I Got Rabbits!

So, boredom and loneliness have brought me rabbits. My new pets are currently busy nibbling their carrots and recovering from what I'm sure was a terrifying day.

They spent most the day spent cramped up in a small cardboard box alongside four others. I think they traveled pretty far that way. And it was a hot day, so they looked pretty gross when we first met. But, within the last three hours that we've been together, they seem to be adjusting and they're even looking cleaner. I still need to take a close look at them and pick out any bugs stuck in their fur.

The rabbits gave me many errands to busy myself with today. I tracked down a future home for them and found a good plastic orange crate, but my host cousin fell through on his promise of bringing it over this evening. So, their current residence is inside a cardboard box. He also helped me gather some weeds to feed them (we discovered a basil plant together and I forced him to take a bite out of one the leaves...people don't use basil here!), but most of them had these tiny thistles in them, which all got stuck to my clothes, and then I got into a heated discussion with some people outside my house about weeds. I guess rabbits hate weeds. They prefer carrot and mint leaves.

After picking all the thistles off my shirt and pants, I visited the vegetable man to get some carrots. When I asked him if rabbits eat the tops of green onions, he and his son laughed at me for a good five minutes. Apparently, everyone knows what rabbits eat and so it was hilarious that the American girl was asking about this. He then grabbed a handful of carrot tops to give me, but when I got home I discovered he also threw in some garbage as well.

This whole rabbit endeavor was the doing of my friend Kabira. I had been complaining to her earlier today about how I am lonely and will probably end up an old maid, and I guess her solution to this problem was rabbits. This afternoon, her mother arrived with a box full of rabbits and they decided they would make a good gift for me. One would be too cruel, best not to be lonely like me, so two were given to me. I'm not sure if baby bunnies are someday in this pair's future, but I think once they get a little bigger, it should be more clear.

Down Time

So, it seems the entire month of January has been one long vacation for students in Morocco. There was the new year, the Muslim new year, and independence day; all national holidays with no school or work. Then, there was a few days of school, but shortly after came the week-long exams. No school during exam week. The following week the students had off as well, waiting for teachers to correct the exams. Then, yesterday began the 11-day long mid-winter holiday break. Needless to say, when there is no school, there are no kids at Dar Chebab.

Even though I know this is true, I still find myself going to the Dar Chebab every day, hoping that maybe one stray kid will show up and want to hang out with me. I feel so desperate. Yesterday, I waited alone for over an hour, watching a cat clean itself, when a student happened to pass by and I guilted him into playing ping pong with me.

This coming week I won't even bother going to work, because there is no chance of anybody showing up. (Well, I say that now, but I know I will go...hoping...) I'm getting pretty bored. A few days ago I made the mistake of cooking enough flour tortillas and taco meat to last me a week. So, even though I am crazy about tacos, I hit my limit. I baked and ate an entire chocolate cake. I entertained friends. Visited my friends. Visited the farm. Bought some plants. Colored with crayons. Watched the entire season 4 of Gilmore Girls. Reorganized my kitchen. STUDIED MY ARABIC TEXTBOOK. This is how bored I am...I haven't picked up that book since before summer. It's probably not bad to review and learn some new verbs, though.

Today, I colored again and now I am trying to motivate myself to do some laundry. I would even consider going on a bike ride. Bike riding in my town is a joke. I can walk to the edge of town and back in ten minutes, so with a bike, that cuts the time down considerably.

Oh, my god, I just reread this and realized how whiny and pathetic I sound! I'm sorry if you read this post, it was even boring to write!

Recipe Corner in Jenny's Kuzina: Lesson 4

Quiche Florentine

You will need:

1 9" piecrust
3-4 eggs
1 3/4 c. milk
1/2 t salt
1 c. cheese, grated
1/2 c. chopped, drained spinach
pinch of nutmeg and/or cayenne

To prepare:

Bring milk to almost-boiling and let cool. Beat together eggs, spinach, and seasonings. Sprinkle bottom of piecrust with cheese and pour egg mixture on top. Bake for 1 hour or until the egg mixture is set.

Use your own pie crust recipe, or mine:

1 1/4 c. flour
1 T sugar
1/4 t salt
1/2 c butter
1 egg yolk
1/4 c milk

In a med bowl, stir together flour, sugar and salt. Cut in shortening until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Combine the egg yolks and milk; stir into the flour mixture. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough out to the size of pan. Bake according to quiche recipe instructions.

Age

Today I was sitting in the bakery, visiting with my friend Kabira when her mother walked in. Her mother is Berber and much more conservative than her children. She wears what we call a "milhaf," which is like a long sheet that women wrap themselves in from head to foot. Most women cover their faces, too. In my town, I'd say about half the women here wear milhafs, the other half wear jilabas (like a long pajama gown with a hood). Almost all the women wear head scarves. And the school-aged girls wear Western clothes with a white school pinafore over them. And then, there's me...I don't quite fit in with any of them with my loose fitting Western clothes, but that's another story.

Anyway, back to today. In walked, Kabira's mom. Mother of three daughters, oldest daugher around 26 years old. Sick with leg, back, and teeth pain. Walks slowly. Wrinkled. Her age: I'd guess close to 65 or older. All three of my grandparents in America are older than what I assumed to be her age and all three of them look younger and are much healthier.

WRONG! So, so very wrong. Age came up today when she asked if my parents were well, if they weren't sick, if they still had their youth. I said, yes, still young. She asked how old and I told her their ages. She laughed and said, no, they are OLD! She then told me she was 38 years old. I was shocked.

Okay, sidenote: most people in Morocco don't exactly know their age, but more or less guess. Birthdays aren't celebrated here.

I did the math. If Kabira is 25-26 and her mother says she is 38 that means....she was 12 when she gave birth??? No way, I thought. So, later, after her mother had left, I asked Kabira how old her mother was when she married her father. She said 14 years old. And a year later Kabira was born, so that would mean her mother had to have been around 15+26=41 years old now.

I'm not sure what my point is here. I guess, it's that women here age faster than in America. When you get married and have children so young, work outdoors on the farm, tend to the animals, do all the laundry by hand, kill the animals, cook the food, it puts some years on you.

Yesterday I watched the movie "Volunteers" with a group of fellow volunteers here in Morocco. The movie is from 1985 starring Tom Hanks and John Candy who sign up for the Peace Corps and are basically dropped off from a helicopter in Thailand without training, and get into all kinds of trouble. One scene shows Tom Hanks meeting the town elder who looks about 100, but John Candy says to him, "He's probably 30 years old." We all got that joke.

English for Fun

Here is a funny video clip of my friend Kabira, reading an English dialogue.

Recipe Corner in Jenny's Kuzina: Lesson 3

Ok, I decided to branch out from the traditional Moroccan dishes and will now include some of my personal favorites. This next one is super easy to make and really yummy!

Tuna Curry Salad

You will need:

1 can tuna fish
3 T nuts, chopped
2 T mayonnaise
3 T golden raisins
1/2 apple, chopped
4 T plain yogurt
1 T onion, minced
1/2 t curry powder
basil

To prepare:

Mix all ingredients together.

To eat:

On top of a bed of lettuce, on crackers, as a sandwich, or just by itself! Enjoy! I made this one for lunch today!

Recipe Corner in Jenny's Kuzina: Lesson 2

Lemon Chicken

You will need:

1 whole chicken, cleaned
2 cloves garlic
1 T parsley
1 t coriander
1/2 t ginger
1/2 t pepper
1 T butter
1 onion, chopped
1/8 t saffron
1/2 t salt
handful of green or purple olives
1-2 preserved lemons, quartered
4 T oil

To prepare:

Put the chicken in a stewing pan (or tajine if you are lucky) with all other ingredients except for lemons and olives. Heat slightly and coat chicken evenly with ingredients. Add water so chicken is half-covered. Simmer over med flame, turning chicken from time to time to baste it. When chicken is tender, remove and continue cooking sauce until smooth and thick. Return chicken to pan and add olives and lemon wedges and cook for 10 more minutes.

To eat:

Again, usually eaten with the hands. Just tear the meat off the bones and throw the steaming meat into your mouth! Or, carve meat off with knife and eat with fork.

Note: Gone are the days when I could recall what was available at the local HyVee, so its quite possible that preserved lemons are hard to come by. If so, here is a recipe to preserve them yourself:

Preserved Lemons

3 lemons, scrubbed, patted dry, and each cut lengthwise into 6 wedges
1/2 c kosher salt
1/2 c fresh lemon juice
olive oil

In a bowl, toss together lemon wedges and salt, transfer to Mason jar with plastic coated lid, and add lemon juice. Cover jar tightly with lid and let stand in a warm place, shaking jar once a day for 7 days. The lemons may be kept, covered with a layer of oil and the lid, chilled, for up to 6 months. And by chilled, the definition here would be, in the shade.

New York Times Op-ed on Peace Corps

Something to think about:

New York Times
January 9, 2008
Op-Ed Contributor
Too Many Innocents Abroad
By ROBERT L. STRAUSS
Antananarivo, Madagascar

THE Peace Corps recently began a laudable initiative to increase the number of volunteers who are 50 and older. As the Peace Corps’ country director in Cameroon from 2002 until last February, I observed how many older volunteers brought something to their service that most young volunteers could not: extensive professional and life experience and the ability to mentor younger volunteers.

However, even if the Peace Corps reaches its goal of having 15 percent of its volunteers over 50, the overwhelming majority will remain recently minted college graduates. And too often these young volunteers lack the maturity and professional experience to be effective development workers in the 21st century.

This wasn’t the case in 1961 when the Peace Corps sent its first volunteers overseas. Back then, enthusiastic young Americans offered something that many newly independent nations counted in double and even single digits: college graduates. But today, those same nations have millions of well-educated citizens of their own desperately in need of work. So it’s much less clear what inexperienced Americans have to offer.

The Peace Corps has long shipped out well-meaning young people possessing little more than good intentions and a college diploma. What the agency should begin doing is recruiting only the best of recent graduates — as the top professional schools do — and only those older people whose skills and personal characteristics are a solid fit for the needs of the host country.

The Peace Corps has resisted doing this for fear that it would cause the number of volunteers to plummet. The name of the game has been getting volunteers into the field, qualified or not.

In Cameroon, we had many volunteers sent to serve in the agriculture program whose only experience was puttering around in their mom and dad’s backyard during high school. I wrote to our headquarters in Washington to ask if anyone had considered how an American farmer would feel if a fresh-out-of-college Cameroonian with a liberal arts degree who had occasionally visited Grandma’s cassava plot were sent to Iowa to consult on pig-raising techniques learned in a three-month crash course. I’m pretty sure the American farmer would see it as a publicity stunt and a bunch of hooey, but I never heard back from headquarters.

For the Peace Corps, the number of volunteers has always trumped the quality of their work, perhaps because the agency fears that an objective assessment of its impact would reveal that while volunteers generate good will for the United States, they do little or nothing to actually aid development in poor countries. The agency has no comprehensive system for self-evaluation, but rather relies heavily on personal anecdote to demonstrate its worth.

Every few years, the agency polls its volunteers, but in my experience it does not systematically ask the people it is supposedly helping what they think the volunteers have achieved. This is a clear indication of how the Peace Corps neglects its customers; as long as the volunteers are enjoying themselves, it doesn’t matter whether they improve the quality of life in the host countries. Any well-run organization must know what its customers want and then deliver the goods, but this is something the Peace Corps has never learned.

This lack of organizational introspection allows the agency to continue sending, for example, unqualified volunteers to teach English when nearly every developing country could easily find high-caliber English teachers among its own population. Even after Cameroonian teachers and education officials ranked English instruction as their lowest priority (after help with computer literacy, math and science, for example), headquarters in Washington continued to send trainees with little or no classroom experience to teach English in Cameroonian schools. One volunteer told me that the only possible reason he could think of for having been selected was that he was a native English speaker.

The Peace Corps was born during the glory days of the early Kennedy administration. Since then, its leaders and many of the more than 190,000 volunteers who have served have mythologized the agency into something that can never be questioned or improved. The result is an organization that finds itself less and less able to provide what the people of developing countries need — at a time when the United States has never had a greater need for their good will.

Robert L. Strauss has been a Peace Corps volunteer, recruiter and country director. He now heads a management consulting company.

Letters to the Editor:

Who Helps Whom in the Peace Corps?

To the Editor:

In “Too Many Innocents Abroad” (Op-Ed, Jan. 9), Robert L. Strauss criticizes the Peace Corps, saying that often its “young volunteers lack the maturity and professional experience to be effective development workers in the 21st century.”

The agency, he says, “neglects its customers.” In fact, volunteers are trained to integrate into their host communities and listen carefully.

As a volunteer, I spent more than a year in direct dialogue with my Chinese counterparts before helping to set up a weekend program for children. My “customers” — peasant farmers and their children — were immensely grateful.

Mr. Strauss also suggests that the Peace Corps is satisfied if “volunteers are enjoying themselves.” This is, quite frankly, an insult to those who work tirelessly — at great sacrifice and, at times, with little enjoyment — to fulfill their missions.

In applying the metrics of management consulting to the Peace Corps, Mr. Strauss ignores the essence of this marvelous organization: its humanity.

If he wants to deal with “customers,” his matrix for analysis makes sense. The Peace Corps, however, deals with people.

Michael Levy
Northampton, Mass., Jan. 9, 2008

•

To the Editor:

I served in Cameroon as just the kind of agricultural volunteer Robert L. Strauss mentions. As a 20-year-old journalism graduate, I’d grown nary a houseplant before trying to teach farmers how to improve their crops.

The audacity of my arrogance in assuming that this time abroad would do Cameroon any good was apparent on Day 1. I lasted just five months before returning home, frustrated, confused and annoyed that I had put so much thought into a system that failed both the host country and a volunteer with the best of intentions.

The Peace Corps is a great program in true need of reorganization.

Kelli M. Donley
Tempe, Ariz., Jan. 9, 2008

•

To the Editor:

My wife and I were Peace Corps volunteers in India in the 1960s. Since becoming director, I have seen volunteers in action in more than 30 countries, including Cameroon. The quality of the volunteer experience has not changed, nor has the quality of the volunteers who serve. The Peace Corps remains true to President John F. Kennedy’s vision articulated in 1961.

The Peace Corps recruits the best and brightest, and only one out of every three applicants becomes a volunteer. Volunteers provide trained skills at the grass-roots level and promote a better understanding of Americans and our culture. Government officials throughout the world praise the work of volunteers, and the list of countries requesting new programs continues to grow.

The agency’s success is more than anecdotal. Ninety-one percent of volunteers say they feel integrated into their communities, and we have created evaluation plans to better quantify the volunteers’ impact.

We can all be proud of the volunteers serving today. I encourage Americans of all ages and backgrounds to consider serving.

Ronald A. Tschetter
Peace Corps Director
Washington, Jan. 9, 2008

•

To the Editor:

In 2000, when I was a 23-year-old straight out of graduate school, I had very little to offer the Senegalese village I was sent to by the Peace Corps.

Sure, I was the only one in my village with a college degree, but I was in no position to tell the villagers how to run their businesses. Sure, I taught them a little about accounting and some basic math, but my real value was being one extra person to hold a shovel.

The reality was that I was the one who learned the most and got the most from the experience. The Peace Corps is really more of a cultural-exchange program than an international development organization.

Benjamin Y. Clark
Athens, Ga., Jan. 9, 2008

•

To the Editor:

Today, a friend and fellow returned Peace Corps volunteer is being buried in Orchard Park, N.Y. He was murdered while working to end the violence in Sudan.

John Granville was nothing like the ill-prepared young people Robert L. Strauss describes. During his Peace Corps service in Cameroon from 1997 to 1999, he was so successful and well loved by the community that he was given an honorary title by the chief of the village.

He returned to Cameroon as a Fulbright scholar to research culturally appropriate approaches to H.I.V. prevention. When I visited him that year, we took many walks through “his” village. It could take hours — every few houses or so, neighbors waved us over to exchange greetings and news. He was welcomed because he understood something about living and working internationally that Mr. Strauss seems not to have grasped — the value of human relationships and the importance of being willing to learn.

The Peace Corps is not just about what “fresh out of college” Americans can teach citizens of other countries. It is an opportunity for Americans to prove to the world that hubris is not the defining characteristic of our country.

While Mr. Strauss worries about how America can fix other nations, former Peace Corps volunteers like me will be putting to good use the skills we learned during our service. We will be listening, learning and sharing anywhere in the world we’re still welcome.

Karen Greiner
Athens, Ohio, Jan. 9, 2008

•

To the Editor:

Maybe Robert L. Strauss should talk to the average person in the countries the Peace Corps serves. In my work outside the United States, I am always surprised when people ask me questions about things that are taken for granted by Americans.

Why, I’ve been asked, do Americans wear shoes in their houses? What is the Dow Jones (or who is Dow Jones and why is he average)? And is root beer alcoholic?

The value of the Peace Corps is that people in other countries who may never have seen a foreigner are happy for the opportunity to ask questions directly to an American.

Robert Wong
Khartoum, Sudan, Jan. 9, 2008

The writer is deputy political counselor at the United States Embassy in Khartoum.

My response:

I think that Robert L. Strauss greatly underestimates the young people of our time. It's true, volunteers such as he described "fresh-out-of-college" do exist and I fit nicely into that category. But, to label us all as "lacking maturity and professional experience" is a naive generalization at best.

College graduates these days have much more to offer than simply a degree in their chosen fields. Many universities require students to gain work or volunteer experience before graduation. Graduating from college no longer promises a good-paying job. Graduates are finding more employers are looking for something extra in addition to a college degree. Every year, graduates become more competitive as they add more to their resumes in hopes of landing a job.

There's something else that volunteers of today can offer that volunteers of Kennedy's 1961 could not. Diversity. I'm guessing the demographics of volunteers serving in 1961 were fairly uniform. Volunteers today are constantly trying to disprove the stereotype that all Americans are white. The volunteers of the 21st century physically look a lot different then the original volunteers of 1961.

Although I, too, agree with the Peace Corps' initiative to increase its over-50 crowd, there is something to be said for young volunteers. We're fresh, we're enthusiastic, we're willing to take risks, and most importantly, we're eager to find an outlet to meaningfully serve.

-Jenny

Now You Too Can Cook Moroccan Cuisine!

Yes, for those of you who have ever paused and thought to yourselves, "What WILL I make for dinner tonight?" Here's your answer! This January you will get the chance to try out Moroccan recipes in your own homes. You know how most months have national themes, like "Aids Month" or "Black History Month"....well, this month I have decided my blog theme will be "Recipe Corner in Jenny's Kuzina." Or as you call it, The Kitchen.

Today's lesson can be prepared for breakfast, lunch or dinner! How convenient, you might be thinking! And not to worry if you don't have the proper "Moroccan cookware" or "tajine" as they are called here. You can make do with a regular baking dish!

Jenny's Egg Tajine

You will need:

3-4 tomatoes, skin peeled and chopped
4 eggs
olive oil or argan oil (mom and dad, that is the liquid inside the peanut butter jar that is sitting on your kitchen countertop)
3-4 cloves of garlic, chopped
cilantro, chopped finely
cumin
coriander
salt and pepper
peas: optional

To prepare:

Don't forget to peel the skin off and chop the tomatoes on a plate so the juices are retained. Chop the cilantro, or if you prefer, parsley. Chop the garlic and saute it briefly in a fair-sized pool of olive or argan oil. Add the tomatoes, cilantro or parsley, coriander, cumin, salt and pepper. I usually just grab a few pinchfuls of the spices, so don't be shy. Cook until thickened but still saucelike. (Optional: add a handful of peas before adding the eggs.) Carefully break the eggs into the sauce, each egg in its own "corner" of the dish. They might seem to stay liquid a long time, but that's how it cooks. The eggs will be done when the yolks are gelled on the bottom and a little runny on top. Sprinkle the eggs with more cumin and serve!

To eat:

Either with hands or forks. I break up bread and scoop up the food onto the bread, but you could eat it with a fork and have break on the side. Or, figure something else out!

Let me know how this one turns out for you and good luck! Stay tuned for next recipe.

Explaining Santa Claus

**Spoiler Alert: Anyone under 10....this is a fantasy story with no factual basis.

I worked at the Dar Chebab Saturday night and about fifteen kids showed up for Youth Cafe. The new Connect 4 from America was well-received. After the Youth Cafe I went out to Nadia's (my 21 year-old host mom) village. Everyone was really excited to see me and we had a good time looking at my pictures from home. They thought the snow looked beautiful and asked a lot of questions about why my dad drives a pick-up truck. (Apparently only farmers drive them here and that's why there are so many of them in town)

One of the pictures I brought back was of the three stockings hanging by the fireplace. This picture started a very interesting conversation about Santa Claus. Only Nadia knew about Santa Claus because last year when I was living at her house I gave her Christmas stockings and told her about Santa. At the time, she told me maybe Santa would make a stop in Morocco...the next morning there were chocolates in the stockings! Surprise!

This year, as I started talking about Santa, everyone else in the family actually thought that Santa was a REAL MAN who came into people's homes to deliver presents! Nadia's sister was relentless in asking me HOW this man got into everyone's houses? Did he have keys? Did he break-in? How did this work? Then, when I told them he climbed down through the chimney they were SHOCKED. My host grandma kept saying, "Jeenee, don't lie. Are you lying? How does he do that?" I told them all about the cookies and milk and was leading them on for a while, but finally I had to stop and admitted that Santa wasn't a real man, but rather the parents pretended he was and did his dirty work. My grandma was the most shocked and scolded me for lying. But they all laughed and admitted it was a good idea to keep children from misbehaving at Christmastime. Then, like ten minutes later Nadia's brother came into the room and the whole thing was repeated again. His sister tricked him into believing that Santa Claus was real. His mom tried to set him straight, but since he missed the entire explanation I think he still might be a little confused about the whole thing. They really liked the part about how if you're bad you get coal in your stocking. They asked if I'd ever gotten coal, to which I said, "No, I was always a good girl." And they thought that was really funny for some reason.

Happy New Year from Morocco!

How does that olde lange syne long go? "Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind ?" Well, that sums up life pretty well. The last time I posted I was anxiously awaiting my trip home to America. Looking forward to meeting up with those old acquaintances, enjoying all things American, and basically living the good life. And live the good life, I did. Here’s a quick list of things I accomplished while home:

· Spending loads of time with my family

· Eating/drinking the following: Snacks. Mexican food: enchiladas, burritos, Spanish rice, refried beans, chips and salsa. Mom’s cooking: anything. Sandwiches: meat, cheese and veggies on bread, Subway sandwiches. Drinks: lattes, margaritas, pop, cider, wine, beer. Cereal. Ice cream. String cheese. Chocolate chip cookies. Christmas goodies. Buffalo wings. Ham. Salad. (Note: salad almost added as an afterthought)

· Meeting with friends.

· Seeing movies: The Golden Compass and Charlie Wilson’s War.

· Playing games

· Enjoying central heating

· Enjoying cable television with American programs

· Sleeping in my old bed

· Reading newspapers in English

· Driving cars

· Visiting Jane Addams School

· Wearing any clothes I felt like wearing

· Looking at the snow (while enjoying the central heating, of course)

· Christmas with all the family

· Seeing Brayden, Owen, and Otto

· Going to a Christmas play

· Speaking at a women’s group and elementary school about Morocco

· Strolling the aisles of Target and Walmart

· Cooking a Moroccan meal for my family

· Scheming travel plans with friends and family

· Visiting Sara at Gustavus

· Visiting Megan in St. Paul

· Going out at night

I probably forgot a lot of other important things, but you get the point. Now, moving on to things I missed most right away:

· My family

· Central heating

· My luggage (still waiting…..)

· Convenience

Not bad. Excluding a few friends I didn’t get to see, I pretty much accomplished everything on my list of to-dos while home. Coming back “home” to Morocco was easier than I thought. The hardest part has been adjusting to the time difference. The first day I came home, I napped for four hours in the afternoon, woke up, walked outside my house, and was whisked away to a birthday party for some girl in the town garden. We sat outdoors under a tent and waited a long time. There were many cakes and bottles of pop and somebody was working on getting music playing. Then, a wire caught on fire and everybody was screaming and jumping around. Luckily, somebody had the idea to wrap the wire in scotch tape (good idea? Not sure) and soon the dangerous wire was quickly forgotten. I sat for a good three hours and then returned home.

Sleeping and not sleeping for the past two days is all a blur. I slept about twelve hours the first night and the second night I didn’t fall asleep until 4 am (11 pm in Minnesota) and woke up today around 1 pm. Tonight, I plan to take some Benadryl before going to bed.

Waking up this morning still without my luggage and now with my cell phone battery dead, I was determined to find somebody to bring me to the airport to pick up my luggage. Of course, this plan failed. Without any phone numbers, I had to walk around a lot ask around for phone numbers. I had two leads this afternoon but neither panned out. I think tomorrow I will maybe have a chance at going in the morning. For some reason, the weather is a major factor in all this. Today it rained and people were more reluctant to travel. I really could use my luggage about now. I have no warm clothes at my house. Not many toiletries. Not much money. One pair of shoes. And none of my American goodies. And no internet. I need to renew my internet but have been too busy with this luggage debacle to get the recharge card.

It’s cooled off considerably here. Very chilly. I have one blanket in my house that travels with me wherever I go in my house. I make a lot of tea.

In between my sleeping and not-sleeping during the day, I’ve been busy going around town and talking with people. As usual, the whole town knew I had been in America, and was happy to receive me back into the community.

Here is a usual exchange:

Person in my town: May peace be upon you

Me: And peace upon you, too

Person in my town: With God you arrived

Me: God arrived me

Person in my town: How did America find you?

Me: It found me beautiful.

Person in my town: Really?

Me: Yes, really. It was very beautiful.

Person in my town: How is your family? Is everything good to them?

Me: Everything is good to them. Thank God.

Person in my town: Thank God. You didn’t bring them with you?

Me: No, but God willing they will come.

Person in my town: God willing.

Me: May God help you.

Person in my town: May God help you, too.

Me: Goodbye

Person in my town: Goodbye now (just kidding, they don’t have the equivelant of “goodbye now” here, but I may try and introduce it)

And as expected, everyone in town, including the taxi man and strangers, want to know if I brought them back a gift. I laugh, and say to them “God willing.”

18 Days!

Just gotta get this out first - I'll be home in 18 days!!

Now for the update. Since my last post, I've been a busy busy bee with all my English teaching. Today is one of my busier days: the morning is open, but this afternoon I play with the toddlers at the Neddi Niswi (women's center) for an hour (we played duck, duck, grey duck last week and they loved it!) then teach English to the women, then lead women's exercise at the Dar Chebab (youth center), and lastly run over to the Dar Talib and Dar Taliba (House of Boys and House of Girls) and teach English or fun activities for an hour. Phew!

The Dar Talib and Dar Taliba are similar to boarding schools, except the kids only live and eat there and attend school in town. The kids who stay there, are usually from villages very far away with no transportation, so they stay at the center during the week and return home for the weekend. The Dar Talib is home to 69 boys, ages 11-20. I always have fun there, but they can get kind of wild. It's hard to teach them English because they are all at different learning levels, so I usually lead some kind of game or activity. Their favorite game is "heads up, seven up" which we renamed "Good Morning." The Dar Taliba, on the other hand, is home to only 31 girls, and much more calmer and manageable. The girls are younger than the boys, ages 11-16, because around 15-16 girls begin dropping out of school. This is due to a lot of societal pressures, like helping around the house, getting a job, getting married, or sometimes because the education of girls is valued less than boys. One thing I have noticed about the girls, is that there is a definite hierarchy to the group. Where the boys just kind of mill around, playing or laughing, the girls seem to each have their position in the group. There are the older girls who are like mothers and protectors for the younger girls. And the younger girls hardly ever talk out of fear of being laughed at by the older girls. The older girls are actually a bit scary to me because they are very bossy and take-charge kind of people. Sometimes during the middle of a game, the alpha female will yell at me "NEW GAME." I usually don't stand for that kind of behavior though, and have asked her if she knew what the world "rude" meant. But, on the whole, the girls are very well-behaved and fun to teach.

After finishing up at the Dar Talib or Taliba its usually too late for a girl to be out alone at night, so a very nice man walks me home. He lives with the girls at the Dar Taliba and is probably around 60 years old. He is a bit unusual for Moroccans, because he has a pet dog. I can't remember the dog's name, but its something like Oscar. As we slowly walk to my house, the dog follows us and we talk about, what else, dogs. He seems convinced that American dogs are much more beautiful than Moroccan dogs, and I agree. The dogs here are are wild and I don't blame Moroccans for being so frightened of them. They run around in packs of twenty, looking for food and I would never want to be caught in their path, especially at night. When I first moved into my house, I would wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of dogs fighting over the contents of my trash can. The next morning, all my trash, and I mean ALL my trash, would be scattered all over the road. Embarrassing. So, I learned to only take my trash out at the exact time the trash man comes. Also, I have seen people rummaging through my trash as well...so I figure the fewer animals and humans to come in contact with my garbage, the better.

It's been cooling down lately and at first it was a welcome change from the smoldering heat of summer. But, now, it's just too darn cold. I have been wearing long underwear and scarves INSIDE my house to keep warm. Also, making a lot of soup and tea. I have to wonder if it's really that cold or if I've just acclimated to the Moroccan climate. I remember being cold during my homestay a year ago and it was a bit ridiculous then because I was a guest in somebody's home and couldn't just walk around in layers of clothes with hats and scarves. But, now, in the comfort of my own home, I can do whatever I like! Wear blankets! Have tea whenever I want, not just at tea-time! Lay in bed!

Anyway, I hope the Minnesota winter isn't too much of a shock! I'll be home December 16-31. Any friends interested in getting a burrito or a margarita, let me know! I hope to make it back to Jane Addams School for a night, too.

Happy Thanksgiving!

On Sunday, I celebrated Thanksgiving with a group of fellow volunteers. Since the actual holiday falls on a Thursday and is (duh) not celebrated in Morocco, we had to meet on the weekend. I woke up early in my town, got ready, and left by 8 am. I traveled about 2 1/2 hours by taxi to my friend Mandy's house and helped out in the kitchen. I worked on the garlic mashed potatoes, while others pitched in on the salad, green beans, stuffing, and the turkey. The turkey was purchased by Mandy from her host family. They delivered it to her, dead, but not as you buy yours from the supermarket. After spending a night alone with the dead bird, Mandy requested her family help her out a bit. They chopped off its head and feet and de-feathered it for her. Mandy had a pile of feathers in her kitchen when we arrived and we all festively wore them (after a good washing with bleach).

Mandy put the turkey in her tiny little electric oven around noon and basted it with chicken broth. We decided not to stuff the turkey with the stuffing because Chase is a vegetarian, so we made the stuffing later. Since there was only one oven, the pies and dinner rolls were made the day before and the stuffing was made last. I brought lemon bars that went with the pumpkin pie and chocolate pie. Everyone helped out in the kitchen and those who didn't, did the dishes later.

We ate dinner around 5 or 5:30 and after digesting for a while, we all went up to the roof for the ceremonial "tossing of turkey carcass over the roof." Everyone had been drinking wine so it seemed like a good idea at the time. Gavin heaved the carcass over the roof as we all watched. The pack of stray dogs in town must have ate well that night.

Returning downstairs, I pulled out my "pin the tail on the turkey" game and we sat around discussing the rules. With twelve people and only ten tails, we had to make a tough decision. Some of us thought it a good idea to vote two people out of the game, Survivor style. But, others thought it best if we all partnered up. In the end, we made two extra tails so everyone had a chance to play. We set up one room for the game and announced the rules. "Blindfolded. Five spins. NO SHAKING. Audience in the "gallery" may shout out directions to player, but wrong directions may be given, so think about who you trust." The first player was the hostess, Mandy, who went the wrong way down a hallway and ended up losing the game. We all had a really good time playing that game.

We also played card games and Mafia. Mafia is where you pass out cards and depending on which card you receive, you have to play out a certain character. There is Mafia, who "kill" people in the game, the Sheriff, who investigates, and the Doctor who can save lives. All the others are townspeople who are trying to win the game before the Mafia kill them all off.

All in all, it was a great Thanksgiving and I am thankful I was able to celebrate the holiday with such a fun group of volunteers. We had good food and good company. I will be thinking of you all back home on Thursday as I am leading my women's group in exercise and teaching English.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving and check out my new photos. See you all in less than a month!

A life of convenience

Last night was an important milestone in my life here. The supermarche opened downstairs. It is directly downstairs from my house. I can smell that familiar Moroccan hanut smell and Tide laundry detergent wafting up. I saw that is was open yesterday, walked in and when I did, the store owner said, "Jin! Say to me "Bismillah!" So, I said "Bismillah" which means "in the name of God" and we shook hands. It's like I gave him my blessing for his new store. Then, I walked slowly through the store, taking it all in. All the important food items in my life are there: diet coke, popcorn, pistachio yogurt, and the fake cheese. They don't have real cheese yet, and that's the one thing that would make me happier. I asked about it. I am also going to ask them for granola, red beans, and American chocolate. Then, I will never have reason to leave my town. This morning I woke up, walked downstairs in basically my pajamas along with my red Spiderman plastic house slippers and bought yogurt for breakfast. That was cool.

What was totally unexpected and weird was the girl who was working behind the counter asked me (albeit in French) if I worked for the Peace Corps. I was so surprised because nobody in my town understands what the Peace Corps is, not even my boss, so for somebody to ask me about it was really shocking. Apparently, she had worked for Peace Corps a few years ago in Ouarzazate and asked me if I knew a girl named "Stacy." This happens to me all the time. As if I would know all foreigners in this country because I am one myself. She said Stacy left Morocco a few years ago, so no, I don't know her.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

I cut my finger while doing the dishes tonight. Last week I had broken a glass in the sink and thought I had collected all the shards of glass, but one still remained stuck inside the drain. It was a pretty deep cut and after wrapping it in toilet paper I hurried to the town hospital to see if stitches were needed. Of course when I arrived, the hospital was closed. I took note of a group of men drinking tea outside the hospital and, as I suspected, one of the men sauntered into the hospital a little while later. That was the doctor.

Here begins my experience with the health care system in Morocco. Besides the hospital being closed when I arrived, I would give my experience there an overall high rating. I wasn’t sure if the hospital would even be open at 6:30 pm on a Saturday evening, but I had a feeling it would be open. I wasn’t asked my name or if I had insurance. (Not that that would matter here because everyone who lives here has free health insurance!) I showed the doctor my finger and mumbled in my pathetic Arabic that “I did something to myself.” He brought me into another room and told me to sit on the bed. I ignored what looked like droplets of blood and sat down. He put on plastic gloves and rubbed iodine on my cut. He still didn’t ask for my name, but he did ask me where I lived. He asked me if I could speak French and laughed when I told him I only spoke Arabic. He then quizzed me on my knowledge of the Berber language. I told him I didn’t know anything, but when I produced the right answer for the word “bread” he said I was already practically fluent. He put some mystery cream that looked like peanut butter on my cut, wrapped it up, and that was it. When I asked him if I needed to pay him, he laughed at me and said, “For a little bandage? No, I didn’t do anything.” Thanking him, I left feeling bewildered. How different that was than anything I’ve ever experienced at home.

I had another little surprise earlier in the day, too. There have been two men knocking down the wall in the apartment next door. I had just adjusted to the idea of the dentist working next door to me and now this? After two days of constant hammering and pounding and jumping over piles of concrete, I asked them what they were building. Where there had been one big apartment, they were making a wall to divide the apartment into two apartments. I asked if they knew who would be living there and the first guy didn’t know, but the second guy was pretty certain a gendarme (policeman) would be moving in. (nooooooooo!!!) Feeling forlorn, I walked downstairs to bitch to my friend in the bakery. Before I made it there, I ran into my muldar (landlord) who had no idea what the other guy was talking about and assured me that nobody would be moving in any time soon. He said the other guy was just “talking.” Hmmm, a common phenomenon here. I have learned to not always put stalk in all the things people tell me here. It’s about saving face. Rather than giving somebody a potentially wrong answer, or admitting you don’t know, you make something up.

I them made it to the bakery, watched the Addams Family with my friend and was about to leave when an old Berber woman walked in. She yelled to nobody in particular, “A Christian! That’s a Christian!” (Calling somebody a Christian is just an old-fashioned way of pointing out a white person) I was a little annoyed because it was the market day, which meant that the town was full of people who liked pointing and laughing at the American girl. I smiled at her and greeted her in Arabic to which she exclaimed to, again nobody in particular, “She speaks Arabic!” Then I’m pretty sure she was making fun of me when she asked if I could send her to France. I told her it wasn’t possible for me to send her to France and she asked me why. I told her I didn’t even have enough money to send myself to France, so she’d have to find another way. She then asked me if I prayed. Since Ramadan, I have been asked this question a lot. Especially when people learned I was fasting, their next question would always be about praying. When they ask this, they don’t mean just praying to God, they mean praying 5 times a day with prostration. I usually respond to this by saying, “I pray, just not like how you do.” Usually people respect this and move on. Today was a different story. The woman in the bakery did not understand why I wouldn’t want to be a Muslim. I finally told her that I believe in one God and that it’s the same God she believes in. This seemed to appease her. At this point, it should have been pretty clear to her that I could speak Arabic fairly well, so when she turned to her friend and called me “ugly” I got a little mad. I asked her why I was ugly and she laughed and said I was beautiful. Whatever. She then pointed at my clothes and said I was a good dresser. This comment really caught me off guard because if any of you know a thing about dressing in Morocco, you’d know that it’s not easy for me and it’s one of the things that stresses me out the most. Also, she had just called me ugly. I was dressed pretty conservatively that day with a baggy long-sleeved top and flowy pants. I think she was making fun of me the entire time we were talking, but I can’t be sure. Today was just one of those days, I guess. Some days are harder than others and this definitely was a day that tested my patience.

After all, tomorrow is another day! As Scarlett said in Gone with the Wind, and as my friend Jackie reminded me the other day.

It's Called Common Sense!

So, big news in the neighborhood. I'm getting a new neighbor. When I first learned this, I was very disappointed and hoped it wasn't true. I like my little sanctuary here. I can escape here and enjoy the small pleasures my life here allows, like listening to American music, exercising on my roof, or walking around in a tank top and shorts. My landlord told me it would be a man and his wife.

Then, a few days later as I was talking to the man who owns the bakery downstairs, I found out that it wasn't a man and his wife, but rather a dentist, or "doctor of teeth" as we say here. So, instead of gaining two neighbors who would be infiltrating my world, I am instead getting a man, his professional place of business, and his entire clientèle. Great. There is one door downstairs that opens up to a flight of stairs and three apartments. Basically, from now on, anybody off the street will be able to gain access to my house.

If this totally upsets my way of life here, I will move. Moving would have its perks. I would find a house located on a less-frequented road. Find a little peace and quiet. But, hauling all my stuff across town and readjusting to a new house sounds unappealing.

So, today I was feeling a little better about the situation. I had a good talk with the tooth man, who told me not to worry or be scared. Then, immediately following this conversation, he left and locked me inside of my house. Prior to this, I had told him to be gentle with the lock to the outside door. I had finally perfected the right touch to opening and closing it and had warned him many times about how tricky it could be. A few times I would catch him jamming his key in and jiggling it around. Then, today he broke the lock, locked me inside and ignored me when I told him that jamming the key inside wasn't going to solve the problem. Together, me on the inside and him on the outside, we finally opened the door. He said right there and then he was going to buy us a new lock. I went back upstairs and half an hour later returned to check on his work progress. He was gone and the door had been left wide open. I closed the door, probably locking myself inside again, went back upstairs and waited and three hours later am still waiting.....

Back in time for Ramadan

After some work-related traveling, I'm back in my site with two more weeks of Ramadan to go! I tried fasting and lasted about five days. It's hard! No food or water from 5 am until 6:30 pm! It was a good experience because I learned what it must be like to go hungry all day and also understand better how the Moroccans must feel during this month. I wish I could have stuck it out longer, but I couldn't.

The first day of Ramadan I spent fasting with my extended host family. I rode my bike out to their douar (village) the night before Ramadan began. We ate spaghetti for dinner and went to bed around 11:30 pm because we would be waking up very early the next day. Around 3:30 am a siren went off to wake everyone. The women got up and started preparing the last meal before the official fasting began. Everyone else, including myself, woke up around 4:00 am to eat a tajine. It was very strange eating a heavy meal at 4 in the morning. I drank as much water as I could and brushed my teeth before crawling back into bed. At 5:00 am we heard the first call to prayer (there are five each day) and the first day of Ramadan began. While my family prayed together, I was trying to fall asleep, but found it hard with the full tummy and all the thoughts spinning through my mind: would I be able to last all day? What was I getting myself into?

I finally fell asleep and slept in until 10:30 am. Usually the first thing I do in the morning as part of my daily routine is drink a big glass of water, but not that day! I basically spent my day lazily counting down until breakfast at 6:30 pm. I watched arabic television, tried reading Harry Potter, took a two hour nap, played with my two host twin cousins, and helped prepare the breakfast. Around 5:00 I couldn't even stand anymore without feeling light-headed, so I sat and waited. At that point, I felt no hunger or thirst, mainly just emptiness.

At the call to prayer signifying the end of fasting, I ran into the salon where my host cousin stood smiling and handed me a date. It is tradition to break the fast with dates, so I ate three. Then I chugged a ton of water. My host grandma yelled at me and said I shouldn't drink too much water because it would fill me up and leave no room for food. Ha! The first thing I ate/drank was hirara. Hirara is my favorite soup in Morocco! It is only served during Ramadan and is so delicious. Its a tomato-based soup with lentils, chickpeas, cilantro, lemon, and pieces of meat. I had one and half bowls. Then I ate a hard-boiled egg, which I seasoned with salt and cumin. After that, shebekia. Shebekia is another Ramadan special, and another favorite of mine. It is a cookie that is very very sweet and made with tons of honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds. After all this wonderful food, I was feeling full, but that was not the end of our meal. Next, they brought out a giant platter of baked and fried fish. I tried to eat as much as I could, but I was so full! After being scolded by my host grandma for not eating enough fish, they brought a heavy yellow cake. Then, we all drank a coffee.

While everyone was munching happily on Ramadan goodness, we watched the Moroccan tv channel. Besides the food, this is another favorite Ramadan past-time of mine! During Ramadan this channel shows special Moroccan shows that I can actually understand because they are speaking Moroccan arabic. Normally, most shows are in French or Standard Arabic, so this as a language-learner, this is an exciting time to see if all those tutoring hours are paying off! Last year, my favorite show was "Multaxi." The word Multaxi means taxi driver, so the show featured a Moroccan taxi driver and all his crazy adventures. Unfortunately, this show was canceled this year. Probably the best show this year is one called "L3awni" which means God help me. It is a show about a man whose name is "God help me" and his family and each episode they cook up some scheme that ultimately fails or surprisingly succeeds. There is another show about a woman police officer who specializes in forensics, its kind of like CSI, and probably the only Moroccan show that somewhat resembles an American sitcom. They talk fast and use a forensics-themed vocabulary, so that show is harder to follow.

Once everyone was good and full, almost everyone went to the mosque to pray. They were probably gone for two hours and when they returned I went home. I was exhausted and wanted to get back to my house because the next morning I would be leaving early for Fes. Around 10:30, 11 or midnight, depending on the family, dinner is eaten and then everyone goes to sleep and the whole process is continued! Talk about a total change in your sleeping/eating/working pattern! My first day of Ramadan, I didn't eat dinner because I was still too full from breakfast.

The next morning I began my two-day journey to Fes, where I gave a presentation for the newly arrived group of volunteers. They had only been in country for one week and still seemed to be adjusting to the shock of being in Morocco. (Which I still am, to this day!) After my presentation I had a meeting in Rabat. I'm the representative for my training group in the Volunteer Support Network, so I sat in on a few meetings and now find myself back in my town, looking forward to getting back to work with my kids at the Dar Chebab!

Guest Post from Megan

Safely back in Minnesota after an incredible 2 1/2 week vacation with her in Morocco, I'm writing this guest post for Jenny. The purpose of the post is to let you all know what we did on our adventure and to give you my impression I got of Jenny's life over there. After arriving in Agadir, I walked across the tarmac to enter the airport and go through immigration. I passed onto the baggage claim, where I needed to collect my backpack and the suitcase of presents for Jenny, before I could dash out to hug Jenny. My backpack showed up quickly and then I waited anxiously for the suitcase. All I wanted to do was run out to where Jenny was waiting to greet her but I needed the luggage first. It then became apparent that there were no more suitcases coming. I should say that I know NO French or Arabic, the languages that makes things go in Morocco. Someone pointed me towards an office where I was ignored as everyone else with the appropriate language skills were helped first. My first lesson about Morocco began here: there is no concept of a line. Whoever is the pushiest (elbows are allowed) and most assertive will be served first, according to Jenny. After everyone cleared out, it was me and one man remaining. He knew a very little bit of English so I wrote down my address in the US and gave him the baggage ticket. I kept trying to tell him that my sister was just a few feet away and could speak Arabic, but he did not understand. Frustrated, I took a piece of paper from him and hurried out to FINALLY greet Jenny. After a good hug, I told her what happened. My second lesson about Morocco followed: Jenny knows an amazing amount of Arabic and this helps make things happen. She marched up to the security guard and before I knew it we went the wrong way through customs and security back to the little office and the man who helped me. Jenny and him talked and she got the whole story. Lesson two continued when Jenny translated for me and said that before he explained things, she first had to have "the conversation." Even though I know no Arabic, throughout the trip I began to recognize this conversation that Jenny had with, oh, maybe, 8,000 people. The Moroccan would be shocked and amazed at Jenny's Arabic and ask any combination of the following questions: "Where did you learn arabic?" "Do you live here?" "Where do you live? Then followed by a name-nearby-Moroccan-cities game. "What's your name?" "Who's that? She doesn't know any Arabic? (pointing at me) "What are you doing here?" And the occasional, "I have a relative in 'insert US state here' comment." When this conversation happened at various market stalls or hotels, Jenny was frequently told she was getting a better price because she spoke Arabic so well. So I was able to tell my dad that we were really saving a lot of money on the trip :) Jenny and I spent the first few days on our trip at her site. This was probably my favorite part of the trip because I got to see Jenny's apartment, where she works, where she buys her chicken, meet her host family, and the people in her life there. Her town was actually a little bigger than I expected, even though it is still very small. There is a large road that goes through it directly to an airport so there is a lot of traffic and that makes it seem busier and bigger than it really is. Her apartment is really nice and she's made it very homey. She made me a neat welcome sign that made me feel at home right away. Even though Jenny told me she's a bit of a celebrity in her town, I only truly believed her upon arrival. So many people approached her on the street to greet her and I quickly learned lesson number three. Lesson number three: Jenny is well taken care of in Morocco. She has many host family members, Peace Corps friends and Moroccan friends that were constantly checking up on her. One time the police in her town even called her because they didn't know for sure where we went. Even though we had told them a day or two before that we were leaving to travel around. It was very reassuring to see so many people caring about Jenny. I was able to help my mom relax when I came home and told her all of that. After time in Jenny's site, we began our travels through Morocco. We hit the following cities: Agadir, Marrakech, Essaouira, Marrakech again to get to Rabat, Tangier, and finally Chefchouen. My favorite cites, and I think Jenny's too, were Essaouira and Chefchouen, in case anyone is still hoping to visit Jenny. I liked Essaouira a lot because it was on the ocean and was a smaller city that was really laid back. There is a type of music called Ganoua music that comes out of Essaouira that is a fusion of jazz, reggae, and Moroccan, that attracts a lot of hippies. There was a mini Ganouwa festival there while we were there that we got to see and hear. Chefchouen is way in the north of Morocco in the Rif Mountians. This city was also a really laid back small city that didn't attract a lot of tourist, but a lot of travelers. Jenny and I talked about the difference between a tourist and a traveler. Tourists tend to come in large groups, wear stickers with their tour company name on it, talk loudly in a foreign language not spoken in Morocco, and they don't go off the beaten track or try anything that's not in the Lonely Planet book. Travelers however are generally younger people who don't stay in one city during their vacation but rather travel to see unique places in a country that are maybe lesser known. Anyhow, both Essaouira and Chefchouen had awesome shopping opportunities, another reason I liked them so much. A lot of buildings and sidewalks are painted this bright blue color in Chefchouen that gives it a clean, fun look. I could go on forever about our trip as I have two and a half weeks of great memories to share. If anyone would like to hear more, just ask because I'd love an audience to share everything with. I will also try and post some photos from the trip to help Jenny out.

One Year in Country!

September 12 marks the day I first arrived in Morocco! I can hardly believe that a year has passed by so quickly! Time passes in funny increments here. Long moments, long days, and long nights, followed by quick weeks, quick months, and quick travels. Summer as a whole, just flew by. I spent a month at the summer youth camp, returned to my town for a few days, and then spent the next two weeks traveling with my sister Megan.

The trip with Megan was a blast. There were many times when I was reminded of my first impressions of Morocco a year ago. Megan helped me remember how quickly things happen in the United States. Here, time is a minor detail. An invitation for lunch may mean sitting around for three or four hours. Getting people organized to do something can take an entire week. Going to the “chicken man” may mean waiting for him to butcher the chicken, clean it, and chop it up for you. Running errands can take hours if you stop to talk to everyone you meet on the street. Washing laundry is an entire day of work. Cooking everything from scratch is the evening’s meal and entertainment.

Being here for a year now, it really is the amount of free time I enjoy the most. Because cannot leave my house past sundown (for cultural reasons only) every night is my special time to do whatever I feel like. I have a crafts corner in my house now. I try new recipes. I read books for fun. I clean my house for fun. I sit and think about my life here. I sit and think about my future and where my life will lead me next. I daydream stories, travel plans, work ideas. I think when I return to the United States, it will be these moments of complete solitude I will miss most. Of course, the quantity of complete solitude is one of the most challenging things to deal with as a Peace Corps volunteer.

These contradicting blessings and burdens are the most important lessons being a Peace Corps volunteer has taught me. The things I find the most difficult are usually the very same things that reward me most. Learning Darija (Moroccan Arabic) has been probably the most challenging thing I have ever done in my 24 years of life. But, at the same time, the most rewarding thing I have ever accomplished. The greatest compliment I can receive here in Morocco, is when a Moroccan congratulates me on learning Darija. Understanding and finding my place in my community has also been testing, but those moments when my hard work brings forth rewards, I couldn’t be happier. One day as I walked past the taxi stand in my town I overheard a Moroccan man say to another, “Who is that?” To which the other guy replied, almost bored, “Oh, her? She’s one of us.” I walked with a smile on my face that day. Finding work in my community continues to be both easy and tough at the same time. Teaching myself how to cook by trial and error has been both tiring and satisfying. I have grown so much this past year and still have so much growing ahead of me – fifteen more months of service to complete.

Of course, Megan brought with her a little bit of a reality check! She was never slow to remind me of how my living alone has made me a lot more chill. And let’s face it, probably more weird! But, still the same Jenny. Our trip together was one of those times you will never forget as long as you live. Showing Megan my world here almost verified it for me as, indeed, my life. She met the everyday people in my life: the chicken man, the taxi man, the garden man, the people at the Dar Chebab (youth center), my host family, my friends. She experienced the routine details of my life: She ate the food I eat, she heard the language I speak, she suffered through the heat, she ate with her hands, and yes, she squatted on my Turkish toilet.

Megan has promised to write a guest entry on my blog recapping our adventures together from her perspective, so I won’t go into much detail about our trip in this letter. She took most of the pictures on her camera, so you all might have to wait a while to see them posted online. Maybe I can convince her to post them for me, as my internet is much slower than the DSL you all are used to!

As I reflect back on my first year in Morocco, I am happy with what I have accomplished and eager to do even more work this coming year. I understand now why Peace Corps is a 27-month commitment. There is no way a person could learn the language, cultural norms, and do development work in their community within a year’s limit. The first year really is about settling in, learning the language, and learning your place in the community. This next year I feel finally equipped with the knowledge necessary to begin my real work here: youth development.

Thanks to all of you for your support. Thanks for the emails, the cards, the care packages, and prayers. Just to reassure you all, I am doing great here. I have a nice house, I cook good meals, and I have friends and people who look out for me in my community. Also, for those of you who want to visit, I urge you to start making your travel plans! You only have one year left to come to Morocco in order to experience something totally unique! Marhaba bikum f Dar 3ndi! (You are all welcome at my house!)

Also, if you haven’t heard from my parents, I am planning on coming home for Christmas this year. I should be around for two weeks, but don’t know the exact dates yet. So, definitely plan on treating me to an iced frappacino or burrito!

Peace to you all,

Jenny

Getting Ready!

Last weekend I left camp and did a little sight-seeing on my way back home. I traveled through Essaouira, another coastal town between Casablanca and Agadir. I think Essaouira is my favorite city in Morocco. The city has a truly unique feeling to it, unlike any other Moroccan city. It's a port city, so there are old ramparts to go exploring around with a great view of the Purples Isles. While looking at the islands, I talked to a Moroccan man who was selling his paintings. I actually remembered the word for island and he told me about the islands. One of them has an old prison and mosque He also said the island was conquered by both the Phoenicians and Portuguese. Nowadays, it is home to a large falcon population. I was really surprised by how much of this conversation I understood.

I also enjoyed strolling through the souk area. The majority of the city is contained within its ancient medina walls. It is kind of cool to think about a time when people only lived within the walls, a time when people were fighting and protecting their land from the conquest of outsiders. The souk had some fabulous shopping opportunities. Because Essaouira is home to one of the world's largest music festivals, Gnawa, there is a huge artistic influence and tons of great little shops. I bought a new shirt, tote bag, and pair of Amazigh (berber) earrings.

Supposedly, there is an excellent fish market, but because of my poor little volunteer budget, I had to stick to the common man's food. One night while eating a falafel sandwich, the electricity in the medina went out. I was eating with three other volunteers and we sat there for a while in the dark, but then we realized that the chances of the lights coming back on were slim. We were imagining the souk would be very dangerous in complete darkness: people ransacking the shops, stealing pastries from the bakery, pickpocketing, etc. So, we came up with a plan: we would all walk in a line, holding on to the person's shoulders in front of us. If any stranger tried touching us, we would just punch our arms into the darkness. "Just punch!" So, we paid for our sandwiches and headed out into the darkness. What we found was a slightly less chaotic than we imagined, but still a functioning dark souk. So, the "just punch" idea went out the window. However, I guess the darkness gave Moroccan men more confidence, because I was verbally harassed more than usual.

I spent two days in Essaouira, then traveled by souk bus (big mistake!) to Agadir. I traveled with my friend Chase. Our first mistake was deciding to travel by souk bus, the second mistake was the seats we chose to sit in. On the sunny side of the bus, I was constantly battling with the curtain, wanting to see the fantastic views we were passing, but not wanting to die from the heat. Along the way, the bus pulled over for a lunch break. It was a little town up in the mountains that probably never sees any tourists (as most tourists are smarter than us and do not choose to travel by souk bus-the problem with these buses are that they stop at every town along the way to drop off and pick up people.) and stepping off the bus we found the closest hanut (store) to buy some cold beverages. We were greeted by a small group of teenage boys who were very interested in talking to us. We talked with them a bit, got a marriage proposal from the Mulhanut (store owner), and when it was time to get back on the bus, the boys asked if they could take a picture with us. We laughed and posed with them alongside the road, "Peace and Love!" we said as we all held up peace symbols and the letter "L". The boys asked some random guy to take our picture but this man had obviously never used a camera before in his life. He just pointed it in any old direction, not even aware of the viewfinder, and took pictures of the sky, our feet, and the road. We said our goodbyes and then were surprised to find the boys follow us onto the bus! It turns out they were leaving their town to travel down to Agadir for vacation. It was fun watching them on the bus because they were so excited as we passed everything and taking pictures.

I've been back in my site now for five days. My house was very dusty and hot when I walked inside. Since I got back, I've been cleaning, washing clothes, and rearranging furniture. I want my house to look the best it ever has because in just three days I will be hosting my first guest from America! My sister Megan will be coming for a long visit! We will spend some time in my town, see "the sites," meaning my house, Dar Chebab, my host family's house, the farm, and maybe the souk. Then, we will embark on a long journey north. Our itinerary will take us from the steamy south to the coastal beauty of the Mediterranean. I will make sure Megan takes plenty (and I mean hundreds) of pictures to share with you all when she gets back! Thanks Megan, you'll be doing half of my job educating the good people of the United States about Morocco and its people!

So, next time I post it will be September, so stay tuned!
Thanks to everyone for their continuing support!
Jenny