you ask? Secretary of State John Kerry swore us in. I took the oath I have always dreamed of taking officially, right hand in the air, to defend our constitution against enemies foreign and domestic, and took the silent self-oath to be the best damn Peace Corps Volunteer I ever could. Don't tell the folks beyond my blog but I definitely teared up. The most exciting part of the moment though, was when a fellow PCV put her hand on my shoulder and said, 'We all know this isn't the last time you'll be taking this oath." I've said it before but sometimes it's just incredible to have people believe in you.

THEN Dom, sweet sweet wonderful Dom, somehow convinced the Secretary to take a selfie with us. It is excellent because it looks like a selfie of Dom that the Secretary snuck in on. We all forgot all we had been told about how we were ABSOLUTELY NOT TO APPROACH HIM and jumped into the photo. Sure as day you can see my knuckleheaded stretched smile on tiptoe. I believe there is another photo from a higher angle that might include a less ridiculous shot of me. I'll try and get a hold of it when internet permits. Of course we also took the formal picture, which I hope is a keeper, but the selfie was the win. 

The next morning we were off. I was only able to say goodbye to two of my former site mates, which is oddly uncomfortable. It felt kind of like leaving a family gathering by sneaking out while everyone is sitting down for dinner. It's okay though, I intend to call them often. 

 

After a bus and a train we arrived in Agadir. Google that so you can understand how gorgeous it is because my words will not do it justice. A beach city with the phrase 'Allah, alwaTan, almalak' 'God, Country, King' in the side of the mountain lit up completely at night. Breathtaking, simply breathtaking. There we splurged (perhaps too much?) on Indian/Pakistani food that in  my book was worth every penny (lamb curry with unreal rice and garlic nan…in case you were wondering). 

We spent a little more on some sangria on the beach, to toast getting this far and actually becoming PCVs. We spent the night in the PC usual hotel and had a lovely breakfast in the morning. Next up, a grand taxi and then a petit taxi and then a walk to where I now write to you all. Here I am, at my new host families house.

They are perfect. I will most assuredly be studying my ass off for the next month to get 'a grip' on this new language but my mama speaks fluent darija so she's working me into the conversation. I am only sad that I can't speak more with my little brother (unless he is just shy and actually does understand me?!) All in all, this is perfect. 

On a personal, completely unblog related note. I asked the person I like to be mine and they didn't hesitate to say, 'yes.' It's going to be complicated because it isn't exactly short distance, but I can't wait to give it a serious try. 

I'm waiting for the shoe to drop because I have done nothing to deserve quite this much good in my life. Tabark Allah ('blessings from G-d' …said to block the evil eye).