First Today. Next, Tomorrow.

Claiming the identity of a “traveler” to yourself, in my opinion, also in some ways attaches the label of “inconsistent” to your life. Sometimes that’s fun. It’s fun to have life always changing around you, but sometimes it can also be bittersweet. Watching the sun set over a Moroccan skyline tonight, with the background of the call to prayer playing from the local mosque as music to my ears, I was talking to a friend about life. Life here in Morocco. Life back in America. And we were talking about time. How fast time moves, and how slow it moves all at once, like one big contradiction designed to mess up your perception of the world around you.

 

We got off the phone, and I headed out of my apartment onto the busy streets of my town that only seem to come alive after the sun goes down here. I strolled through the streets teaming with motorcycles and carts selling oranges and dates and popcorn, and sat at a table on the sidewalk eating delicious harira and msimn, watching the swarms of people flow around me like a wave. And everything about tonight was exactly what I’ve always dreamed for my life to be.  Getting a chance to travel to a foreign land, experience new sights, sounds, smells. I’m meeting people and sharing my culture with them while learning to love their culture at the same time. I’m struggling through a foreign language and laughing my way through the whole process. It’s a life many people can only dream of.

But that conversation about life and time and people followed me back to my apartment after finishing my dinner. We talked about how today is exactly four months that I’ve been in this country. And how we can’t believe it’s only been four months, it feels like so much more. But damn. Has it really already been four months? The things that have already changed in that time break my heart and blow my mind all at the same time. I find myself floundering around trying to keep a grasp on all my friendships back home, knowing that when I finally stumble back home in two years, nothing will ever be the same. And yet, everything will be the same still. But I’ve also lived with two Moroccan families, been told I will forever only be half American the rest of my life, because the other half will always be here in Morocco (I can’t argue that), and seen myself morph into something of a blend of the old life and new. All in four short months.

And maybe it’s because of this conversation I had tonight. Maybe it’s the idea of celebrating my birthday tomorrow five and half thousand miles from the family and friends that know me best. Maybe it’s the fact that today is the anniversary of another life defining moment of mine. Or maybe it’s just the typical bout of occasional philosophical views combined with clinical insanity that seems to infect every Peace Corps Volunteer. But I started thinking about where I was two years ago. And where I was a year ago. And where I am now. Call me crazy, but I do actually remember with great detail exactly where I was on May 16^th of 2011, 2012, and now 2013.

As I think about each of these May 16^th’s, they’re all different. Very different. But I also can see the relation of all of them. Maybe I’m cheating. I mean, I do actually know the relation of all of them. I know how one led to the other. I know how pushing myself to my limits as an RA in college and having my world turned upside down with a single phone call at 11pm on May 16^th of 2011 pushed me forward in my life until May 16^th of 2012. A night that I spent entirely with friends I had never met as of a year before, pre-funking my way into my 21^st birthday. At 11pm on May 16^th, 2012, my best friend was giving me a pep talk to get my shit together enough to at least be able to walk into Haggen’s and buy beer for the first time at midnight. And here I am, at 11pm on May 16^th, 2013. And I can see exactly how my party filled night one year ago led me to exactly where I sit right now. On another continent, living in my own apartment, typing up a blog post, eating a pack of goldfish that actually ended up costing my family $60 in shipping fees, but, in my opinion, were worth every penny.

But again, maybe I’m cheating. After all, I know what fell between each of these May 16^th’s. But whether I cheat or not, I still know that one thing leads to another. And to be perfectly honest, if none of these things ever happened, life could have still led me to exactly where I’m sitting right now. But if it had, I wouldn’t have been the person who is sitting here right now. I wouldn’t have truly known what it means to love your friends. And I wouldn’t have truly known that my life had hit a spiral and that Peace Corps was what I needed to save myself. And on May 16^th next year, we’ll see where life has me. But I can guarantee something. I guarantee that where I sit right now will in some way affect where I sit exactly one year from now. And that year is going to go by faster than I realize right now. And is also going to take longer than I ever knew time could take. Next year will be very different from today I’m sure. But as I said when I started, life is inconsistent. And you can’t live tomorrow until you’ve lived today first. 

You Know You're In Peace Corps Morocco When....

1. Bathing more than once a week just sounds like a lot of work.
2. It seems bizarre to have less than 7 people in a car at one time.
3. Your clothes aren’t dirty until you’ve worn them for at least 5 days straight.
4. You eat French fries using a piece of bread. (Courtesy of Cait.)
5. You follow other white people around Marjane because you can’t figure out where they came from.
6. You don’t remember the last time you felt healthy.
7. You don’t remember the last time you felt clean. (Courtesy of Libby.)
8. You know you aren’t eating Couscous right until you sweat when you eat it. (Courtesy of Libby.)
9. You can be 20 minutes into a conversation, and only THEN realize it hasn’t been in English.
10. You’re either REALLY hot, or REALLY cold, but are pretty sure you’ve never actually felt a comfortable in-between.
11. You’re an illegal alien while working for the U.S. Federal Government, and nobody really seems to be concerned by that fact.
12. Trying to define "bacteria" and what it does is a lost cause. (Courtesy of Johanna L.)
13. Bathing can be a 3 hour long affair and involve 100 other naked women all together.
14. You steal anything you can get your hands on (i.e. ketchup packets, napkins, bread from a table, etc). (Courtesy of Libby.)
15. All of your clothes are faded from hanging in the sun.
16. You’ve already eaten parts of your care package before you’ve even seen everything in the box.
17. You can say with all seriousness “Sure, I’ll walk to Marjane, it’s only 100 degrees outside currently.” (Courtesy of Cait.) 
18. You debate if you’re willing to spend 6DH for the taxi across town, but it’s totally worth it to spend 250DH on a day trip to the city just for a beer off tap.
19. Late trains and no available seating doesn't make a dent on your upset-o-meter. (Courtesy of Johanna L.)
20. You have a few bags of trash in your room, because you can’t figure out where they’re supposed to go, and you know it’s hshuma to ask about garbage.
21. Baby wipes are a perfectly acceptable form of bathing.
22. Bowel movements are a normal subject of dinner time conversation. (Courtesy of Johanna L.)
23. You’re washing your clothes and you know they’re still dirty, but you just don’t care anymore. (Courtesy of Cait.)
24. You tell someone in Darija what you’d like to buy and that you don’t understand French, and they still respond in French and refuse to believe you know how to speak Darija.
25. You’re favorite game to play in big cities is “Guess which nationality you think these tourists walking towards us are.”
26. You try to figure out which Darija words will most likely come back to America with you (I’m going with hshuma, shims, brrd, and maarfsh).
27. You’ve read more books in the last 3 months than you did in the 2 years before coming to Peace Corps.
28. I can say the words “C’est la vie” and you’ll immediately start dancing at least a little bit.
29. You’re given your own plate of food and you feel like you’re in trouble for something.
30. You discover that both lizards and mosquitoes have been cohabitating in your room. (Courtesy of Johanna L.)
31. You have to stop and ask what you're eating before you eat it. (Courtesy of Johanna L.)

Got any other good ones? Let me know and I'll add them to the list!

Peace Corps: "What the fuck am I doing here?"

I’ve come to realize that “The toughest job you’ll ever love” should, in fact, not be the motto of Peace Corps. Alright, maybe not that extreme of a statement. This is a very tough job, and I do love it. Whether my 21 year old self will declare here and now, not quite in country for 4 months, that of all the jobs I’ll ever have, it’s the toughest I’ll ever love is another story entirely. So if that’s the official motto, the unofficial motto should be this: “What the fuck am I doing here?” I’ve probably thought this line at least a hundred times in the last week and a half I’ve been in site. In some form or another, I’ve been thinking it for the last 4 months. And my 21 year old self will declare here and now this fact: if you spend a whole 27 months in the Peace Corps during your life, and don’t at some point think “What the fuck am I doing here?” you’re doing it wrong. Alright, maybe not wrong, but I at least think you’re a little abnormal in the head.

When this thought runs through your head on a fairly regular basis, you can’t help but try to answer it a little bit while you sit bored and tuning out a conversation you can’t understand that’s happening around you. I joined Peace Corps and came to Morocco to challenge myself. I came to experience a new culture. To meet new people. To learn something about myself. To maybe help a person or two. I came because it’s been my dream since I was 14. And when it all comes down to it, I know this is going to be one of the greatest experiences of my life. I can already tell. I worry a little bit that I may have taken on an adventure that will be the peak of my life experiences at too young of an age. But seriously, when that’s my worry, I’ve got it made right? Exactly.

But let’s not forget what the actual motto of the Peace Corps is: “The toughest job you’ll ever love.” This shit is tough. It’s not like a study abroad trip where you have a group of 15 other American’s with you all day long to lean on. When you hit final site, it’s sink or swim. I’ve got it better than most with three site-mates who have been here for a year and a half already. But come November, it’s going to be just me here. And it’s not like I’m all alone. I’m in a city of 70,000 people. I’ll have friends. I’ll have coworkers. I’ll have counterparts. And this may sound weird and a bit of stating the obvious, but they’ll all be Moroccan. And don’t get me wrong, I came here to meet and experience a new culture of people, but sometimes, it’s just exhausting. Every time you step out your door, you have to think in a new language, try to follow all the various new customs, and try to ignore the endless catcalls thrown at you when you walk down the street.

When you have “Bonjour!!” yelled after you by the same group of boys you pass every day, who know you’re the English teacher in town, for the 100^th time, that’s where the “What the fuck am I doing here” moment comes in. A friend of mine and fellow PCV made a great point when we were talking about what it would take to quit and go home. “You need to have both a push to leave here, and you need to have a pull back home to make you go.” So, most days, I really do love everything about being here. I mean, let’s be real, it’s not the States. I get a new adventure every day. I get to blow people’s minds with the next best “guess what I saw that crazy blond American do today…” moment. But I’m willing to bet every volunteer at some point gets that push to go home. You know, that place where in the winter, the houses are actually heated, and in the summer it doesn’t hit 130 degrees. That place where people speak the same language that you think in. That place where you can wear shorts and a T-shirt and not be a prostitute. Yeah, that place.

But you gotta remember the other half of that statement. There needs to be something from home to pull you just as much as there is a reason pushing you out of here. And, in all honesty, 130 degree weather isn’t a valid reason to pick up and leave. I didn’t join Peace Corps to be a pansy. So what would pull you back? Traveling is a deep and true love of mine. It’s something I don’t plan on giving up at any point of my life, and is worth giving up the life I knew back home in order to know what it’s like to be a little bit uncomfortable once in awhile. Its new friends, exotic cities, ancient history, weird foods, bodily dysfunctions, and personal exploration. I love it. But it comes with sacrifices. And these sacrifices can sometimes feel like a pull back home. I can’t buy Reese’s in Morocco for one thing. Alright, that’s minor, but still, I do miss Hershey’s products. It’s the bigger things. It’s the relationships.

 Sitting alone 5500 miles away working on an English lesson plan and seeing a Facebook status about ten of your closest friends all playing pool at your favorite bar is tough. Friendships are hard to keep up when you live next door to someone. They’re even tougher when you aren’t on the same continent. When you love to travel like I do, you also give up something else that’s a pretty big deal. Any chance at any sort of steady, semi-healthy romantic relationship. Even getting ready to leave for Peace Corps was hard. I know I’m getting ready to leave for two years. I know there’s zero chance I want to go into Peace Corps in any kind of a relationship. But you also don’t want to write the whole world off. What if that girl you met at a party is down to go travel the world with you? What if another year back home would have made something out of nothing? What if that girl that beat you at pool that one time is also a die-hard snowboarder? I guess nobody will ever know. But it’s a choice I make when I choose to travel. Not that I think travel is incompatible with relationships. But it’s a very specific type of relationship and a very specific type of person you need to find. And it’s not exactly Peace Corps ready. Yeah, PCV’s have hooked up, are hooking up, and will continue to hook up. Yeah, PCV’s have married locals, are marrying locals, and will continue marrying locals. I don’t really see marrying a local woman here as culturally acceptable, so that’s out. Dating another PCV? Very possible. Time will tell on that one.

All and all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from traveling about relationships (both friendly and romantic) left behind back home, it’s this: The people who matter the most will stick with you through thick and thin. I do everything I can to stay in touch with as many people as possible back home, but if people don’t stay in touch back, there’s only so much I can do about it. Sometimes it feels like going home would suddenly fix that problem of lost relationships, but I think being apart is one of the best things I can do for them. It shows me my truest friends. It shows me who cares enough to stay in touch. It shows me who the deadbeats that I should forget about are. And it shows me which relationships would actually have lasted had I stayed back home, and who is worth calling up when I hit stateside again.

Two years is a long time. At least that’s what my 21 year old self feels right now. Give me another 40 years, and it’s only going to feel like a drop in the bucket. Peace Corps is nothing more than a warm up for the adventures the rest of my life is going to bring, and is going to teach me more than I could have ever realized I needed to learn. I live the coolest life I could ever imagine. Sometimes, that comes with consequences, but sometimes, there are perks I don’t even realize until they happen. And when it all comes down to it, my friends and my family are going to be standing right there waiting for me when I get back. Who will make up that group of friends is up to them by this point, not me. As Peter Pan once said: “To live would be an awfully big adventure.” 

Bucket Lists. If you don't have one, get one.

If you carry a conversation with me for longer than twenty minutes, you will probably very quickly learn two things about me. First, I’m a deeply passionate person. When I truly love something or care about something, I dive head first, 100% into it. When I say I have a passion for traveling and culture, I mean the perfect life to me is to be a nomad and never have a permanent home. When I say I love maps, I mean the past 3 years of my life you haven’t been able to see my bedroom walls because there were too many maps on them. And when I tell you I love to snowboard, I mean I actually cried when I sprained my ankle during the biggest snowstorm of the year and realized I wouldn’t be able to ride at all before leaving for Morocco. My mother has always told me I don’t do anything halfway. If I decide I want to do something, it’s all or nothing. This is what I mean when I say I’m a passionate person.

The second thing you will likely realize about me is that I’m about as stubborn as a mule. If I want to do something, nothing will stop me, and in return, if I don’t want to do something, you really better let it go, because I’m not going to do it. This hard-headedness also translates often into a complete lack of understanding when other people aren’t as stubborn as I am. When people tell me how much they’d love to do something, climb a mountain for example, and are at a loss for words when my response is “alright, let’s do it”, I am also just as much confused when I do not receive an affirmative response. In my eyes, if you truly want something, nothing, ever, can or will stop you. Yes, that does include money. The number of time’s I’ve told someone my dreams of travel and have been told how much Person X would love to travel also, but tell me they can’t afford it, or have too many responsibilities back home, or whatever the case may be, are beyond counting. There are ways to do it for nothing. I swear.

So why do people have these dreams, but always find excuses not to chase them? In the most basic response: Hell if I know. Honestly, I really don’t think I will ever understand how you can talk yourself out of doing what will make you happy in life, instead continuing doing the same thing unhappily and complaining about it the whole time. The most common reason for not doing things often comes down to money. While I do very much understand how money is a large factor in your ability to do something, I still stand by my statement that there is ALWAYS a way to accomplish what you want to do. But you need to be creative. I read an article awhile back about a woman who is hitchhiking rides at private airports, traveling the entire United States by air, without paying for any of it. While this may be an extreme situation for many, the purpose is to provide a simple example of just how far a little bit of creativity will take you. The point is to dream. Just a little bit. Or a lot. Whatever fits your style. Don’t be afraid to admit what makes you happy, and admit what you’re passionate about. And even more importantly, never let anything, ever, stop you from accomplishing those things.

But back to the question, how to do it? In my experience, you need something to keep you honest. Something to remind yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing, or remind you why you need to stop doing what you’re doing. And better yet, you need to know what you actually want. Somewhere in the range of 7 years ago, I first decided to write a list of 100 things I wanted to do before I died, a bucket list you might call it. Since then, I have been continually adding to it, and have somewhere just over 140 things on it right now. These things range from the seemingly simple (solve a rubics cube), the obviously absurd (do a backflip off a pogo stick), the sometimes indefinable (make a difference), to the big life moments (lose at candyland to my kid). But the ultimate point is to keep me honest.

Often time’s people read my bucket list and ask me how I plan to accomplish everything on it. The answer is this: I don’t. But I also don’t have any intention of deciding which things will and won’t happen. The point of a bucket list is to know what you’re passionate about, and have it be an ever present reminder. Personally, my list has hung on the back of my bedroom door since I made it. I always make sure it is hanging somewhere that I will see every day: an ever present reminder of what I choose to live for. Anyone who’s ever gotten to know me can generally vouch for the fact that I highly encourage everyone to make their own lists. If you’re drawing a blank, a quick Google search can give you some fun ideas to help you brainstorm.

But a bucket list is also a commitment. It’s a promise to yourself. A promise that you will not forget what you are passionate about, and what will make you so stubborn that you will not let anything stop you from accomplishing those things. I have had many days where I have sat around bored, and decided it was a good time to check something off my list. Those days I simply choose something at random, and I go accomplish it. Before I left for the Peace Corps, a friend of mine said something to me. She said: “Monika, please promise me something. Promise me you will never stop making questionable decisions that turn into really great stories.” And I haven’t. I may seem a little bit crazy sometimes, but at the end of the day, I have some crazy stories. And I have those stories because I choose to live everyday to the fullest. So if I mess up and do something weird, I at least have a great experience from it. And that’s why I think it’s so important to have a bucket list. Could I live my whole life never accomplishing solving a Rubics Cube? Of course I could. What a silly question. But the fact is, I want to solve one, so why not do it? I think if you always just say to yourself “you know, someday, I want to do XXXX” then it all becomes too much to handle. You just can’t keep track of everything in your head, and you never end up accomplishing them then. If you write it all down, you hold yourself accountable to it, and hey, it’s fun to cross things off when you do them.

Here’s my bucket list (minus a few things that really just shouldn’t be on the internet) for you all to see, and maybe use as some inspiration. Even if your list is only 20 items, I highly, HIGHLY advocate for everyone to at least try sitting down sometime to write one.

1.       Come out to the world

2.       Witness a miracle

3.       Make a difference

4.       Teach someone acceptance

5.       Dance on another planet

6.       Put footprints on the moon

7.       Change someone's view on gays

8.       Have foster children

9.       Dance in the rain with a special someone

10.   Fall asleep in the arms of someone I love

11.   Kiss in the moonlight

12.   Go to college

13.   Get married

14.   Have a purple Mohawk

15.   Save a life

16.   Befriend an enemy

17.   Never judge

18.   Hug someone randomly

19.   Get a Ph.D.

20.   Lose at Candyland to my kid

21.   Show someone my beliefs

22.   Be proud of who I am

23.   Spend Seafair on the log boom with my dad

24.   Learn to play the guitar

25.   Own a sports car

26.   Take a snowboard trip to the Swiss Alps

27.   Take a snowboard trip to Chili

28.   Snowboard on every continent

29.   Buy dad flight school classes

30.   Take mom on a cruise

31.   Buy dad a boat

32.   Travel the world

33.   Get a piercing

34.   Get a tattoo

35.   Join the peace corps

36.   Learn to fly

37.   Drive a racecar

38.   Appear in a movie

39.   Learn to dance

40.   Fire a gun

41.   Go on an African safari

42.   Learn to SCUBA dive

43.   Own my own store

44.   Invent something

45.   Steal something

46.   Party like a rockstar

47.   Have a pet turtle named Fredrick

48.   Have a pet shark named Antonio

49.   See the southern cross

50.   See the aurora borealis

51.   Learn to play the drums

52.   Go backpacking

53.   Get a joint citizenship

54.   Learn to ski

55.   Lose Weight

56.   Ride in a submarine

57.   Ride in a hot air balloon

58.   Do something inappropriate

59.   Own over 200 movies

60.   Take up photography

61.   Watch an Olympic table tennis match

62.   Push every button in an elevator

63.   Get kicked out of somewhere

64.   See the dark side of the moon

65.   Walk down the street dressed like Superman

66.   Get arrested

67.   See over 30 concerts

68.   Tour a Nazi death camp

69.   Take a cross country road trip

70.   Overcome my fears

71.   Write a song

72.   Defy gravity

73.   Be fluent in another language

74.   Visit Vatican City

75.  Visit the CERN lab

76.  Ride a Snowmobile

77.  Punch someone

78.  Drive a sports car down the autobahn

79.  Wish on a star

80.  Build my own telescope

81.  Change the world.

82.  Pay it forward

83.   Go 4-Wheeling

84.   Live a life unrequiring of a car

85.  Unicycle everywhere for a week.

86.  Step foot on every continent, including Antarctica

87.  Climb Mt. Rainer

88.  Go parasailing.

89.  Tell someone exactly what I think of them.

90.  Watch a concert from the very front row.

91.  Create a makeshift bat-mobile and roll down a hill in it dressed like batman.

92.  T.P. a house.

93.  Fork a yard.

94.  Complete the 1 gallon challenge

95.  Have a one night stand

96.  Snowboard a halfpipe

97.  Learn to wakeboard

98.  Restore an old car

99.  Witness a solar eclipse

100.         Witness a lunar eclipse

101.         Climb the Eiffel Tower

102.         Golf a game under 100

103.         Ride a gondola in Venice

104.         Louge

105.         Visit all 50 states

106.         Ride a camel

107.         Solve a Rubics Cube

108.         Do Indoor Sky Diving

109.         Build a Pizza Oven

110.         Be Vegetarian

111.         Go jet skiing

112.         Go geocaching

113.         Watch a rocket launch live

114.         Break a Guinness World Record

115.         See the Grand Canyon

116.         Dive in the Galapagos

119.         Do a back flip off a pogo stick

120.         Brew my own beer

121.         Knit a hat

122.         See every Best Picture Winner

123.         Make up a new identity in Vegas

124.         Own an Aston Martin

125.         Stay at an ice hotel

126.         Watch turtles hatch and run to the ocean

127.         Study religion

128.         Play bigger or better on Craigslist

129.         Be a spectator at the Olympics

130.         Be in Times Square on New Year’s Eve

131.         Learn to meditate

132.         March in a protest

133.         Work for a non-profit organization

134.         Jump into a pool with all my clothes on

135.         Have a stranger tattoo my name onto them.

136.         Hop a train

137.         Crash a wedding

138.         Have sex in a church

139.         Fire a bow and arrow

140.         Climb Kilimanjaro

If you have a bucket list, I would love to see it! Post it in the comments or email it to anderson.monika87@gmail.com

Host Families and Their Influence On Experiencing A Country

Host families. Arguably the most important people in shaping our experience here during both training and into our final sites. Requiring a level of patience unheard of in most people, our host families are very much in the running for sainthood (except that I'm not sure there actually are saints in Islam...). I'll fully admit I'm not an easy person to put up with, let alone live with back in the states, I'm sure it really helps when I'm in a foreign culture with zero language abilities.

But yet, my host family took me in as one of them. They put up with my responses of “yes” to questions like “when are you going to be home?,” or, better than that even, my blank stare, followed by an overly enthusiastic smile, nod, and walk away after being told something, in the hopes that it wasn’t too important. They cheered me on when I was so proud of the fact that I said “I want water” before I filled up my water bottle. They give me a hard time when I still can’t remember a word they’ve told me at least 50 times, then tell it to me, just once more. They do my laundry for me. They got so excited when my final site city comes on the news that they called everyone into the living room to watch with me, even if I couldn’t understand what the reporter is saying about my city. They take care of me when I’m so sick that I refuse to leave my bedroom. They double check my Arabic script homework and politely tell me I wrote my name as “Honika” instead of “Monika” and this is what an “H” is supposed to look like, and this is what an “M” is supposed to look like. But more than anything else, they take care of me when I’m at my most vulnerable.

The first day I arrived at my host family for Community Based Training, I was exhausted. It had been a long day of traveling from Rabat to Fes. Then attempting to go from Fes to our CBT site, ending up somewhere in Seffrou instead, and finally arriving in Bouderhem after dark, in the rain, carrying everything we own on our backs. We got dropped off at the Dar Chebab, then, as a group, we all walked to our host families together, stopping as we went through town as we hit each house. Knocking on the door of my host family and having the door open, it was, more than anything else, a feeling of “Here’s the American you ordered! Feed her three meals a day, bathe her once a week, and please return her in good condition at the end of March. She does not come with a manual, all sales are final.” My feeble attempts at simply stuttering “My… name…is… Monika” in a language foreign to me was overshadowed by the immediate swarm of hugs and kisses and all of my bags being taken from me and up to my room, while I was led to a couch by the TV, given a blanket and 2 pillows, then stared at for the rest of the night to make sure everything was perfect. If I moved at all, everyone jumped up to ask if I was going to bed or the bathroom or what I needed (all communicated through hand gestures and pointing, since I had no idea what they were saying). I just wanted to pee…

But 2 months later, saying goodbye to them only further proved to me how incredible they really are, and how much they really did care about me and want the best for me. As I packed my bags Friday evening with my host sister helping, my host mom walked into the room and asked: “When are you coming to visit?” If I knew how to say “Dude I haven’t even left yet” in Darija, I would have. But sadly, my new site is 8 hours south, and it’s not exactly and easy day trip to pop in for lunch with them. I explained to her that my parents in America were coming to visit in December, and they defiantly want to meet the people who took such good care of me, and we would be there then. She counted it out on her fingers, and informed me that was 9 months away, all with a very dissatisfied look on her face, waiting for my new answer to the question of visiting. I honestly do wish I had a better answer.

When I head to my final site on Thursday, I will, once again, be moving in with a host family. It’s a really strange feeling to know that I’m going to suddenly be moving into another family after getting so close to the first family. In many ways, it feels like I’m cheating on my first host family. But when it comes down to it, there really is no way for the new family to have the same impact on my life here in Morocco as the first family did. This time, I’ll be going in with enough language to communicate, and with more confidence to survive day to day life here. This family isn’t going to see my change and improvement like the last family did, and won’t be the ones to take me in when all I wanted to do was cry a little bit while wondering what the hell I got myself into this time. The connection all of us trainee’s make with our CBT host families is completely unique, and cannot be duplicated.

But that’s why we have host families in the first place. If it wasn’t for them, our experiences here in Morocco would be crucially different, and our task of integrating into a community would be vastly more difficult. We can be taught lessons on cultural norms and faux pas all day long, but it’s a host family that truly teaches us the culture of this beautiful country. By living with a family, we are given the amazingly unique chance to experience a countries culture from the inside. From behind the doors that normally hide what we shouldn’t be seeing. We learn how to interact on the most intimate levels with the people of our new home.

If we had spent all of training in a hotel, then immediately moved into our own apartments in final site, we would have missed out on a huge aspect of this culture. And when our job is to integrate into a community and work with the children of that community, it’s vital that you understand how to do that. To understand that having tea at someone’s house is just as much, if not more, important than teaching an English class in the Dar Chebab. And host families teach us that. Along with the knowledge that you’ll ruin the meal for everyone if you eat with your left hand, and that shoes should always always always come off before you walk on the carpet, and that you should not under any circumstance eat the meat in the meal until the head of the house has divided it up and given it to you. Without a host family, how would we know these things? Even being told them doesn’t teach you how to do them. It’s my host family that taught me these things.

I’ve been told that for many volunteers, the last people they say goodbye to when they Close of Service after two years is their CBT host families, and I can definantly see that being a possibility. I will forever have 2 mothers, 2 fathers, and 2 sisters. 1 set American, and 1 set Moroccan. 

On Jins, Moroccan Names, and the Threat of Evacuation

It's fair to say that during Community Based Training (CBT), I have no life of my own. I wake up at 7:45am Monday though Saturday, head to the Dar Chebab (youth center) at 8:30, have language class until 12 or 12:30, head home for lunch until I need to be back at the Dar Chebab at 2:00, at which point I either have another language class or a cultural lesson, then teach kids at the Dar Chebab from about 4-6pm, head home for dinner, study, and sleep. Without fail. Until I get sworn in as a full-fledged, official, scared-shitless volunteer on March 27th, this will continue to be my life. And even after that, I can't necessarily say things will go back to being "normal." Whatever that even means.

One of the most entertaining cultural session we've had up until this point, however, has been on Moroccan superstitions and jins. Jins can more or less be translated into 'genie', although in American culture genie often comes attached to a connotation of lamps and bottles and a big blue cloud of Robin Williams voice. In Morocco (actually, it's out of the Quran to be more precise), jins were the first inhabitants of Earth. The world is occupied by humans, jins, and angels, and like humans, jins can be good, bad, or neutral. As far as superstitions go, it is incredibly interesting to be an outsider in a culture and hear the superstitions that are believed and sometimes followed. Please read the list below with an open mind, as Moroccan culture is not yours to judge, nor is it mine to judge. Remember, American's have crazy superstitions too (break a mirror and get 7 years bad luck, don't walk under a ladder, knock on wood, black cats on Halloween, etc). While I plan on having much more extensive conversations on jins over the course of my time in Morocco, here is what I've gathered so far on jins as well as superstitions in Morocco (because, as my trainer stated, "Today we'll learn about superstitions and jins. Jins are not superstitions. Jins are real."):

• Jins: 
• You cannot pour water direction from the hot water tap down the drain, you must mix at least a drop of cold water with it, because the jins live in the drains. If you run straight hot water down the drain, you run the risk of the jin coming up and possessing your body. 
• Moroccans use salt in everything. Lots of salt. This was explained finally when we discussed jins, as jins cannot consume salt. Therefore, if you salt your food, the jins will not sit with you at your meal, and the salt will keep you safe from their presence. 
• It is believed that jins have the legs of a goat, but the rest of their body is a mystery and can be any of a variety of combinations. 
• If someone is laying on the floor and you step over them, they'll never grow. 
• If your right hand itches, it is a sign that in some form, money will be coming to you soon. Alternatively, if your left hand itches, you will be losing money somehow in the near future. The list of other left/right superstitions is quite extensive...
• If you hit a girl with a broomstick, she'll never get married. 
• At a wedding, if you drink from the same cup as the bride, or eat from the same plate, you will also get married soon (similar to throwing the bouquet at an American wedding). 

As for Moroccan names, many Peace Corps Volunteers find they are given a "Moroccan name" at some point during their service. This could be for a number of reasons. Maybe you just remind someone of a daughter or friend with a certain name. Maybe your real name has sounds in it that are not common in Darija and difficult to pronounce. Or, in my case, maybe a 3 year old doesn't quite understand the difference in American names and Moroccan names and said the closest sounding Moroccan name he could think of and pronounce. I write this blog currently under the new identity of Malika (not a bad name to be fair, since it translates to 'Queen' in Darija). So far, 3 of the 5 of us in my CBT have been given Moroccan names, although I still hold the pride that the most adorable 3 year old out there gave me mine, even if he has since switched to calling me Monika (this kid is going to be super confused by the time I leave Bouderhem). 

I asked my Moroccan trainer today about using my Moroccan name in a more permanent format, and the implications of doing so. I know other volunteers who introduce themselves to the kids at the Dar Chebab as their Moroccan names, but it is obviously a little strange to take the step to introducing yourself as a different name. I was also a little hesitant simply because my name translated into 'queen' and I didn't want to show up overconfident and cocky and introduce myself as the queen. On the other hand, I liked the idea of giving myself a little bit more anonymity to my students and being able to separate my work and personal life a little bit (and make it so you can't really find me on Facebook...). As my teacher explained to me though, by speaking Darija and introducing myself by a Moroccan name, I introduce myself as a member of the community, having integrated and accepted their culture, rather than being an American foreigner, seen as an outsider. By accepting Malika, I am accepting my new home and culture, and reaching out to my community to be accepted as one of them. By the end of the day today, our entire Dar Chebab knew me as Malika, so I guess step one is a go. 

The other really interesting part of being here in Morocco at this time in life is the insane politics always going on around us. I remember finding out that I was going to be in either Morocco or Jordan, and calling my mom wondering why I never thought to ask for this region before. It is by far the most exciting place in the world right now, with so many changes happening so fast. Unfortunantly, that doesn't always lead to good things. Between Libya, Syria, Egypt, and Mali, I'm definantly in a unique situation getting the chance to live in this region right now. 

Our CBT family

My CBT group has a fairly unique makeup as well in comparison to other training groups. It's made up of: me, the youngest of the total of 95 of us in our entire training staj, Richard, who is 23 from Colorado, Andrew, about to turn 40 from Minnesota, and Barb and Art, who are a retired married couple in their early 60's from Connecticut. Between the 5 of us we bring in some very different viewpoints, covering a few different generations, and essentially covering the viewpoints of the entire geography of the United States, minus the deep south. The last 3 days straight we have managed to end up in some sort of deep political discussion about American politics throughout the world and domestically. It has really added a new level to this experience here in Morocco. I'm finding the more time I spent away from my culture and running from my country, the more I connect myself to it and learn to understand it in ways I never could while I was back in the states. 

But back to the point of evacuation here. Richard and I were discussing one day on a bus ride from Fez to Seffrou what we thought was the potential of being evacuated out of Morocco by the Peace Corps while we are here. For this to happen, some event would have to take place to make Peace Corps feel like it was in the best interest of our safety to no longer remain in Morocco. We would be brought together and flown out to a big fancy hotel in either Paris or Turkey for up to a month while they decide if it's safe to return to Morocco, and sent back to the states or off to other Peace Corps assignments if it remains unsafe. After 9/11, all volunteers were evacuated out of Morocco, and we currently have 2 trainee's in our staj who re-enrolled after recently being evacuated after 10 months in country in Mali when fighting broke out there. 

In my own opinion, I think we have a 50/50 shot during our time here to be either evacuated, or at least consolidated as a precaution at some point during our service here. It's tough to predict though. Morocco is a fairly peaceful country stuck in the middle of an unstable region. However, there are still factions of Al Qaeda within Morocco, despite the Moroccan governments intense efforts to smother them. And with U.S. forces heading into Mali now as well, it adds a new possibility. Ultimately though, it's impossible to know. If anything, it will be an abrupt and traumatic change if evacuation does happen, and I debate on if I think I would join Peace Corps again after going through that process. I really don't know. But I do know that, as much as I joke about it, I still hold that I'm pretty sure I would find out that something happened in Morocco from my parents back home calling to make sure I'm safe after they saw something on the news before I'd find out I was being evacuated. Food for thought I suppose. 

Signing out, 

Malika