gimme some wool, i've got a wheel!

26 February 2008

(just putting out the vibe in my big lonely kitchen)

It’s been a fine day, and that’s all I’m gonna write about for now. I woke up and made Swedish pancakes (a great reassurance that I can survive morocco), did a couple loads of laundry (meaning two sink loads, amounting to a quarter of a load in a real washing machine, scrubbed by hand on a wooden washboard, rinsed in buckets in the bathroom, and saving the frigid water for toilet flushing, and hung to dry on the power line outside, it’s quite a process), and then made my way to the cooperative. I’ve been way too busy lately and worried that I haven’t been building much of a relationship with the co-op, or my community as a whole because I’m gone so much. I’ve decided to cut back my tutoring to once a week beginning in March, because I’m tired, broke and just want to spend some time in my site! Anyhow, so remember how I said in morocco things just happen and they just don’t? Well, things happened today! I went to the co-op with no real big plans, just the usual sitting there, absorbing Tam and trying to communicate and thinking a lot about what I’ll be doing. Then the president asked me if I could try and fix the broken loom, yippee! I had to go to another woman’s house for some parts, and like my host moms shed, she’s got an entire room of weaving supplies. It makes me drool. I then worked up the courage to finally ask to borrow a spinning wheel, and of course they said yes. So back at the co-op I couldn’t fix the loom, I need to look up the model, it’s the only one like it at the co-op, and I can’t get the treddling to harness tension right. Then I had lunch at my counterparts house, I love her family. And she seemed to be more approving and encouraging of my Tam today than other days. I told them I’d come back to fix the loom Saturday. I went home to bring my clothes in before the rain began to pour again, went for tea, and brought a lovely spinning wheel home! I’m working on getting carders and wool, and inshallah, by Sunday I should be spinning up a storm! I’m still dying to weave, but spinning’s my second choice. I came home, rested, made mac n cheese, and pretty much spent the last few hours cleaning, admiring and making my house my home. Today was small and manageable, and I needed the simple encounters I had with people to reassure my place.

Big thanks- once again the mail didn’t come for a few weeks, so when it did I had three packages to embarrassingly walk home with. I should stop listing off every single delight they were packed with, but I’ll say two were from my dad and stepmom, with enough valentines to give my whole staj, and enough powdered cheese packets to avoid Moroccan food for a month. And my mom sent me enough books for me to avoid studying and read happily for the same month (some she’s been trying to get me to read for years and I know she threw them in cuz when im desperate I will! Ooo, sneaky)

Im really sorry to anyone who hung around skype waiting for me last Friday, as I obviously never showed. Dang me for trying to make plans again! Shh, don’t tell, but maybe next Friday.

no particular valentine

14 February 2008

I often seem to end my blog posts like “next time” bits at the end of Arrested Development (the most hilarious show for those that don’t know) They sound interesting, but never actually show up in the next episode, so here’s a tid bit of catch up before I go on with the now;

lEid-I wrote a ton and recorded the whole affair in my journal but couldn’t find a way to type it all up right. Though I didn’t have to eat balls (that’s not an innuendo, that’s literal) like many other volunteers, I did eat plenty of intestine, stomach, belly fat, etc., and as that carcass never seemed to diminish, I started outright refusing after the head was served. Due to family drama over all it was not a good experience for me, so if you want to hear what Eid is really like, plenty of other PC Morocco blogs wrote about their experiences in late December.

My last battle in the war on cold during homestay-the fridge broke. Now why the fridge even needed to be on is the bigger confusion. Not everyone has a fridge, and this time of year it’s certainly not necessary, but nonetheless, my family set up an inferno in the kitchen to heat up the fridge enough to get it working again.

The reason why they shovel snow off the roof-when it melts it will leak through.

Transport fun- that day I went to see Linsey while my region was over a foot deep in snow. I road the school bus to the nearest town with a taxi stand, an hour later they decided the ice was melted enough to drive on, but we later hit a broke down truck road block anyhow. The taxi driver asked me if I had any bread and lauged when I said no, because we could be there for a long time. It was a neat experience though to see people just come together and get to work, literally shoveling out a new path, and laying down tree branches because no one has chains. And I still made it to my destination before dark and had a great visit with Linsey.

The now-Happy Valentines Day! I’m not one with any particular feelings one way or the other on this holiday, but it was certainly nice to not have to see a bunch of schmoozy couples around, as PDA is illegal in Morocco. I’m already taken aback in slightly bigger cities when a couple dare hold hands; I have no idea how I’ll react when I go to the states or Europe or anyplace else and see people, whoa, like kissing, eek. The most romantic sight has been the great big white stork couples that have begun staking claim and hanging out their huge nests, and that really is a beautiful thing.

It’s been a swell day overall. Also, I keep forgetting to mention it, but Liz’s blog, Adventures of a Young Twentysomething, is awesome and she’s the closest volunteer to me (that being a twenty minute taxi ride). Though we’re all having very different experiences, it’s a good read; particularly for those of you irritated with my infrequent blog posting. So this morning I went to her town for suqq and to visit. We had an awful suqq trip; between the cold, the rain and some horrendous encounters with men, I also lost my little money bag. The men redeemed themselves in my view as I retraced my steps to a hanut and the owner had my coin purse there for me, untouched-now that’s amazing. After some more errands we made pancakes, pretty dang good for our first try in Morocco, and topped them with the best sounding thing around- Jif peanut butter from the states, and they made a very fine Valentine’s Day lunch. Oh and she also treated me to Starbucks coffee, in a real mug, which is about three times the Moroccan single serving, and is probably why I’m wide awake and happy and typing so late at night.

And now I’ve got the hiccups after polishing off my fourth cup of pistachio yogurt as I am unwilling to move from this wonderfully warm spot to cook. There are many roles we volunteers play besides helping the people of the country in which we’re serving; we also help each other and develop excellent mooching skills. Yesterday I nearly flipped out cuz I was so sick of being cold. My host family’s house was a freezer but with a warm ferno escape room; my house is only fridge temperature, but with no warm escape. I have to admit that no matter how easy Moroccans make it look, I cannot get my ferno going to save my life! I bought two donkeys of wood, yes it’s measured by the donkey, and can get a little going, but then it dies. It’s such a sad thing, and metaphoric, to fail at making fire, oh woe is me. So until I have the courage and words to ask for help, I’ve decided to buy a small electric heater to keep my blood flowing. However, I have to travel to a much bigger town to buy an electric heater, so I borrowed one today from a volunteer whose out of town, and oh my is it lovely (typing without gloves on is so much easier!) and that’s why I’m refusing to get up and cook.

I’ve been joking lately that if nothing else, Peace Corps will make me a great housewife. Haha, but don’t worry, there will be much else made of me here, and I have no plans on being a housewife! But I do keep tidy, primarily because I have to, not because I want to. Cleaning is a great way to keep warm, as it is so much work. Washing dishes means lighting the butagaz to heat up water, opening a window so you don’t get butagaz poisoning, hoping the water is in fact running, scrubbing with freezing faucet water till you’re numb, then blessing your dishes and hands with a hot water rinse, and as the feeling in your fingers returns, finding something clean and dry to dry the dishes with (as most of my cookware is certainly not stainless steel I have to dry it or it will rust). The mud abode is definitely a haven for bugs and lots of, duh, dirt, so I have to clean up any and all food items and even sweeping daily produces quite a mound of dust and dirt. Ya, so by this point I’ve warmed up a bit.

I don’t have a fun Tam fact for ya tonight, but I do have a Moroccan joke, or rather, something funny I actually understood. Any moment when I am laughing with rather than being laughed at is fabulous. At ssuq a couple weeks ago with my host sister and a little girl that was with us had a dirham and bought herself cotton candy, which I don’t think she’d ever had before because she ate it so awkwardly, and exclaimed, tadoht! Which means wool, hahaha, because cotton candy looks like wool, it was a nice moment.

BIG THANKS-mail only seems to come to my site about every three weeks, so last week I got three packages in one day. Dunno if you all care, but its of great excitement to me so I’m going to tell you the contents anyhow. A laptop case from my Uncle Gary and Aunt Kris, along with enough Reeses to give treats to my whole duar if they celebrated Halloween, powdered parmesan cheese, a block of parmesan cheese that was thoroughly covered in mold, but since it’s a hard cheese and I’m desperate I fully intend on scraping off the outer layer and eating it still, some manatee pictures to hang in my house, and then being the people my family are, they sent me a bunch of powdered cheese packets without the pasta cuz its lighter, and numbered them, a kind of blind test, so I can tell them which one I like best and they’ll send more. My grandma and grandpa sent me some clothes, knitting needles, TJ’s Mac n Cheese, TJs cheese crunchies and TJs peanut butter pretzels, I forgot how amazing those are! (note to grandma-I know I said those pants were too big, but I’ve worn them every day since over two other pairs of pants and love them so much!) My dear mom sent some random clothes, liquid garlic pills in case I lose hearing again (note: I’m no doctor, but I do know garlic is a natural antibiotic. I get a fair amount of ear infections, and since they stopped prescribing the yummy pink medicine years ago and my mom started taking us to see natural remedy doctors, it’s now my first choice. Poke a liquid garlic pill with a pin and squirt some directly into your ear, and stuff some cotton in there for an hour or so. You’ll stink like a beast, sorry Ashley, who had to live with me for so long, but honestly the infection goes away in under three days. Taking any garlic pill orally works too, but takes a bit longer. So there’s my two cents of experience) and then, opla! I was cracking up and nearly in tears as Hughy popped out! Most of you know that I have been head over heels for manatees since about the third grade, and around that time my Uncle Gary and Aunt Kris gave me a perfect hugging sized manatee stuffed animal, I still remember the box. Anyhow it’s Hughy, for hugh-manatee, like hu-manity, ahaha, for my ever earth loving side. So I left him at home of course and never expected him to travel to Morocco, but as this past month has been thoroughly stressful and I’ve been in deep need of hugs, it was a very welcome and much appreciated surprise. I can’t express to you all just how thankful I am for everything, for the stuff of course, but also your letters, your emails, and calls that I know cost a lot but always come at just the right time. Shukran bzaf!

That’s all for now, glad to hear so many of you enjoyed the new pictures and I love and miss you all as much as ever. I’ll check my email Tuesday or Thursday real quick, but if any of you wanna chat on Skype I’m hoping to be online all afternoon next Friday, but of course it’s always too soon to be sure or promise plans.

And next time on Bri Weaves . . . how much I wish I was weaving, falling into a whorl again, the amazing natural dyeing workshop last week, my brief stint with a kitten, the emu that has replaced me back home in California, the art of mooching a shower, not entirely related to my week without running water, and other things I’ve learned its possible but not comfortable to live without, more crazy dreams, my awkward demeanor, and dancing again. That sounds like a lot, maybe I should take votes on what actually sounds interesting. . .

a few

i'll write soon, but here's a link to some pics, the picasa site just takes way too long to upload things. love you all!

my own mud hut in Africa

19 January

Aw, I just finished, embarrassingly only my second book since arriving here, A Thousand Splendid Suns, marvelous. Wow, dunno if I’ve ever used that word before. Also, don’t care how much of a sappy girl it makes me, but I totally cried. It kind of surprises me that a book can do that, but overall it’s refreshing and nice. Speaking of being sniffly, I am so damn tired of being sick! Various illnesses are always a muck- today its mucus finally draining and becoming a cough, soon I’ll loop back around to sore throat and inflamed tonsils, maybe a migraine, take your pick. It’s hard to ever get better when you’re always cold. And of course a lovely daily dose of acid indigestion. It’s no wonder though, as the hilarious yet useful book Peace Corps gives all Volunteers, Where There Is No Doctor says, its caused by too much heavy and or greasy food, coffee, carbonated and or alcoholic drinks and not enough water. Ha! Now half of that is definition of homestay, the other half is what I indulge in when I’m not home, so duh, and ow.

But on with the story of the moment, this is going to be poorly edited for I want to post it tomorrow when I go to my souq town, bear with me. There is so frigging much to catch up on, but all I care about right now is how happy I am, so here is the story of why. To sum it up, followed of course by a ridiculously long explanation- fight for your right! The right I have been fighting for is to my own house. It is amazing how quickly it has all happened and how easily it all could have fallen through. In Morocco things just work and they just don’t, you’re a bottomless pit of sorrow and confusion one moment and a radiant ball of sunshine the next (I have a long post written about this too, but who knows when it’ll be up) Though I am lacking in many areas, I am damn proud of myself for fighting this battle out.

I won’t go into all the intricacies, but I will say this first, all Peace Corps Volunteers of course face challenges and difficulty of various kinds in their sites, and I do not mean to ever say my experience is harder that anyone else’s. That aside, I’m not going to lie, I was put into a site and situation with challenges and a reputation I had no part in building. I try to hold no grudge against either party, as I was not here, but let’s just say many of the women I am to work with have been very skeptical of my presence. So rather than just having the task of building a good reputation, I have the task of breaking down the reputation of the previous volunteer while simultaneously building a good one of my own. Anyhow, it’s complicated but it’s what I have to work with, and I am! Because of the previous volunteers close relationship with the host family, the first and foremost opportunity I have to show the community I am different is by moving out, and that is the battle of which I am writing. I want to note quickly that my host family has been very kind to me and I don’t mean to paint them in a bad light, it is only in their view of my best interest that this process has been so difficult. Here, the thought of a woman living alone is comparable to inviting a donkey in for tea and cookies to chat about politics-it's ludicrous. Though my mom is really angry and worried now, I hope with time she’ll be happy to have me here as a coworker, not a daughter.

As miscommunication continued and my mom got the gendarme (like the county sheriff, or, for the single, young, and female mirikani, a very overprotective father) involved in keeping me in her house for two years, I needed an intervention, so last Thursday, my tutor come to town to help. We found the mokadem (kind of the village protector/leader/know all) and he showed me a mud house at the other end of town, but it was huge and barren and not up to Peace Cops code. The only other place available was half the second floor of, conveniently, my mom’s friend’s house across the street from her. It was cute, but very small, and essentially would amount to two years of homestay. Though the day ended well with the women finally understanding I would not be living with my host family and much of their jealousy lifted quickly, where I would be living was still a very big question.

Due to the Muslim New Year I had a four day weekend, and headed off to meet up with Linsey again, her site mates, and even with my worries, had an awesome couple trips to McDonalds and plenty of pizza, etc., but that trip is a different story. I came back on Sunday to more family drama, and no new house prospects. On Monday I thought I’d try and see about a different house near the mud one, at which point my mom began yelling about how the boys would get me and I wouldn’t be safe unless she could see me, etc., etc., until I couldn’t understand her anymore. Next thing I knew she and another woman were accompanying me. And then chaos ensued. I found the mokadem, tried to explain I simply wanted to see the other house available in the area, but he kept pointing to the mud house, and my mom started yelling again, and no one was understanding anyone. So I called my tutor to translate, but after my mom screamed at him and the mokadem talked to him, by the time I got the phone he began telling me the mokadem said the landlord of the mud house was willing to build whatever I wanted, and the my minutes ran out. My host mother kept on her dramatic stammering riot, and it was a rough couple nights.

Wednesday, however, was the turning point. Out of courtesy I went with my mother to look at her friend’s house again, but oh the betrayal! As she made her way to the co-op I had to lie and tell her I had to run to the post office. It was only a half lie, for I was going to the post office, but I was also going to get my house, armed with fresh vocabulary from my tutor. The mokadem was not at his store so I went to the post office to kill time, and oh my- my box from my dad finally arrived! (Only a month and a half late!) It was HUGE! A ton of Reeses, Trader Joes cheese treats, powdered parmesan, goofy pez dispensers, some games, more Smartwool socks, and best of all- tall dark brown Uggs- my saviors. I love them so much I’m gonna name them. My feet haven’t been cold since that day, they make me so happy! I may actually survive the winter now! Though I was still stressed, it was hard not to smile and I honestly thought I could do no wrong in my new boots, at least for a day, and it was so! (side note- for those wondering, and know me well, no I did not sleep in my boots)

The mokadem had still not returned so I made my way to the mosque, or the town center, where an afternoon prayer had just ended so it was swarming with men. I felt like a dummy trying to find this guy when it’s not a good idea to look men in the face, but that’s the only way to recognize anyone of course. Then I spotted a woman from the co-op, who I knew was important, but didn’t even know her name. She helped me find the mokadem, but he was busy and asked if she could take me to meet the landlord. Mashi mushkil. So we walked, clear across town to his house, then back to the house in question with him and his mother. He was very welcoming and I actually managed to ask for everything I wanted and he understood! I got Peace Corps staff on the phone to explain again and once someone could come and do the paperwork it was settled! Yippee!!

Then me and this woman, whose name I was too embarrassed to ask for, left for the co-op. On the way we randomly bumped into my counterpart, who I had seen maybe twice since I got here and had no idea how to approach. The three of us stopped in the new coop building; which is huge, amazing and nearly finished! Of course she invited us for tea at her house next door, and though I knew my mom was probably frantic as I had not returned from my post office errand in nearly three hours, there was no way I was going to refuse finally meeting with the woman who is supposed to be my main contact and working partner for the next two years! So we had tea and she said I was welcome anytime. Hamdullah! By the time we left it was lunch time, I thanked the woman who had helped me out all day so much and ran home, wanting to jump up and down with joy, but also dreading my mother’s reaction to my activities. And it was as expected, she asked where I’d been in that freaky mom tone and I told her, eek, that I’d found a house near the post office, and had tea at Fatima’s. She was pissed; you don’t need to have a syllable of common language to figure that out. Then there was much heated discussion with our neighbor, more tears and angry faces, but there was no backing down from me. All in all I think it’s healthy for them to see a grown woman living alone and happy and safe. She then informed me that the woman who’d been helping me all day was actually the president of the co-op, her name was Rabha, and she lives only a couple houses down from my new home, thank you!

Then Malika from PC came yesterday, settled everything with my landlord and inshallah, the first house I looked at will be ready and mine the first of February! I don’t have pictures yet, but here’s a wordy overview; he’s closing off the outdoor bathroom (Peace Corps policy- so I don’t go outside at night), and extending it inside so I can bathe and wash clothes. Then building a long counter and sink in the biggest room for my kitchen. Then there’s the inferno room, though the house in general keeps a nice temp cuz its mud, that’ll be the warm, and if I ever have company, socializing, room. Then the bedroom, but really it’s just going to be my ‘stuff” room because I plan on sleeping in the ferno room. A little hallway to the right just inside the front door will be a sort of garage for my bike, firewood, and maybe a litter box? Please note- I absolutely hate litter boxes but the pros of having a solely indoor cat with a litter box far outweigh the cons of having an indoor/outdoor cat (I don’t have money for rabies shots, worm and flea stuff, etc), so yea, I’ll clean up its shit. Then he’s going to build me a ladder and I’ll make a clothes line on the roof. Eek! As I told another PCV earlier, who’s equally psyched to move into her own place, it’s like I have a huge crush I can’t stop daydreaming about; only for an awesome house, not a dumb boy! We’re all getting goofy about our new homes, drawing out detailed birds eye views of the layout and what’s goin where. Its gonna be igouda bzaf!

Oh hamdullah, it feels so good to feel good again! To have a place to call my own for the next two years. I understand homestay, but I am dying for my own dance space! It’s hard to enjoy my time alone, for the only place I can be alone is my room which is approximately 1/3 my own body temperature. This whole house business and running all over town this past week has built up my vocabulary but I want to know Tam more than ever now! When Malika was here we went over to Fatima’s house, long story, but they’re good friends and to sit there and watch them laugh and chat, I wanted in so bad! Like I was a little girl wishing so bad that I could talk to the cool popular girl. I will. She’s well educated and I can see is going to be expecting more from me than just being here, which is good! At the moment two years doesn’t seem like enough time, but I’ll use it well. I’m glad to finally feel welcome at more people’s homes so I can practice Tam and really integrate. I’ve allowed myself to stay too sheltered so far, it’s good to get out!

Work was good today too. I get tired of just sitting there quietly, but am too shy to initiate much communication, so my little project right now is the language of the looms, ha. I’m doing detailed drawings of the four types of looms I’ve observed being used among the co-op; the way old school vertical-handmade-tied to the walls wood looms they only work on at home, the government issued vertical metal looms, one at the co-op and one at my counterparts house, and the two types of horizontal modern looms at the co-op. Then I will label them in Tam and begin to teach the women how to fix them. Simple things like the fact that most of them don’t use the brake on the back beam but I don’t know why. I think this is a good way to start showing them my background and get them asking questions. I still want to fix the big loom but if we move into the new building soon maybe I shouldn’t. Ah, and funny little language note: in Tam, the verb “to weave”, the noun “warp,” and the noun “loom” are all the same word- astta. Again- Tam is hard! Wow, long story, but I enjoyed it! Ooo, and congrats, a few days early, to my grandma and grandpa, celebrating their 45^th year of surviving marriage! Tbarkla!

Snow

4 January 2008

As usual, nature’s keepin it real. Yesterday the weather culminated in a super storm of all forms just as my mood and mind had been building up to going absolutely nuts as I had not left my site in 8 days and hadn’t bathed in two weeks. Many factors played into my stir-craziness, but mostly it left me hating on life and myself and my lovely little site much too much. But the great lessons this country teaches me daily are many, and yesterday of course it was to never be heartbroken by your fixed plans, in fact, don’t ever have fixed plans.

Normally I love wind, it’s refreshing and scary, and fun to play in, but in a world of dust, the fifteen minute walk to my two planned errands of going to the post office, only to find yet again that my package had not yet arrived, and having tea with one of the nicest old ladies in town (though she’s completely un-understandable) was quite scary. Then my further plans for the day, going to the Co-op and the cyber, fell through as it began to rain, and soon, hail. The weather was yelling as loud as my little host nephew. So for the rest of the day I sat quietly, as usual, but my mind was screaming with everything I wasn’t getting done, and how much I wanted to get out of here.

Later that evening I braved leaving the inferno room to pee, so focused on my own demolished self, I didn’t even look up as I stepped out the front door and into the bit lma. Then as I came out I was shocked to find that it was snowing, and even more shocked that I hadn’t noticed the quiet, for snow seems to silence all, guess I just let my brain get too loud. I smiled big and laughed at my ridiculous nature and all my frustrations, and sat back behind the inferno, doing the same thing, just sittin there, but feeling oh so different about it all. Not better necessarily, but I humored myself. And within minutes the power was out. Ha. So we sat by light of the fire and a buta gas lamp and had dinner a half hour early.

Funny how unprepared you always are at these times. We had randomly had coffee instead of tea with kascrew, so I was wide awake on caffeine, but I had let my battery on my laptop go, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to type for long, and my ipod was in the red too, and of course I had no idea where my AAA rechargeable batteries were for my fading push light because I hadn’t needed to use them yet, but I had nothing to read anyway, so what did it matter? Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much.

This morning, I woke up to a world of white. A good eleven inches of it. And it’s beautiful. Atfl bzaf! Growing up near the beach in southern Cali, I never lived with snow, but I did go through a good four years of it in college in Missouri, and have decided I much prefer living Mediterranean. However, its impossible to not love the first snow, especially on the dry, red dirt landscape of Morocco. Oh, forgot to mention, the power came back on this morning, but the waters off, eh. And as the day progresses, so slowly, I’m oddly okay with it all, cuz really, I have absolutely no power to stop it.

Somehow in realizing how powerless I am in one area inspires me to take control of an area I do have power in. Presently, that would be me falling into madness, no not really, but I’m just getting too frustrated and too stubborn too quickly. I’ve decided to pull yet another unexpected page from my mom’s book and start doing “what I love about you’s” for Morocco when I journal, just like we used to do at family meetings. Sounds silly, and it certainly always was the most dreaded portion, because all we really wanted to do was rip each other’s hair out, but in hindsight, I’m ever thankful, for those are the only moments I really remember about family meetings. Since much of my journaling is ranting, raving and whining, it’s good to take a moment to think, even forcefully, about what I do love. What I love about Morocco today is its ability to be a never ceasing lesson in patience, its mountains, and the women, who, even with infants strapped to their backs, are shoveling snow of their roofs. I don’t think I’ll ever understand most things. Speaking of understanding, I’m also taking more control in learning the language, but I’ll talk about that more in another post.

Though the snow has screwed over my plans of getting to the cyber today as well, they don’t exactly salt all the roads here, I really hope its cleared up enough by tomorrow! For I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for much to long! My best friend here, Linsey, who’s placed a good eight hour bus ride from me, is meeting me in Azrou for the night! Not only am I ecstatic about seeing her and talking in English about anything and everything for a good 24 straight hours (we may even need a talking stick cuz I dunno if either of us is gonna be able to shut up long enough to listen, you try going just one day without speaking English or seeing someone you’ve known longer than a month), I will also have a shower! And ooo, I’m even going to shave! Both of which I haven’t done since swear in in Fes - that was over a month ago. I’ve “bathed” here, but there’s just nothing as great as a shower, and two weeks is just, wow, way too long. And the thought of actually letting my hair down! I’ve taken to wearing headscarves easily, it’s just so much more practical here, and I’ve nearly forgotten already the feeling of hair in my face. We also plan on indulging in pizza, coke, snickers and the avocado and almond yogurt milk were both obsessed with (it’s an absolutely divine combination I am sorry the states have not yet discovered). I’ve come to accept the weathers terms today, but if it prevents me, or Linsey, from getting there tomorrow I might go bezerk.

Telling songs of the day:

Blacking Out The Friction by Death Cab For Cutie, it just very appropriate for my current state. And Snow by Red Hot Chili Peppers, the title is of course, but also I’ve been thinking about my two awesome little sisters in Washington and how much I miss them. For whatever reason, Hanna loves it and made me play it like eight times on the drive home from camping this summer. So listened to it a few extra times tonight. I love and miss you girls.

(eek, and I’ve been working on a long post about the big Eid, all various the sheep parts I’ve eaten, temporarily losing hearing in my right ear, the new year, my newest battles in the war on cold, and the difficult process of moving out, but it will have to come later)

Bahalo, working, feelin worse and feelin better

16 December 2007

Bahalo is Tam for grandpa, though I’m writing this next part for my dear American grandpa; he’s one of the most awesome people in the world, for those of you that don’t know. Here’s some excerpts from his last e-mail, just to give you an idea:

“Ever since you said how cold you were I have been trying to think about things that could be done it that situation. . . it seems to me that dried droppings from goats and sheep could make good insulating material for walls. . . However, if there is a pretty good stream available locally, it may be possible to tap into the water flow and use it to generate power. The power could be used for heating or any other use, depending on the local priorities. . . So next time you add to your blog, how about giving us a run down on the assets you have locally to work with such as streams, rivers, trees, animals, structures, etc. Also take some pictures that we could use to get a feel for the total environment in your area. The easiest thing might be to produce a list of problems/difficulties that us engineers in the family might be able to do something about. I know I might be jumping the gun in wanting to help as soon as possible. But you have such fun projects you get yourself into I just can't resist wanting to get in there and help. So if you can, give your poor old grandpa a problem or two (or ten) to look into.”

So this is for him, pictures forthcoming! There is a small river nearby but I don’t know how I could harness energy from it. I’ve also noticed some solar panels throughout my travels which is great; the intense sun here is a way underused resource. For reasons none of us understand, all new buildings are made of cement. They used to all be made of mud which is bad because it’s obviously a little, well dirty, and bugs like it, but its good because its warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Cement is freezing in the winter and boiling in the summer; essentially, a place you don’t want to be at anytime. Apparently, they are building with cement because it’s cheaper, but it’s far more expensive to heat. While a cement house in the winter is much like walking into a fridge, a mud house is like any other unheated home (picture broke college student refusing to pay for heat, like me) it’s cold too.

There are three ways to heat. There are electric heaters, which are quite safe, but electricity is very expensive and they heat only within about three inches. Then there are butagaz heaters, which I haven’t seen in person, but I hear they are great except the whole blowing yourself up risk- Peace Corps strongly discourages this option for safety reasons. The last and most common is the inferno, essentially a basic furnace near the middle of the room, with a “chimney” through the roof. This provides decent heat to one small room, but while most of the smoke goes outside I’m still having some lung trouble. And wood is a bit expensive and only available in certain areas and at certain times of the year. I’ve also heard a lot of the wood comes from protected lands which I’m not okay with, especially after working at a land conservancy.

Windows aren’t common, especially big ones. I assume glass is expensive, but I’m not sure. I have no backup on this, but I would imagine it could also be a privacy and modesty issue. When you walk through old medina’s you can tell which quarters were Muslim and which were Jewish my whether the balconies faced inside or out. Now that I think about it it would probably be very shameful here, at least in a small village, to have windows people could easily see into. Much like a girl wearing a short skirt and a tank top- here that is seen as asking for trouble, does anyone else see the possible connection?

And then there’s my favorite floor of every building in Morocco - the roof. The roof is very much an underused resource in America (people really need to get going on more green roofs!), its rare here to have a building that doesn’t have roof access. And as long as its not windy it’s the best floor to be on! You get maximum sun exposure; great for drying clothes, corn, nuts, bread, clipping toenails, etc etc, or just daydreamin’ and warming your own little body up. Until my trusty ol’ grandpa comes up with another great invention I can implement, I plan on finding a mud house to rent, my village is old and rural so there are some left, and make it through the winter as best I can. I’ll also get a cat, maybe even/or a dog for my own personal bed heater and emotional balancer, and spending a good deal of time in bed during the winter. Is that enough to get you started?

And now, as promised - the work! Because of my weaving background, I have been assigned to work with a well established women’s weaving cooperative. It’s only a few years old but they had really good NGO funding for awhile and were given amazing looms and weaving supplies; shuttles (single and double), bobbin winders, a bobbin winding machine, a sewing machine, umbrella swifts, louet spinning wheels, tons of reeds, etc. from all over - Finland, Spain, the Netherlands, etc. I really don’t know much yet about the co-op’s history or how it’s all worked up until this point, but I will put in a word about charity, because it’s good and bad. Though the women had a lot of support from the NGO, a lot of the business knowledge wasn’t transferred, and without the NGO they’re a little lost and scared. Someone did come in and show the women how to use the new looms and they are very skilled, and from what I can tell know fairly well what the consumer wants. They make just about anything needed - bread cloths, jellaba fabric, capes, shawls, rugs, pillows, and on and on.

However, many of the extras they have been given are unused because they don’t know what they are or what to do with them. During my site visit I discovered four beautiful louet single pedal spinning wheels sitting dusty and unused in my host mothers shed. According to the volunteer I replaced, they’d been sitting there since they were donated. So I pulled one out and tried to teach my mom to spin - it ended up being really frustrating for her and she gave up quickly, but it’s something to work on. The women spin their own wool from local sheep with drop spindles sometimes, but only use it on their old wood and rope vertical looms at home - the looms at the co-op are only being used for fine yarns. The majority of the materials used at the co-op are synthetic and pre-dyed, because there’s not a lot of choices. And there’s a big problem with labeling here- most of the cones are unlabeled, wrong, or if I’m lucky just in French or Hindi or something I’ll just have to find someone to translate for me. I’d love to get some tencel up in here! So there’s a lot to do with product development, which I mainly see as changes in materials, not design. And of course how to use the modern equipment properly, they are really hard on the looms and the amount of broken threads would make my weaving teacher cry.

While I still don’t know what my work will turn out to be, for the moment I’m seeing it as something quieter than I thought before. I don’t have business skills, and haven’t yet asked them what they want from me, but I’d like to show them how important their work is in a world of mass production. Not to sound too much like the crazy artist I once was, but I’d like to see them in love with what they’re doing again. There’s a lot of fighting about money and materials, and when no one’s smiling I get the icky feeling I’m in a mini sweat shop. My host mom yells and beats the crap out of her loom at the co-op, and while she yells like a mad woman at home too, when she sits down at her vertical loom I sense an ease and comfort in her old way of weaving she doesn’t have on the fast looms. I think I was right when I said that I foresaw my greatest challenge and the one I hope to work on the most being the clash of times; how to preserve the old ways of working while bringing the people into the modern world.

There’s much work to be done here! But my two current and most important jobs are integration and language, both of which are proving more difficult than anything I could have imagined. I’m dying to weave with my artisans but can’t decide if it would be a really good or really bad way to integrate and define my working position with them. I have a great tutor for Tam and I mostly need to accept that I’m slow and keep trudging on regardless, and speak more, the damn shyness is really inhibiting. Integration is an even fuzzier area. It’s hard to get to know your community when you can’t communicate. One of the biggest Muslim holidays of the year is next Friday, l-Eid Al-Adha, which will include a lot of visiting and being visited so hopefully I start getting more tea invitations and some people more interested in helping the new village idiot.

So whats awesome about today? Talking on Skype with my mom, grandma, grandpa, Auntie Georgie and Uncle Lenny all at the same time, it was so great to hear their voices. And when I was chatting with just my mom we both have video cam and she decided to get up and take me around the house, showing me the huge black emu eggs due to hatch Jan 15, the kitchen I miss so much, waking my sister and her friend up to say hi (unsuccessful), her new outdoor office, hi to the dogs, and the wireless connection was lost on her way out to the peacocks and horses, but mashi mushkil, it was so great! You gotta love technology sometimes.

So whats not so awesome about today? As I bid my online farewells and walked over to the taxi stand to find a ride home, my host mom was suddenly at my side! Apparently I miss communicated, as usual, when I would be home and I guess she came to get me, I have no idea how long she’d been waiting and/or worrying, but she kicked a guy out of the next cab to our duwar so we could both fit, because if she didn’t get the American home before dark there’d really be hell to pay! Oh my, I felt like shit, on top of already feeling like I hadn’t been integrating well, I go an act like a runaway teen, or at least that’s what I felt like I’d done. But luckily there’s a magical way to make any Berber woman happy and that’s eating, and I think I replenished my status and showed my family I love them tonight by finally eating. That last post by the way was only the beginning of what turned out to be nearly three days of, I’ll spare you the gory details, but far worse tummy issues than I’ve ever had. As bad my pain however was that put upon my family at my refusal to eat. After four days of refusing food, and even, gasp, tea! They were really freaking out. About halfway through I managed to ask for a banana (I always crave bananas when I’m ill, luckily they’re bountiful and delicious here), anything beyond bananas and water made me nauseous. Within an hour there was a big black bag of bananas in my lap, needless to say I had five that day. Back to briana banana, haha. But tonight I managed to feel alright, and by some grace unknown dinner was essentially an oil free tajine- so weird! Which I ate aplenty, and of course a banana for dessert. My host mom and sister beamed with pride and relief as if I’d just gotten married (comparable to my family in America’s pride and relief as I graduated college J)

And then, since I can’t seem to post anything without talking about Ashley, I had homework. For practice, my tutor had me write a story in Tam about a past event. Wanting to make it useful I wrote about Ashley’s trip to Cali this summer as if I was explaining it to my family when I break out my little photo album. It was actually fun, nostalgic and sad, especially writing that my favorite part was just hanging out our last night and how much I miss her. Though I certainly can’t memorize it, it felt good to write something I feel in another language. A PCV who’s been here almost a year was telling me that while he can know a lot of vocabulary, and multiple languages (he knows a fair bit of French and Spanish too) part of what will always keep him with English is that there’s just no way to really express himself in another language. It seems so obvious when we really think about it though, for how can we really say what we mean in words we haven’t grown up with. You grow up with words just like people and experiences. Hmph. Much like dating someone with a different first language, which I tried twice, I hate to say it but it really does make it nearly impossible to feel like you’re really communicating. I just hope to internalize this language enough to be comfortable living here as a citizen for two years.

Ah it’s really been a pretty depressing week overall and maybe its cuz I had my first caffeine this afternoon in awhile, but I’m feeling a lot better tonight- physically and mentally, yay! And more refreshed, ready and wanting to work. Oh and happy holidays everyone, no matter what you’re celebrating, everyones got a holiday goin on sometime this month!

Also, fun fact for the night-

Time I’ve been at site: nearly 3 weeks

Times I’ve bathed: 2

i love packages

12 December

It is incredible how much I miss home being sick. Was in bed from 7pm yesterday to 2 pm today with extreme agony throughout my torso and a migraine in my head. I forgot I was in a cement room in Morocco and began picturing my mom coming home and the crackle of Vons shopping bags and her bringing me ginger ale, milk toast and talking to me like I was a baby. Oh and sick bear! Ha-ha, haven’t thought about that thing in years. Upon realizing where I actually was I half imagined, half wished I was sick at grandmas house and the way she would frantically be trying to make me better through cantaloupe or juice or some nasty vitamin concoction that would surely make me better, in fact, if I’d been taking all my vitamins in the first place I never would have gotten sick . . . though her efforts may have made me feel worse at times, there is so much love in her care and I miss that! And then I thought of being up at my dad’s and my little sisters giggling outside the door no matter how many times my stepmom told them not to wake me up, but seriously, by noon its really time to play! And my dad bringing me some ridiculously expensive starbucks drink I’d always insist I didn’t need, but so glad he got it cuz it’d be so good. Ah and then Ashley, and her crazy morning hair as I begged her up on Sunday mornings to watch George Stephanopolis. She’d eat leftover bowtie alfredo- our specialty, and I pass through 4 bowls of cereal and instead of going to studio we’d blow off the morning with movies and going over to-do lists. Wow how many worlds away that all seems! Sick or not, the transfer from my warm bed to my warm people is what I truly miss.

Ah, and the culprit of physical agony? My family insists it’s because I only wore one headscarf after the hamam the other day, not two, but it could be anything; could be the fact that 90% of my food diet is bread and 90% of my liquid diet is sugar, or the fish and kafta meatball tajine we had a couple days ago (fish is iffy here unless you live on the coast), or the questionable sandwich I had yesterday with the pink ketchup and partially uncooked egg, or the styrofoam my family decided to burn to get the inferno going last night, or the overall stress of this awkward beginning in my site and my general inability to adjust to moving from extreme cold indoors to hot sunshine outside. I wish there was a better way to put it but it truly is the cold land with the hot sun.

But despite this great ulcer of a night I’ve had I continue to love Morocco. (some days I mean that and some days I just say it, but either way- I love Morocco) The PCVs up here are great; a couple from my staj and a bunch of environment volunteers, which is what I always wanted to be! Environmental Studies ranks top of the list of things I’ve always wanted to do but fear I can’t. The class on Environmental Ethics and Policy struck me to the core and was my favorite class throughout all of college (which is funny, considering it was the only class I took outside my college) the clash of science and philosophy- my two worst subjects! I was talking to another PCV yesterday about what we wanted to do and after talking about my passion for environmental studies as well as fiber properties, perhaps there’s a place for me to do a study on fibers and material sustainability, something like that. Ha-ha, I’ve thought about that before, but I can’t even put a name to it yet. I think I’m in a good place to explore the idea as the focus of Peace Corps work is supposed to be sustainability and I’m near environment PCVs and the co-op I’m working with could certainly work with better fibers, hmmm it will all come together somehow. Two years is a long time and though as of right now going back to school is the last thing I want to do, I think I will want to sooner than I think. Weaving is my passion, but not my life’s work.

So then, after long mental ramblings with myself and the sickness finally drifting, I got myself out of bed and went to the post office, enjoyed the fresh air and the beautiful mountains and this tiny duwar I’m trying to call home and walla! A package from my mom and a package from Ashley, I can’t think of anything that could have brightened my day more other than their actual presence. Awesomely warm clothes and Reeses from my mom and my dear Ashley, among other things- a 13 page letter! I nearly cried reading it I was so happy. I then managed to get to the Co-op for the last couple hours of the day, and my dad called and I got to talk to my nana and my stepmom! Though last night was one of my worst yet in Morocco, today was one of the best. Except for three little Reeses I just enjoyed I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and haven’t even felt a tingle of hunger. Yikes. Hopefully my body’s health will catch up with my mind and things will balance out a bit by tomorrow. Still friggin freezing though.

my pee steams; that's how cold it is here

27 November

I’m wound up in my warm cocoon, consisting of my down sleeping bag, a heavy fleece blanket, a heavier faux wool blanket and a real hand-woven wool blanket that I swear weighs more than I do. Only my fingers are exposed to the freezing air because I want to write. Tonight is my first night in my new home, for good. First night away from any English speaker, the first night I am alone with myself and my thoughts since I left America. Quick recap- the LPI, Thanksgiving, swearing in, and beginning my life as a volunteer. . .

The LPI, or Language Proficiency Interview, is the oral exam we all take at the end of training, pretty self-explanatory. Bring together the fact that I am terrible test taker, a slow learner and have allowed the stress of this entirely new planet I’ve landed on as somewhat of an excuse for me to not put in 100% and you get my current level of language skill. I was one of the very few to score so low on my LPI that I am now on what feels like a kind of academic probation. But don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds, and in a way I am thankful for the extra push. What is important is that I want to learn the language and I’m in this for the full term. I also no longer have any distractions or excuses - no one in my town speaks English so when I need something I have to find a way to tell them myself.

On Thanksgiving the YDers and a few SBDers and the kitchen staff prepared and unbelievably wonderful and accurate meal, which made the holiday even sadder for me; I was tasting thanksgiving but not seeing family. Everyone says the holidays are hard when you’re away and I never wanted to believe it but it’s painfully true. It was also hard because Thanksgiving is one of the most important holidays in my family as a great excuse for a reunion and taking over half a park in Los Angeles. I’m so glad I went home last year or I’d be going on five years away. On top of that, I walked by a black Ford Focus while wandering around Fes that day and it made me miss Ashley all the more as the other three of my past four Thanksgivings were spent with her- once with our favorite college professors, once by ourselves (well, almost), and once up in Wisconsin with her grand family.

A couple days of more lectures and last minute treats like McDonalds passed and then training was over! As of yesterday I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer, sworn in with my staj of 67- the largest ever for Morocco and the first in I don’t know how long to have no one leave yet. Mbruk! Congrats! Overall, Fes was hectic and not the city I'd pictured, Ouarzazate and the “dirty south” will always be dear to my heart as my first home in Morocco. And then we all left, in staggered goodbyes, to do what we came here to do? . . .

I found myself more okay with leaving Peace Corps Training as the forth taxi I took on the relatively short route to my site wound up the mountains. Sandwiched between the rickety door and the other four people sharing the back seat with me, I somehow had 40 minutes of real peace. As the window grew colder and the mountains turned white and grew bigger, I felt comforted. Mountains are always home to me. There is something so beautiful and unattainable about a great mountain; the same moment I feel protected by its presence, I feel afraid of its power. It is such great mass of something and reminds me of a figure in childhood I can’t quite place. And then the taxi ride was over and now I’m here, at home.

Though it was an alright day overall, this evening I received some very unwelcome news and with no one to vent to, and really not wanting to think at all, I began reading. I have no idea when the last time was that I picked up a book and just read for the hell of it, but it’s been at least a year. Reading is so wonderful. My good friend here told me I had to read Eat, Pray, Love and it’s the only book I have, so to take my mind off all the many worries tormenting me, I began reading. What weight can be lifted from such light tasks! Ah, and you know when you put on some music just to take your mind off of things, then hear the lyrics and wonder how the hell you could pick something so randomly and have it say exactly what you need to hear? Well that’s what Eat, Pray, Love did for me tonight dammit! It was inspiring, reassuring and allowed my mind to fall back into place and being sensible. The hardest thing about reading enjoyable writing is that it breaks open again and again my deep desire to be a writer. Though I love to write, I hate to make sense and writing is just about the most frustrating and worrisome process in the world for me. Much like dancing and stand-up comedy and teaching; I love these things but I’m just not made for them. I will find a passion I’m good for, inshallah.

So what’s the consensus in this moment of calm after two and a half months of whirlwind? That I’m only myself... as often as I’d like to think I’m different or growing into another person, and for my time in the Peace Corps I’ve certainly tried; really I’m just the same. And being better at that is really what I’d like to grow towards, not away from. How funny we all are; sorry but I just crack myself up sometimes when my minds on a rampage of thought. After years of withholding, I tried some indulgence, and am settling back into something more like me. I know my instincts are right, the difficulty now is remembering to follow them. In a nutshell, don’t you hate it when you have to tell yourself “I told you so!” In moments of revelation I feel I begin to sound more like my mom (the one who gave me the name Briana, not my adoptive Moroccan mother). Though I often fight it because her beliefs are frustratingly intangible and ever-changing, they always come from the heart, which is often why it is so painful. And I miss her like a bricks been thrown at my chest tonight, but I’ll be fine, because I can already hear her voice saying, so annoyingly, “its okay bri, the universe is with you.”

It is now nearly 2am and I have a big day tomorrow of getting to know the artisans, with my limited language, attempting to find my mom’s package of warm clothes, finding a tutor . . . oh I’ve got a to-do list going now that puts even those during finals week in college to shame. I have a lot to do, but I have time to do it. I’m going to be tired tomorrow, but when your head needs to be cleared, there’s no stopping it. Tonight I miss my mom, maybe instead of nightmares about random things, I’ll go horseback riding with her in my dreams, actually I bet that’s what she’s doing this very moment.

28 November

Okay I admit it, I’m avoiding. Not that anything bad is going on, besides my lack of any communication, I just can’t stop reading. Twenty four hours after I picked up the book and began, I am now 147 pages in, oops. But it’s a good book and I’ve been overwhelmed and quite helpless. After working on my to-do list (and by working on I mean perfecting and adding to the list, not actually accomplishing the tasks on it, as usual) and being embarrassed by sitting there like a dumb rock while my family wonders why I can’t talk, I dove into my book. Speaking of rocks, that’s also the way I feel right now- stone. It has only been one day and I am cold to the bone. It burns it’s so cold. I just haven’t found the little ways to get warm, and I’ve never lived in constant cold before. Don’t worry and think I’m gonna die of cold; it’s just a strange thing to deal with. It makes me not want to do anything, particularly the daily unavoidable tasks like going to the bathroom, washing your hands, brushing your teeth, changing clothes, moving around. Eek. And somehow no matter how many layers I have on, my body doesn’t seem to want to heat them up. For a moment I’m fantasizing that I have fur, and am jealous of sheep. Or maybe if I rub hot peppers on my skin it will burn me warm. I think part of my brain may have frozen too.

Ah and while I had a rare night without nightmares and though I didn’t dream of horseback riding, I did dream of weaving (I couldn’t find the shed even though it was only plain weave!), an old high school friend I haven’t thought of in a long time and feeling beautiful. Odd but refreshing dreams. Suppose the elevation could be getting to me too, I’m nearly even with Denver.

29 November

Since I haven’t been able to post this yet, I may as well keep adding on! Cultural fun for the night: food. In America I might enjoy oatmeal with cinnamon, sugar and raisins for breakfast and maybe some pasta with butter and salt for dinner. In Morocco I may be served oatmeal with salt for breakfast and pasta with raisins, sugar and cinnamon for dinner. Food for thought?

I will talk about the cooperative; ya know like, my job, soon, I just don’t wanna quite yet. And I’ll have more pics up on my picasa site once I gather them from other volunteers. Here's one from swearing in, look out-fresh volunteers!

Alright, alright!

The pictures are up now! The link on the right that says Bri’s Pictures now actually has pics, but only up to about two weeks ago. I’m currently in bed typing under many layers of heavy hand-woven wool covers for I am on a site visit of the place where I will be living and working for the coming two years, listening to my music and oh so content for the moment. If you need my actual city and address you’ll have to contact me directly. All I can say is that I’m in Boulemane Province, high in the mountains, in a bity village but thankfully not too far from the usual comforts. It’s VERY cold here, as many of us say, a cold you can’t escape, if anything it only gets worse when you come home. Oddly enough the preferred home is mud rather than cement for its sooo much warmer. I’m not gonna get into the work cuz I haven’t really started and I’m trying not to form any strong opinions about it yet. But I will say I’m obviously working with weavers, an incredible co-op. I miss my family in my CBT site so much and it was hard when I got here to imagine accepting yet another mother, but I can’t help it, I love my new family as well. And they’re so different I don’t have to compare them. I live with my mother, her daughter in law and her two ADORABLE kids, a year old boy and a four year old girl, they’re irresistible. I’m actually replacing another volunteer who’s COSing (close of service) as I swear in. She’s lived with the host family her whole service. There’s so much more I wanted to write but it will have to be later, I’m exhausted. But my Skype and other messengers work now and the cyber is relatively close to my site, so once I atually move here at the end of the month we can all talk for free once a week, inshallah.

Catchin up

Wow, I’ve only been in Morocco for just over a month- it feels so much longer. Despite what you may have feared, I am alive and well! Sorry for taking so long catching you all up, but it has been a whirlwind here. I was having a hard time figuring out what to call this post, as it will be so horrendously long, so I will divvy it up into short-ish chapters. If one sounds interesting, read it, ya don’t have to suffer through the whole thing. Aw, and before I forget, I do have a cell phone now, so if you want to call me e-mail me, or for a more prompt response, my mom for the number. When I get to my final site hopefully I’ll have more time online. It’s not working right now, but hopefully I’ll have a bunch of pictures up soon, http://picasaweb.google.com/brianagodfrey/ (the link is also on the right)

Bri became a Berber (who knew?)

Some things Peace Corps loves: acronyms, handouts, PowerPoint lectures, and shots. I’ve had 11 shots so far, sat through countless lectures on everything from diarrhea to Moroccan economy, and have more books on health and PC policies than I can count. Without delving into an entire explanation of PCT (Peace Corps Training), I will briefly explain what’s going on so you’ll know where I am and why. PCT is three months long, designed to prepare us for two years of successful service. So us 38 SBD (Small Business Development) PCTs were split up into groups of five or six and are sent to CBT (Community Based Training) sites within two hours of Ouarzazate for short stints with an LCF (a Moroccan Language and Culture Facilitator) for language, culture and technical training. Meaning, half the day is spent learning the language, half working with the artisan association in the village and seeing how we can work with them, then the evening and night we spend with separate host families- which is the real training. So on September 21 I was told I would be learning Tamazight and living in a small Berber village named Hdida, and that was it.

Neddia

Two hours away from Ouarzazate, which was already beginning to feel like home, I was in another world. I never thought to take the term “oasis” so literally, but wow, absolute nothingness to lush, green wonderland in the blink of an eye. Hdida is a beautiful little village of about two hundred, nestled between the mountains and along a beautiful asif (river). Don’t try and find it on the map, it’s too small to be on there, but is very close to Kelaa Mgouna. I should also mention that “Berber” is often a derogatory term, the real term is Amazigh (singular) or Imazighen (plural), so I’ll try and use that from now on. So we went from 38 Americans, to five, to one; after only a couple hours in Hdida and a very short Tamazight lesson, our new families arrived to pick us up- eek! I was shaking. They immediately gave us all Amazigh names, sorry mom, my new name is Neddia. I don’t know what it means, and I love my real name, but it’s kind of neat to answer to something else. My family is wonderful; though we are somehow related to everyone in the town, there are four who I live with consistently. Mma Aicha, my host mom, is what I see as a quintessential Amazigh woman-quick, loud and strong. She has the traditional tattoos on her chin and can carry more feed on her back than the two years worth of luggage I packed with me. She has one daughter still living with her, who is the same age as me, she’s very sweet, if not overwhelmingly loving that I am here. Then two of mma Aicha’s grandkids, from her daughter (who just gave birth to another boy last week!) down the street live with us too, they are two of the cutest boys I have ever known. One has rhythm like you wouldn’t believe and I keep picturing someone coming into town and “discovering” him, making him famous and then he’ll tell his story on VH1 about growing up in this unknown little village in Africa. Aw, we’ll see.

Don’t let the bed bugs bite

One of my fellow PCTs pointed out that he never thought that saying could be meant literally, but it’s true! It’s a wild world here! I don’t have a bed, but do have an infinite number of big wool blankets, and nightly critters. I managed to seal off my window, so at least my room is now fly-free, unlike everywhere else. But I do have mealworm looking things and big ants, which if I don’t manage to squash before they reach the bamboo ceiling, they get tired and fall onto my bed during the night. There are also feral moths, giant beetles and scorpions (though I’ve only seen one, and it was dead). So don’t be scared, though I’m covered in little mosquito bites, overall it’s not so bad. Because of the asif, there’s also a great abundance in Hdida of frogs, toads and geckos, which I love cuz they eat the other little pests.

Tsh tsh! (Eat! Eat!)

Food is of course on everyones mind, for I know none of you had faith that little Mac n Cheese Bri would ever survive here, wrong! I’m actually doing fine so far. Food is one of the top ways in which you will find cultural integration, as it is a huge part of the culture here. Refusing food is like a slap in the face. As one of my friends experienced, he had food in his mouth, food in his hand ready to put in his mouth and his family was still yelling at him eat, eat! What do you want from me?! Haha. I haven’t been forced to eat too crazy of foods yet though, for Ramadan only just ended (more on that later). Sugar is what’s an issue, I love atay (tea), but it’s more like sugar with a little mint and water in it, same with la qwa (coffee). The sugar actually comes in cone shaped blocks, which they hit with a hammer and put as many chunks as will fit into the bitty teapot. I think I will just tough it out during training, and return to my comfort level of foods when I have my own place. However, I must say, Moroccan produce, veggies and nuts kick the ass of any I’ve ever had. It is incredible here. I didn’t know fruit could taste any better, but it’s ten times better here. I’ve tried so many new fruits, and squash, even figs (though I don’t like them). And I’m so sorry Ashley, but it is absolute pomegranate heaven here! Oh and the nuts! Me oh my, fresh off the tree, almonds and walnuts are to die for. Lmakla tatfut! (the food is delicious!)

Ass backwards

What comes in must come out! Part of the PC experience is sharing information with each other that you would never have shared within your normal realm. Bodily functions and issues rank top of the list, next to where to get good cyber or a cold coke. I have been fortunate enough, though I say this quietly, to not have had any big illness or issues as of yet, but the lbit lma (toilet) is an eerie experience on a good day. We are blessed to have sit-down toilets in our hotel in Ouarzazate, but nearly everywhere else you find the turk, or the squatter, whatever you want to call it. The Turkish toilet is basically a hole with two steps on either side, very simple design, for a simple purpose. Not so simple of course for the leisurely westerner used to the grand sit down toilet. If you want to stay limber in your old age, get a turk! So in all honesty, it has been a challenge, but the other day my CBT mates and I had the most exciting bathroom experiences ever, as one girl found out that we were simply all doing it backwards! (the things PCVs get excited over are relative) haha, so the turk is getting better. And to go even further into what I’m sure none of you want to know, I must share with the ladies how exceptionally wonderful the Divacup is, and the only way I think I could handle that lovely monthly friend here. If you don’t have one, get it, use it, love it. www.lunapads.com Ah, and other hygiene issues. Well I pretty much don’t shower in Hdida; the bucket shower in the lbit lma is something I’m still not understanding, I’ll update more on that another time.

Language and Laughter

I am trying to keep posts on the brighter side, for life here over all is positive, but I don’t deny it’s already the hardest job I’ve ever had. It’s incredible the swings I’ve been in, like puberty all over again! Learning Tam has been the most challenging aspect so far, it’s just not sinking in! Generally, if I can remember or understand a phrase or two a day I feel some level of success. It’s hard because Tam isn’t a test I have to study for and then I can forget it, learning Tam is a huge portion of my job here. I feel bad when I get home from class, exhausted and don’t even want to try to practice with my family. Everyone wants to talk to you all the time, and it’s a universal mistake everyone makes; if I don’t get it, raise your voice while saying it over and over, and then maybe I will, ugh. Ultimately it takes the age old patience, practice and time. However, I LOVE script. I’m slow, and it’s difficult, but I actually get it and enjoy it, so days that end in script lessons are the best days! But laughter has been my true savior. Laughter is a universal language, past the awkward, I don’t understand you, but you’re laughing so I’ll laugh, that is. I don’t consider myself a particularly funny person, but I made a great joke the other day with my host sister and we laughed for a good half hour- it was exceptional bonding. I also introduced my family to Pop Rocks, which was a huge hit and prompted another half hour of laughter.

Ah, and then its back to Ouarzazate, and another kind of laughter, like being home, the laughs and smiles I have with my fellow PCTs. I knew it would happen, but am still surprising myself to find such great people here, and loving America and Americans again. It was very intimidating at first to hear about all the great things people have already done, but here, were all just regular people trying to find a place and do the work. I haven’t laughed like this since Ashley and it feels good and refreshing. I really do hope the Peace Corps will be one of the great experiences of my life. Looking back on college and still feeling like had I known what it was going to be I may not have done it is not a good feeling. Whether the Peace Corps presents me with the opportunity or I have to seek it pout myself, I hope that I am mature and intelligent enough to take it on fully and look back with pride. No matter what, this experience will inform what happens next. I honestly have no idea what I want to do next/for life. What still freaks me out is being where I’ve always planned to be, I don’t have a plan for after. My job is to be here now. I actually think I’m doing a better job of it than I had expected. There’s no longer time for living up to things, just living now. I was afraid I’d get here and be ultimate serious, no smile face like I used to be, but I’m actually enjoying myself- which as we all know makes the work so much better!

I’m not missing too terribly yet, but of course my family is always on my mind, and not being able to share my daily life/ ins and outs with Ashley is still hard, I miss her so much! I’ve also got a mad craving for mac n cheese- the best comfort food, peanut butter, Swedish pancakes, etc. But all in all, life is good, and I’m happy to be here. I have to say again, I love and miss you all very much, wish I could hear your voices, see your lovely faces and give you big hugs!

P.S. ugh, I wrote this a few days ago and need to catch you all up on l-Eid, not being allowed to dance and my first trip to the hammam, but I’m too tired, and need to go get dinner, now that I’ve finally figured out how to get my comp to work (p.s. Vista sucks!) I will hopefully be online more regularly. I still can’t get my Skype to work, but will be in cell range for the next 3 days if ya wanna call me!