COS

Where to begin, where to begin? Currently, I find myself in the sun room of a country house in southwest France. A fire crackles nearby, a broken grandfather clock looms silently over my shoulder, and light streams in through the skylights during breaks in the rain. Two Herculean dogs patrol the yard, over which a blanket of maple leaves has fallen. The forest beyond is all shades of autumn. Everything is very.... still. A voice floats in from a far room in a lilting tone, sing-song-y and pleasant. What am I doing here? How did I get here?

Less than two weeks ago I was at Peace Corps HQ in Rabat, sitting in the verdant lawn, as the Ambassador, a U.S. Congressman and our Country Director gave short speeches. After several chaotic days of paperwork and frenzied last-minute activity, all was done, save for one final signature. The mood was cheerful all around as we gathered to write our names and "stamp out" in the Peace Corps COS book, the rite signifying twenty-seven months under the belt. Some headed out right away, off to places all over the world; some stayed the night in the city. I went with to dinner with a small group, said goodbyes at the hotel, turned in early and set the alarm.

The hotel desk guy assured me that a cab to the airport would be available at 4 AM. The "taxi" driver, as I might have predicted, was some friend of the hotel guy's who had brought his car over and planned to charge me two hundred dirhams for the ride. He was ready and waiting as I lugged my bags downstairs at ten till four, smiling politely as though nothing was amiss. I suppose in Morocco terms, nothing was. Just wanting to get there, I put up no fight and we headed off in the non-taxi. I arrived at the airport to find it dark and locked... a bit early, perhaps. The single security guard paid me little notice as I waited, sitting on my bags outside the front doors. It seemed as though no one else had planned to fly that day. After some time, however, car lights made their way down the road, and people lined up behind me. Airport employees sleepily marched in, and the lights flickered on.

The plane waiting on the tarmac in the purple light of dawn was picturesque (didn't take a picture :/), and I had butterflies realizing I'd be leaving Morocco for real this time-- that I was finally done. It was a quick trip to Paris; I sped right through customs and baggage, finding S waiting at Arrivals. After nearly two years, our time apart had finally come to an end.

Paris was a whirlwind. Every day was filled to the brim with activity. It was a surreal place-- the endless rows of Art Nouveau apartment buildings, and everything so old... like, really old. We walked and walked and walked, seeing all of the sights-- Louvre, Notre Dame, Eiffel Tower and so forth. I ate amounts of food that rivaled the most intense of homestay meals. My God. Such a beautiful city though, and accented well by the overcast skies and chilly weather during our stay.

Six days in Paris passed like a blink, and suddenly we were on a fast train headed south to the town of Dax. We were met at the station by S's host brother (she first lived in France with a family eleven years ago, and has remained close since) who drove us out to their house in the countryside. The family are wonderfully sweet people, very welcoming and generous with their home. It's quite the opposite of being in Paris; here there is no plan-- nothing to urgently do or see but enjoy the tranquility. And sauna. And jacuzzi. And food. I am spoiled already. Ahem, anyway...

That about brings us up to speed. We still have several days here before taking a night train back to Paris and flying out to Copenhagen. Alright, off to more epicurean delights!

Via Chicago

...and Rabat and Paris and Copenhagen.

I'm comin' home.

Replacement, Standing By...

The last five days were spent running around town with my replacement. Yassin, as we will call him for now until he chooses to reveal himself, is now acquainted with his host family (the same one I had), has his future lodgings secured for life after homestay (my house), has met his new sitemate (Donniell) his counterpart and "the guys", has a P.O. box and has seen a good amount of the town. There's a lot to take in, of course, and five days doesn't cover much. That's what the two years are for, anyway, right? He's excited to be here. I'm excited for him, and am looking forward to hearing how his service progresses. Currently he's on his way back to the training site to finish up and swear in, then will be back later this month.

Having my replacement arrive has given me some perspective on my own service; he represents the future of Peace Corps involvement here, and thus I am more able to see what I have done as part of a bigger picture, placed between his time to come and Dominique's time before my own. I feel appreciative of them all-- past, present and future-- as great contributions to a worthwhile endeavor, and a pretty amazing thing to have been a part of. Just when you thought I had exhausted all the cliché lines in the previous post...

Only three more nights left in Amizmiz. There's tonight, I'll be in Marrakech over weekend to meet a visitor, then back to town for the last two nights, leaving Wednesday morning. Crazy. The goodbyes have been going fine, though the tough ones are still to come. My plans to say farewell to the host fam have been thwarted repeatedly, as my mom has somehow persuaded me into coming back for coffee again and again, drawing it out to a total of four goodbyes on successive afternoons thus far. At least soon we'll run out of days; my will to decline the invitations sure doesn't seem to be getting any stronger. But really, what the hey...

rêve marocain

In joining Peace Corps, initially I had minimal intent toward bettering the world. A bit embarrassing to admit, but it's the truth. Rather, I needed to escape from a personal rut and the bounds of my comfort zone, and viewed the "world peace" and "international development" aspects as attractive side effects. If I could contribute to those, great-- but I needed to do something for myself first.

I haven't often thought of my service as a job, but more of an opportunity to experience a series of environments and relationships-- an experiment, in a way-- to put myself in an entirely new situation and see how it goes. The relationships formed here-- the potential they have overturned, the good examples that have been shared, and the friendships that have come to be-- are by far the most rewarding aspects of the experience, and are where the most significant successes can be found, in my opinion. Though it feels unwieldy and pretentious to consider myself a facilitator of world peace, I believe that when people from different worlds come to understand and respect one another, it's a step in the right direction-- one that echos out long after the initial parties have gone their separate ways. The effects of our having known one another will carry on after my departure, through them in Morocco, and through me in America.

The friends I've found are some of the wisest people I have ever met, though they don't realize it. They live without concerns for status or reputation, ignoring the expectations of anything or anyone in order to share a connection with others, and for the joy that can be found there. I have looked up to them, learned from them, and am forever humbled by their struggles, hard work, and the spirit they retain despite such hardship and no promise of anything. Their families have taken me in, called me their son and have shown me warmth unlike any I have ever felt.

One constant of my service has been the dream-like quality to it all. Many times I have literally stopped in awe and disbelief that this is the life I get to live. I wake up each morning and look out over snow-capped mountains and a green valley. Forests, a river, olive groves, almond trees, wheat fields and a mountain range are my backyard. I walk down the street and am greeted by people who have accepted me into their place and their lives. I am lucky, grateful and can't help but occasionally feel undeserving of it all.  

I've had the support of the Peace Corps community-- fellow volunteers and sitemates, my family, friends back home, and a partner who fell into my lap four months into my service, who has waited this out with me for nearly two years, helping me through every step. I was able to show this place to my brother, who can indeed report that I haven't just been somewhere in the Bahamas the whole time. 

Looking through my photos, their inadequacy is striking. Reading past blog entries and the journals I've kept since minutes after leaving home, I can tell they don't reflect accurately what this has all been. I wouldn't expect them to, but I've tried, and I'm glad I have them. Only the experience can equal the experience, and it only happens once like this. It will all seem like a dream the moment I step off the plane, and there's nothing I can do to prevent that. Perhaps the truest ways I will see Morocco will be in my own thoughts and actions to come-- those parts of people I've known having become a part of myself, and in the confidence that comes from having done something I once couldn't even fathom.

The path through these last twenty seven months has reinforced my belief in the precept that things are always happening as they should, even if you can't see why or how at the time-- and that whatever you need at the moment is there for you. It has proved itself to me time and again, and shapes the way I try to live.

I think that to better the world, each person has to work to better him or herself. I'm glad I made the decision to join Peace Corps, selfish as it may have been at the time. It's the best thing I've ever done. As it turns out, the desire to be a better person hasn't been as one-sided as one might think. It's a process-- an exchange, nudged along by the help and example of others-- one that requires a lot of giving, and one that can continually be improved upon.

The days here lately are as beautiful as any I have ever seen. I find that trying to appreciate something "more" because you're about to part with it never seems to really work. You just gotta do what you normally do, while you can. Speaking of which, there's a knock at the door... I'll be out for a walk.

Eighteen Days

Eighteen days. In eighteen days I'll be signing my name in a book at the offices in Rabat, then I will have finished Peace Corps... two years, three months and a few tajines later.

At this moment, things are quiet. The boxes have been shipped home, the gifts bought, final reports submitted, and everything is ready to be left behind or packed into suitcases, all of it resting in neat little stacks around my forever emptying house. A few goodbyes have been said. S is in Paris. The days are sunny and bright and chilly. It's somewhat of a limbo phase, where I'm all ready to go, but it's not quite time yet. I'm spending quality time with the sitemate and the guys, and have paid visits to TeaMaster Abdel Ali and the host fam. My surplus books, DVDs and clothes have been distributed, and all but a map of Morocco and some insect guts has been removed from my walls.

I'm awaiting a phone call to inform me of my replacement, who will be here on the 31st for a short site visit. Going on past experience, that should be several days of hurried activity as the new guy gets a crash course on Amizmiz. The day following his departure a friend of S's will be here to visit, staying through till my last day in town, the 10th of November.

As far as what it's like to be this close to finishing, it's a bit of everything, as one might expect: bittersweet, surreal, exciting-- though nothing has hit too hard just yet. It feels like that's all waiting at bay for the time being, ready to rush in as the final goodbyes are said and I'm in the taxi heading out of town. I'm not quite sure what to expect, really. It does sneak in here and there, as I walk around and think to myself that it's one of the last times I'll do so during this experience. There's a lot to be said about what this whole thing has meant to me-- more than I could ever articulate on here, but I'll probably attempt something of the sort in another post soon to come. Get yer tissues ready!

COS Conference/Chefchaouen

Medical? Check.

Dental? Check.

Mostly pointless conference sessions? Check.

Seeing my fantastic staajmates? Double check.

Lasagna at La Mamma and five meals of falafel over the course of a seven-day period? Oh yeah.

Done. Onward...

Chefchaouen: A town of somewhat mythical status, the place up north I'd just never had a good opportunity to visit. In fact, I had already come to acceptance with the likelihood that I probably wasn't going to fit it in during my Peace Corps service, but was invited along for a short trip following COS conference.

Expecting to step off the bus into a teeming throng of European hippies, faux guides (pronounce: geeeeds) and hash peddlers, we were instead greeted with an empty parking lot, not a tourist in sight and no indication whatsoever that we had even arrived in the correct town, aside from the fact that the driver turned off the bus and disappeared into the night. Where were the enchanted blue alleyways? The cobblestone streets? The hanging lanterns? Turns out they were just up the road a bit. The town itself is spread across the long, slow slope of a mountainside, providing a perfect lookout across the valley. It is clean, vibrant, and according to my companions, has a very "European" feel. The majority of the city consists of modern, well-kept buildings and businesses with a backdrop of high rise condos, though the "old medina" section provides a more quaint, traditional feel, and yes, the beautiful blue and white-painted passageways. We woke early the morning after our arrival to explore them, getting lost amid their twists and turns, stairways, archways and canopies of grape vine overhead.

 

Perhaps it was the low season, or my expectations were simply skewed, but there seemed to be hardly any tourists. I suppose I am accustomed to Marrakech where the streets overflow with them, but in Chefchaouen their presence was shockingly minimal. I had also expected to be solicited hash constantly, as reported by other Volunteers and guidebooks-- the city is notorious for it-- but it only happened once, when a guy at the hotel flashed a tiny baggy and promised "good quality". We declined, though the other guests, hotel manager, restaurant waiter and every bleary-eyed shopkeeper we passed seemed otherwise. Also, due to the city's northern location and, therefore, prevalence of Spanish-speaking tourists, we were offered holas as opposed to the usual bonjours.

We took a taxi outside of town to an area called Akchor, at which you can hike to either some cascades or a natural arch called God's Bridge. After fighting off the multitude of faux guides lurking where the taxi dropped us off, all of whom insisted that we needed a "son of the countryside" to lead the way (which was most certainly arduous and fraught with peril), we opted for the clearly marked and worn path toward the Bridge. The day was perfect-- warm, blue-skied and sunny. Along the way were several neglected gardens, with squash growing plump and vines taking over the crumbling bamboo fences. I'm a total sucker for that kind of stuff. The hike was relatively short, and provided great views of the surrounding mountainside-- the forest, sheer gorge walls and the lagoon-blue water of the river below. The bridge itself was impressive, though considerably more so when standing at a distance, as when one is on it, it ceases to be visible. Right. We ate lunch on the rocks in the river below, shoes off and feet in the frigid water, the sun pouring down into the gorge above us. 

Two nights was just enough, I think, as there isn't really a whole lot to DO aside from shopping and simply walking around to take in the sights. It was nice to feel the slower place of a town that seemed content with itself and in no rush (insert hash joke here)-- a welcome change of pace from the weeklong rush of Rabat and familiar chaos of Marrakech, a great place to feel the chill of autumn setting in, and a perfect way to wrap up my Peace Corps travels. Unless you count the 5.5 hour bus ride, taxi, 4.5 hour train ride, taxi and hour bus ride fending off pickpockets on the way back to site the next day. Which I don't.

guess which one...

drawing by Lisa Payne

Headin Up Nawth

In just another day here I'll be making my way up to Rabat for COS Conference. We'll have dental and physical checkups, an exit interview with the Country Director, and a couple days of conferences relating to the transition to life following Peace Corps. Just imagine: as you go about your week, there will be approximately fifty Americans running around the Moroccan capital, home to the King and the 2020 Summer Olympics, each with a small white cup held delicately within an innocuous brown paper bag, on a mission to deliver a sample of his or her own-- well, you know-- to the lab before the time limit expires. 

Been keeping busy here. My sitemate and I realized that, though I will be returning to Amizmiz on Oct. 4th, she will be away until much later this month, giving us precious little time to enjoy each other's company before I head outta here for good, and she gets a newbie to haze. We've been making more effort than usual to cook dinners and watch bad tv together in the past week. Sushi? Chicken nuggets? Green beans and mashed potatoes? American-style hamburgers? Bread pudding? The occasional adult beverage? Mm hm. 

Speaking of the new volunteer-- my replacement-- the only detail we know is that it will be a guy. He is not yet aware, but the plan is for him to take my house as soon as he finishes homestay, thus saving myself and him a huge pain moving all of my crap across town and back. Hopefully he will be in agreement.

I've consolidated things around the house, figuring out what I'll need to ship back, what will go to my sitemate, what will stay for the new volunteer, and what I'll lug to France, Denmark, and eventually Illinois with me. I've ended up needing to take home much less than initially anticipated, which is a relief. I thought I'd be paying a fortune on airline extra baggage fees or shipping to America, but that seems to have mostly been avoided. There is even room for gifts-- any specific requests, by the way? Now is the time!

When I return from Rabat I'll have a few open weeks here, during which I hope to take care of said shopping, wrap things up with the counterpart, and I should probably start saying my goodbyes little by little. I'm anticipating that time to go quickly. The new volunteer arrives on Halloween for site visit-- a period of five days during which we go around and meet the necessary people, register him with the gendarmes, and give him a crash course on Amizmiz. Then he'll head out until to go swear in as a volunteer, and will return on the 25th for good, almost two weeks after my departure.

Also, it seems that over the course of the last few months I have written a little album- a collection of songs, if you will. Thanks to this here geetar and computer, I was able to do so. Not sure how it came to be, but it did! Almost done. Just finishing up the last song, then I'll post a link to the whole thing here if anyone is interested. And no, it does not sound like "Moroccan" music...

Beyond Ramadan

On my way back to site from a day trip into the city on September 9th, I heard whisperings of the next day being l3id sghir, the holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan. Sure enough, the following morning white djellaba'd men filled the streets, calls echoed from the mosques, and I found myself at a neighbor's house, wide-eyed and buzzing as glass after glass of tooth dissolvingly sweet tea coursed through my veins.

I had ended my fast several days prior, due to a weird stomach issue and the Peace Corps doctor's recommendation that I resume eating as normal. Oh well-- close enough, right?

Things have returned to normalcy relatively quickly, it seems. School will be starting before long, and the roundabout at the main entrance to town, a popular between-class hangout, is already filled with loitering youth. Cafés are packed with men half-hidden behind a veil of cigarette smoke, and the streets are a-bustling with the drones of motorbikes and groans of transport vans. People have resumed conversing with one another beneath my windows at great length and maximum volume, often from tens of feet apart. Nice to see some life back into everything.

I'm anticipating my friend Abderrahim's return any day now. As I wrote previously, he's been working near Rabat for most of the summer but will return to continue his studies at university in Marrakech. Also attending will be my good buddy and cousin of Abderrahim, Aziz, who passed the ominous "Baccalaureate" exam this past spring. Aziz has only left Amizmiz a handful of times in his entire life, despite being twenty-two. As a result, he has no stomach for vehicular transportation and tends to spend the duration of his rides heaving into plastic bags, much as he did on the two hour, four bus round-trip fun-time excursion to register for classes last week. Poor guy. It's going to be a rough commute every day, but I hope he will adjust quickly. He does, too.

September 9th also happened to mark the two year anniversary of my stage's arrival in country, which is a strange fact to process. People ask whether the time has passed quickly or slowly, to which I can never articulate an answer. The passing of time has been quite the enigma of my Peace Corps experience, tending to expand and contract, accelerate and slow, and in retrospect, often seeming like all simultaneously. Recalling those first days and months, it feels like so long ago, yet I remember it as crisply and vividly as though it were yesterday (erm, perhaps even more so)-- the grand mystique in everything that has since become the mundane. I still glimpse it often, though these days it comes as a passing appreciation rather than sustained awe. Family and places back home have remained familiar as always, but life before Morocco feels truly like another existence entirely.

September 12th marked two months until COS! I'm officially done November 12th and fly out the 13th. I've started to have dreams about it, even. I must be excited. Beginning later this month and continuing into early October we'll have COS conference in Rabat, which involves prepping for departure, wrapping up this and that, and medical/dental checkups. Fingers crossed for two years of remaining parasite free!

The Ramadan Diaries, Chapter 2

I've remarked to several people, perhaps much to their concern, that I've been feeling as though I'm the subject of an isolation experiment, left to my own devices in a confined space day after day for observation. Look, look, he's at the computer again. Fascinating. Now he's walking to the other side of the room. Yes, write it down. Write it all down...

As the furnace rages on outdoors, I remain a prisoner to my house until the late evening hours when escape is possible, into the still-not-brisk-but-at-least-not-scorching night air. The days are very much the same, filled with nearly identical activities, only in a different order.

We're now a little over halfway through Ramadan. On our nightly walks we've watched the moon grow from its sliver to full; now it wanes its way toward darkness again. The first faint traces of the crescent visible after the new moon will indicate the end of Ramadan, and we'll celebrate l3id sghir, the small feast.

I haven't found the hunger to be particularly any more tolerable. It is an ever-present sensation, continually tugging, reminding. I've noticed that in the hour or so before breaking the fast (about 7:20 PM), I feel lightheaded and a little loopy. When I do finally eat, I've learned that I'm not able to consume my normal portions without some serious discomfort, feeling wayyy too full. Of course when one is so hungry, it's hard to resist not engulfing everything in front of you, or going back for a heaping bowl of seconds. It took me some time to stop doing that. I've observed that the Moroccans don't eat much during lftur (breakfast) either, having a bowl of soup and a nibble or two of this or that, hardly making any noticeable dent in the cornucopia-esque array before them.

I've been making the rounds, having breakfast with the families of my friends and local acquaintances, which has been great. Last year I kept pretty much to myself, but I'm really enjoying getting to know the families better, and the visits are tremendously pleasant. I've adopted the practice of eating a late dinner around eleven or midnight, and dropped the suhoor meal in the pre-dawn hours. My body clock has shifted; I stay up a few hours later and, proportionally, sleep in a few hours later.

I am looking forward to finishing. While I do enjoy the spirit of the time, I am not crazy about the lack of energy and torpor that seems to be self-perpetuating. I fantasize about getting "back on track", physically and mentally. Without the religious obligation, I have to make my own relevant reasons for doing this, otherwise it's just sitting around being hungry until you can eat. My motivations are very much in accordance, at least in my understanding, with those of the Muslim world-- practicing patience, developing a more deliberate intent toward kindness and giving, and reflecting on what you have. It's good stuff.

A friend's succinct words regarding Ramadan:

I watched an interview with a woman on television, and she was talking about the time of Ramadan, "when all the Muslims make themselves suffer", and she thinks we are crazy to do it. But she doesn't know at all. We are happy, and we want to fast. Ramadan is one of the best times in the life for us.

Checking Out

During a recent Skype call with my former sitemate, while reminiscing upon her final months of Peace Corps service last year, she uttered a phrase that seemed wildly apt to describe my status quo: checked out. It had not occurred to me to label my current mentality as such, though once she said it, it rang clear and true-- I am totally checking out. Though I haven't dropped my key off at the front desk or even stepped into the elevator, I am sitting in my room awaiting the arrival of the airport shuttle.

It's true, I'm afraid; it happened without my notice. I haven't felt very invigorated by or engaged with my environment these days. Granted, this was likely brought on due to the natural lethargy and idle hours of summer in Morocco. This time, however, I'm not sure there will be any bouncing back. Which is fine. I've felt for a while now that I've just been killing time-- work stuff has played out pretty much as far as it can go during my time here. The best I can do now is to be a good stepping stone for the next volunteer, preparing information about my service and ideas/possibilities for where things could be taken from here. So I did that. *looks at watch*

What I do find invigorating and exciting are the prospects for life post-PC. I spend a lot of time exploring the possibilities. Though I will undoubtedly miss this place, the people, my friends and sitemate more than I realize at the moment, I'm very much ready to move on-- ready for the next things to come. It is time, and I'm getting pretty antsy because technically, it is not time just yet. Of course there is still lots of opportunity for good stuff during the remaining months, as you never know when it's coming or from where. It's just more of a struggle than ever to be present for it. Even on a walk with a friend outside of the neighborhood, surrounded by fields and low green mountains, I find myself thinking of the French countryside, old buildings of Copenhagen, finally seeing my family and Illinois, exploring the Bay area, going to school, applying for jobs, walking down a "normal" sidewalk, being in America again...

The Ramadan Diaries, Chapter 1

I spent the night before the fast began on a train traveling most of the way across the country. I was awoken at 3:30 AM by the sound of crinkling plastic wrappers and backpacks unzipping as my Moroccan compartment-mates had suhoor, the pre-dawn meal. I took the opportunity to ingest the apple, banana, and Snickers bar I had brought along, as well as take a final swig from my water bottle. Though not planning to refrain from water, I didn't want to drink in front of anyone, and seeing as how I still had another many hours to travel by train, taxi, and bus, there wouldn't be another opportunity to sneak a sip.

Arriving in the oven that was Marrakech only to squeeze aboard a sweltering and packed bus was considerably unpleasant. The communal discomfort was palpable, and it was a strange and remarkable sensation of kinship to realize that every individual was simultaneously experiencing the same intense thirst, and I was a part of that whole.

I am only doing a sort of Ramadan Light; though I am not consuming food during the daylight hours, I am continuing to drink water within the confines of my house. To refrain from that would be a different beast entirely. To go without food for twelve hours or so can be uncomfortable, but going without water is genuine suffering, and a true test of endurance. Not that one would guess so by looking around. As with the two previous Ramadans I have experienced here, I am completely humbled by the badassed-ness of the Moroccans who continue to work as normal, often under the scorching summer sun, and especially the women who spend their days surrounded by the sights and scents of the evening meals as they assume the day-long task of preparing them.

Thus far, four days in, it hasn't been so bad. The hunger is tolerable, though it does hit suddenly and intensely at times, and I have found myself involuntarily getting up to head to the kitchen. It's good to keep distracted, which I have done so far by reading, playing guitar, sorting through the ton of miscellaneous crap in my spare room, and prematurely preparing for moving out. Much like before, the afternoons are long and the streets quiet. The heat of summer persists though lately it is showing signs of decrease, lowering from 100+ to low 90's, a significant and welcome change. Today I awoke to cool air and the smell of rain in the street, and small showers accompanied by low booms of thunder have continued amble over periodically throughout the afternoon.

I broke the fast with my host family two nights ago, which is always a good time. A typical Ramadan breakfast spread looks like this: multiple fruit and sugar-based juices, often banana or apple, chebakia, harira, cookies, coffee, dates, hard boiled eggs, slilou (a mixture of spices, flour, oil, seeds and nuts, crushed into a powder), fish, fat bread, and various cakes. It is not a light meal. I shudder to think what would become of my insides if I were to consume such a thing for thirty nights in a row, though I was offered an "unsettling" insight during my first homestay in Ramadan of late 2008. Anyway, before leaving it was insisted that I also eat dinner-- a heaping mound of couscous with veggies and chicken. It was delicious, though I could have used an hour or two interlude between the meals rather than a back-to-back dining experience... but I've been here two years; I am a pro.

Though there is no shortage of people to visit for breakfasts, I plan to spend the majority of them at home, eating at my own pace the food of my own choosing. I set my alarm for four AM in order to eat suhoor, after which I head back to sleep until at least after the sun has risen. Personally I don't find sitting half-conscious on the edge of one's bed choking down bowls of grape-nuts (thanks mom!) and egg sandwiches at four in the morning to be the most alluring of activities, but it's all part of the fun.

As for why I've opted to fast this year, this is my last chance to participate while still immersed in the culture. The prospects of going without and being at the mercy of one's own will are always intriguing challenges to entertain and I'm curious to see how I hold up while enjoying a greater appreciation for things. I can tell you that even after just four days, the food tastes so much better.

One Last Hurrah

One of the rules of Peace Corps states that Volunteers cannot take a leave of absence during the first or final three months of service. Seeing as my COS date is just over three months away, it's time to cash in the last of my vacation days and be whisked away via twelve hour train ride toooooo: Ras El Ma, or Cap de l'eau, if you'd prefer.

Ras El Ma, a small beach town on the Mediterranean coast, is in the northeastern corner of the country near the Algerian border. Aside from that I don't know much about it, but the pictures look nice.

I'm looking forward to the much-needed time out of site, seeing a new area of the country, and spending some time with everyone. Oh, and being at the beach on the Mediterranean. Right. Also is the possibility of a visit to the first host family's place afterward, though as it isn't on the way and funds are extremely limited, it's up in the air for the moment.

I'll be away for about a week, returning to site just as-- dun dun dun-- Ramadan hits.

Slow Motion

Late July: The pace of things has slowed to a near-stop. The days are long, dragging, and largely unremarkable. The unreality of Groundhog's Day syndrome is setting in as the cycles and repetition of each day blur together. I do my best to keep occupied with interesting things-- reading, playing guitar, the internet, exercise, cooking meals, and napping, though these activities still don't seem enough to fill up the days. I find myself becoming restless from the long periods of solitude and sameness, eager to "fast-forward".

My good friend Abderrahim has left for the summer to find work in Rabat, leaving things particularly quiet around here. Fewer knocks at the door and no more calls from the street below my windows. I haven't written much about Abderrahim here, but he has been my closest companion throughout my service, someone I learn a lot from and and look up to, despite him being seven years my junior. He never passes up an opportunity to meet up, something which, admittedly, has driven me crazy occasionally, though ultimately I am thankful that he does so. Rarely is there a day when we aren't walking the streets or having some discussion, passing the time together. His absence leaves quite a void in the neighborhood.

Ramadan is coming up in a few weeks. Seems like people are just killing time until it gets here, though they'll just be killing time once it arrives, too. I plan on fasting this year, though I will be drinking water. I'm looking forward to it quite a bit. Peace Corps has given us approval to participate in the Casablanca marathon in late October (normally we are not allowed to take vacation during the last three months of service). I was hoping to run it, though realistically there isn't enough time to train safely in the time between the end of Ramadan until the race. I'll just play it by ear (legs?) and see how I feel. There are always more marathons to run, but not necessarily Ramadans to spend in Morocco...

I've also been occupying myself with some end-of-PC/return to America planning, beginning to think about what needs to be done as far as wrapping things up here-- travel logistics, packing, gifts-- as well as how to visit everyone I'd like to see upon returning in December. It will be a busy month. This does, however, seem to make the time pass even more slowly, but it's exciting. Recently I bought a plane ticket to Paris from Rabat for November 13th, the day after I COS, for my jaunt around France and Denmark with S before coming back to the States. \m/  (<-- devil horns gesture)

The notion of leaving here is creeping in more and more often. I see how this place has really become a home for me over nearly the past two years, and how the friends I've made are some of the best I've ever found. My mind begins to entertain what it will be like to leave them for real, and to leave this whole experience as though it was some strange dream. No doubt it will seem as such once I step off of the plane. In fact, the entirety of this has been like learning to live within a strange dream, and over time it just becomes life. In three-something months it'll be time to wake up...

108° 107° 106° 107° 102° 100°

Bro-SURE LOOKS FANTASTIC!!!

Recently designed to promote the artisans. This is the kind of magic you can conjure up in Microsoft Word, people. Insert Text Box, eh? I think I will.

cover/back:

inside:

Also, I am pleased to report that the second group of participants in our humble endeavor had a swell time. Let's keep 'em coming.

Rivers of Gold Bond®

The first torturous night of summer last night. Without electricity (due to some component up on the wires literally exploding) and therefore without use of my fan and insect repellent plug-in, the stage was set-- the air in my bedroom still and heavy, the near-invisible mosquitoes like vampires, thirsty and quivering at the door. I fell asleep easily, but awoke after only an hour or so, my hands and feet swollen and itching madly from the previous night's bites as well as some new additions. In the dull yellow beam of my flashlight on the wall, I could see them, like a nightmare, flitting about over the white surface, trying to stay out of the light. After a short-lived attempt at mass extermination, I knew the roof was the answer-- my slippery grip on sanity for the night. A sleeping bag and mosquito net in tow, my sandals clapped up the stairwell as I went to set up camp above. Ah... sweet relief. I slept until the rooster crows woke me just before sunrise.

The Arrival(s)

The first participants in the Explore Amizmiz project came to town last week, trying out every available activity: homestay, cooking lesson, couscous co-op, trekking to the mountain villages, and visiting the artisans. Very cool! They found our site via the Wikitravel link, and reported a great experience here. It's exciting to see real results come of our efforts. More people are booked for later this month!

Also exciting, as I mentioned previously, is witnessing my counterpart build the beginnings of her own business, gaining independence and confidence, learning all aspects of the trade-- a business that works by utilizing elements and individuals of community, and hopefully in turn, strengthening them in a variety of ways. Next we're planning to figure out an accounting system to keep track of how funds are being distributed throughout the local economy. As I am trying to place heavy emphasis on supporting the artisans, my counterpart and I are visiting them to discuss their role in the project-- what opportunities this presents (financial, marketing), and to hear their concerns and ideas. I'm designing brochures to hopefully have printed and distributed throughout Marrakech, aimed with the intent to draw the interest of visitors specifically to the artisans.

The overall game plan at this point is to continue to develop my counterpart's skills, increase visibility of our site/project, and see what we can do for the artisans based on what their needs are and what resources are applicable. We've also started English classes again! I was reluctant to do so, but agreed after considering how much everyone, myself included, seems to get out of it, and recognizing that it's a very immediate way to have a positive effect here whereas my other work stuff is slowly built. We never did find a new classroom in the neighborhood, but are using a room in the Chamber of Handicraft in town. Quite a distance, but we're only doing weekend mornings, so it's reasonable.

Lots to keep busy with...

refrigerator box/brainstorming board/central command

San Francisco

I flew from Marrakech to London Gatwick, watching the beige shades of Morocco pass beneath, followed by the Strait of Gibraltar, the snowy mountains of Madrid, France, and finally descending over the verdant fields of England. Upon landing I quickly boarded the wrong train at the airport and shot off in the wrong direction, a discovery I made almost an hour into the journey. Never having been to London before and without use of a cellphone, this was a tad distressing, but I was able to make my way toward my correct destination, the neighborhood of S's friends with whom I was staying for the night, via the Tube with little difficulty. After realizing my mistake and getting off the train I found myself in central London, and was able to see some of it on my way to the next station.

Not much sightseeing in London, really, as I was just staying for one evening. Wonderful hospitality from some new friends, however. In the morning I headed to Heathrow (I saw much more of the underground than anything else in London) and was off across the Atlantic, luckily spending most of the trip asleep with the exception of a few Office episodes and games of Tetris on the seatback screen.

At Chicago O'Hare I found my brother and stepdad waiting; we were able to have lunch and a walk around the grounds before my next flight. Great to see them, of course-- like I had just left them the day before. At this point I was fairly giddy and eager to conquer the last leg of my travels to San Francisco...

I touched down at SFO at dusk, walking right past S on my way to the baggage claim. Hey! she said, and I looked up. Ah, right! Didn't expect her to be waiting there. The rest is where it all blurs together. It's so strange to be sitting here, back at my table in Morocco, to think that I've already been and returned, the memories of my visit floating around in disorder, like scenes from some epic dream. We did a lot, as we had a pretty full schedule of places to go, things to do, and people to see. In lieu of writing everything out in detail, I'll list it here:

• Bay to Breakers Race-- 12k across the city, from the bay to the ocean. Naked people, crazy costumes, clouds of pot smoke, nice cool running weather, freezing near the ocean in sweat-soaked clothes

• rainy days at the apartment, S working from home, lots of reading
• Gustav and Lucca, the cats
• running
• trains, buses, and the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) to the East Bay and back
• S's office in Berkeley, meeting coworkers
• purchasing of post-Peace Corps plane tickets to Paris and Copenhagen
• Academy of Sciences/Golden Gate Park

• the spending of much money and purchasing of new threads/shoes/tight running pants
• met with friends from high school, dinner at Thai place
• movie night in Dolores Park (the last minute switch from The Royal Tenenbaums to Starsky & Hutch was not appreciated; we left early)
• delicious beers in the late afternoon
• Alcatraz

• Golden Gate Bridge

• meeting with director of sustainable design program at the Berkeley extension school downtown
• neighborhood walks
• food!: sushi, outdoor mud and stone oven-baked pizza, Korean tacos, "Moroccan" restaurant Aziza, mexican, Noodle Theory, homemade bread, wontons & dumplings, salads, stir-fried veggies from the weekly veggie boxes, tajines, walnut & cranberry oatmeal, mushroom waffle, breakfasts at diners, homemade Indian/naan, farmers market...

• Moroccan shop in S's neighborhood... speaking Darija with the owners!
• Tallest Man on Earth concert
• delicious dinner with (former sitemate) Ami's parents
• gallery walk, throngs of hipsters
• time spent with S's friends (A, A, C, E, A & M, Y)
• walk up to Twin Peaks, amazing view of the city

I found San Francisco/Oakland/Berkeley comfortable places to be, with a very progressive feel to them. The people-- at least the ones I met-- were exceedingly polite. I think the best adjective for S's neighborhood in Oakland is "cute"-- a quaint main street lined with coffee shops, bakeries, and little stores of all types. The residential streets are quiet, with each yard overflowing with flowers, long grasses and succulents. Her apartment, tucked away cozily down a driveway behind a bigger house, was my favorite place.

It was easy to be there-- too short of a visit for culture shock to set in, perhaps, and, being in vacation mode, free of any real-life pressures or obligations. A lot of people asked me what I liked most about the visit (aside from seeing S, of course), and I'd have to say it was the anonymity-- being able to walk down the street without the usual gawking and attention. To not carry that bit of tension that, despite having lived here for almost two years now, naturally still creeps in. Very refreshing.

It wasn't easy to come back to the land of dust and donkeys. I was able to see a little more of London on the return trip, the lights and buildings of downtown glowing on an evening walk along the Thames and a peek inside the Tate Modern, though admittedly I didn't have much enthusiasm for it and the jet lag was wearing on me. Upon returning to Marrakech I found that summer had arrived in Morocco, and what an appropriate way to reunite with the country by immediately arguing with a taxi driver over the fare followed by mosh-pitting my way onto a sweltering, thief-ridden bus with luggage in tow. 

But, just five and a half months left, and of course the days just fly by, like always. I'm anticipating a bit of a drag when summer is at its peak, with the bugs and the nights too short to cool the air, but this year I know what to expect and will hopefully cope more aptly than last summer's misery-fest. The kids are finishing up school and spending days at the river. I can feel the pace of life slowing and the streets emptying. The fields have all been reaped, and bushels of wheat lie under heavy stones to dry in the sun. The heat is working its way into everything.  

What else, what else? People are finding the Explore Amizmiz site and contacting my counterpart to book visits, which is exciting. My counterpart, Latifa, is really growing to be independent in her work, coming out from under the wings of her mentors and employers to do business on her own terms. It's great to see, and she's quite exhilarated with new confidence. Also, I'm trying to strengthen my relationship with the local potters, increase their awareness of their involvement in the project and how it can benefit them, and hopefully reassessing and addressing their needs.

It's nice to be moving through these days, spending time with friends here, working, doing my thing and trying to be present for it-- but tough when I know of my new home and another life, waiting out on the west coast.

It's Happening...

Tomorrow I'm off to Marrakech and will fly out the next morning to London. I'll be staying there briefly with a couple of S's friends who have generously offered to put me up for the night and point me in the right direction the following day, as I head across the pond to Chicago. The plan is to meet up with some family during my layover at O'Hare, then it's on to San Francisco!

We've got a lot on our plate during my two week visit-- a concert, a race, a school to check out, good food, a billion people to meet and places to see. Gonna be good. Most of all, of course, I'm looking forward to spending time with S and exploring my post-Peace Corps home. I guess it's only fair that, after her three trips to Morocco, I should make the journey over.

Even here as I take a break from packing and write this, the reality of leaving hasn't "hit". Wonder when that'll happen. I haven't been out of the country in over twenty months; it's strange to imagine that in just a couple days I'll be in such a drastically different environment. I've never been to SF before (or London, for that matter), so it's new in that regard, as well. Hopefully I won't awkwardly blurt out any Arabic phrases. Peace be upon you! God bless your parents!!

Marché Maroc Marrakech

Marché Maroc Marrakech, one in a series of country-wide, PCV-organized and implemented craft fairs, was held at the Ensemble Artisanal April 14-18. The intent of the fair was to provide an opportunity for artisans working with PCVs across the country to attend a workshop on identifying sales opportunities, customer service, exhibit presentation, and matching products to the market, then put the information immediately into practice with a three day exhibition at a premier tourist stop in a major city.

I had signed on to the project as one of two members of the Artisan Committee, which involved communication with PCVs and their respective artisans to determine and confirm participants, providing travel and hotel logistics, translation of materials, keeping track of artisans, herding them to and from different locations, and being available for any artisan inquiries prior to or during the event.

The fair itself went smoothly. The artisans, forty in all, were mellow and patient throughout the duration, and all volunteers worked well with each other and the personnel of the Artisana. As I personally did not have artisans participating, (the potters here do not market their wares directly to tourists; they sell raw, undecorated items in bulk to middlemen for resale elsewhere) once the artisans were set up, familiar with things, and the tourists started rolling in, there wasn't a lot to do. I took on random errands to keep busy, at one point running through the back alley markets in search of a carpenter, at another, finding myself in a basement cyber cafe bargaining over the cost of color prints. All of us took turns on flier duty, awkwardly imposing ourselves in the paths of approaching tourists to hawk our cause, empathizing at last with the Moroccan merchants we've learned to snake past so aptly.

Hopefully the artisans were able to gain some new skills, establish new contacts, and learn from each other. I think each cooperative sold a decent amount. Each artisan was interviewed for feedback during the fair, and though I have yet to see a report of what was said, most of whom I spoke with and overheard seemed to regard the experience as positive. The next fair is in Rabat early next month. I won't be attending that one however, due to my being in ............................ America. That's right.

Bonus points if you spot the typo in the banner from the first pic.