got lost on the information super highway…

Now I have no freaking clue what the heck twitter is but I feel pretty dang special to have recently become a podcast fanatic. Not having a TV and never picking up anything in English on my shortwave radio I've been out of the loop for some time. But a few months ago, due to far too much time spent in bed to keep warm, and a new ipod gadget from family I finally started getting into podcasts, and I'm obsessed. It's not like I read the newspaper everyday in the states, but there's a danger in being uninformed, so I'm catching up. Ashley and I had a nice ritual of watching This Week with George Stephanopoulos on one of two stations we picked up on Sunday mornings (so long as our Saturday night hadn't gotten too crazy, though George's cute little smile was always a great cure for a hangover, even if it was the only productive thing we'd do on a Sunday).

Anyhow, that and Obama's Weekly Address are the only video podcasts I take time to load, and they take FOREVER. This weeks This Week, on April 19^th was alright, but I laughed out loud and complained to my cat about John Beohner's asinine answers, or lack thereof really. I fully admit I don't have a real opinion on what is being done to combat the various current crises because I'm certainly not well enough informed. But to say the issue of too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is laughable as a contributor to climate change? Ugh, it was too ignorant to stomach.

But anyway, the point is, though I am mighty integrated into bled life here, I'm keeping well informed about your alls whereabouts and issues too. Much of it gives me a headache, but ignorance is not bliss, so I keep downloading. My favorites, for anyone with some time to hear some great stuff are: the hilarious How Stuff Works guys, Radio Lab which is just too awesome to be free and yet it is, This American Life of course, Green Festivals Radio whose interviews I don't like so much, but the speeches are awesome, particularly Van Jones and Deepak Chopra, there are some good interviews on GreenLivingIdeas.com's GreenTalk Radio, the recent ones with Sam Bozzo on his film Blue Gold: World Water Wars were amazing. I also get plenty of PRI including The World: Science, Living on Earth, To the Best of Our Knowledge, and NPR's News Summary, Fresh Air, On Health and On Science. I also download The Onion sometimes and am trying out some new agriculture news and BBC podcasts. I feel overwhelmed trying to keep up with these and then I think of how much time most Americans spend watching TV, and it's really not so bad. At least I'm getting educated while being entertained. Let me know what other podcasts you consider necessities!

Barcelona to Berlin; a summary of my eurotrip

I guess I need to remark on my trip before continuing on about life back in Morocco eh? Quick summary-it was wonderful. And now for the long-winded account…

I arrived in Girona, Spain and met up with a wonderful Slovak girl named Veronika studying at the university there for my first time couch surfing (I’d hosted, but never been hosted). It was a bit late, but she still made an awesome meal including her grandfather’s own homemade sausage, and was actually delighted to share them with someone since her Spanish friends weren’t fans of those types of meats. She thought it was hilarious how excited I was to see cheese and was very generous with it. The next morning she showed me around the medieval city a bit and up the ancient wall and to her university before I caught a train to Barcelona.

Barcelona was overwhelming the moment I arrived. I felt the usual travel nervousness and anxious confusion set in a bit. I called my next host and found out how to get to his house. Being the loon I often am I didn’t know how to make the doors open and so missed the metro stop, ugh. Luckily the stops aren’t far from one another and I managed to open the doors at the next stop and eventually found my way to his house. After greeting and taking a breath he had to continue to work and I set out to explore Barcelona. Annoyed with the metro already, and the expense, I decided to walk back to the center. It was a long walk but well worth it as I don’t feel like I know where I am unless I’ve gotten there by foot.

Finally alone, I was fully aware of all the weirdness. Or really, all that was normal in America, but had been absent from my life this past year and a half. The women are smoking! They have crazy high heels and fancy fancy clothes and free flowing hair and all kinds of skin showing. Dogs are on leashes and look like they’ve bathed more recently than me! Everything is clean. No one is staring at me, and even better, no one is yelling at me. In fact, I would describe this later as my favorite part of Europe. In Morocco I associate cities with higher levels of verbal abuse. Really you can learn to tolerate anything, and I have, but man it was nice to walk down the street and not be on the defense, it was so pleasantly quiet in this way.

The first place of business I walked into was a supermarket and I stared at the packaged food as if I’d never seen it before. I stood in front of sliced bread longer than should be allowed. Oh wait, now they are staring, not at my dumbfounded-first-time-in-a-supermarket expression, but at my hands. The Tuesday before I left was the Prophet’s birthday and I got the Berber smear (henna is most known as being done in elaborate and beautiful line designs on the hands, but the Amazigh tradition is to have one big swipe on your palm, as if you were going to make handprints on a wall, and to paint on and around the nails as well. I love this style now far more than the patterns) so my hands and nails were rust red. I suppose if I hadn’t been living in Morocco and saw a person with deep red hands I might wonder and worry too. A couple people asked if I was okay, and another even asked if it was blood.

Passing all the big famous and fancy shops I couldn’t even afford to look at, I walked all the way down to the harbor to sit at the sea. It was the third country I had the fortune of seeing the Mediterranean from. Despite the swirl of languages and people and loudness of a city surrounding, and the cluttered harbor before me, I still fell immediately under the spell of the ocean. Every time I come back to it after far too long gone I have to sit quietly for some time to take it all in again. The vastness of it always puts me into a trance of reflection, about the worlds immensity, my tininess, and how it all works together. At that moment I felt excited for the future; for the long term as well as for the next couple weeks on this new land. And a few deep breaths later I got up and started walking back.

I returned to Eduard’s house that evening and we went out for tapas. He told me where they came from me and which were the best. I had my first beer in Spain, the cheapest and national beer, and it was glorious. I told him how to say a couple odd things in Tam and talked some about my experience. There was no way to convey just how odd it felt to be there. Outside, drinking beer with a platonic male friend, at night, trying my best to know that wasn’t hashuma here; everything I’d come to know was worlds away. He streamed the Colbert Report on his fancy big screen and I laughed my head off and felt even closer to one home, further from another home, and all while actually being somewhere I’d never been before. I slept on the finest couch ever and left the next morning to explore the city some more before Danielle and her friends would arrive.

I met them at the hostel, and they were all great! Seeing Danielle was so wonderful, I miss everyone so much and I felt the comfort of my entire family in our greeting. She and her friends had all left immediately after finals so of course none had slept in a couple weeks or so. We all rested a bit and then went out to dinner. I felt like a plastic 7-11 cup among wine glasses, the place was so fancy. But luckily it was delicious and not obnoxiously expensive. We took our sweet time eating and chatting, wandered the city a bit then suddenly it was well after midnight and we stumbled upon a good looking club. Of course, in my sad attempt to look nice I'd worn my “new” heels (bought for 20dirham a couple days before at used souq) and not surprisingly both soles were coming off and laughing at me as I walked. So, rather than turn lame and still hoarding my money, myself and a couple others turned back to the comfy hostel.

Before continuing on about my lovely trip, I must say Barcelona is a very different place after hours. Drunkads amuck, men selling beers singly off a six-pack, and the women. I know more than I'd like about the culture of prostitution in Morocco, but it was a whole new kind of openness in Barcelona. It’s a part of humanity I just cant swallow or attempt to deal with in any way, so I walk past and comment to my friends on how sad it is, and that’s the extent of my involvement. We can’t fight in every battle, and I really hate that sometimes.

The next few days were a blur of wonderful sightseeing, unending foot pain, delicious food, and getting to know five awesome new people. Then we picked up a rental car and planned to drive to Figueres to see the Dali museum, and then dip our feet in France and do some wine tasting. Bright and early that morning though, Danielle's friend Tim and I decided to go down to the beach before leaving Barcelona. We went on the other side of the harbor so we could actually get our feet in some sand and seawater! After collecting some shells and sea glass the crazy swimmer actually jumped in. I am never the one to not get in, no matter how cold, but I hadn’t brought a swim suit, nor very many changes of clothes so I actually had to resist. And ya, it was freezing. After that lovely little adventure we headed back to the hostel and the sleepy eyes of the rest of the group and soon headed north. Unfortunately our Dali plans were not to be. Turns out that very day the prime minister of Spain was visiting the museum and it was not open to the public. Darn it! So plans change. Our dip in France was unplanned and had some odd decision making moments but we made it to Carcassonne, the incredible medival city within a castle, and one lovely little winery before I had to turn back to Spain and they continued on.

I rode the train back to Girona to meet up with Natalie, and it was the most beautiful train ride of my life. It went along the coast and in and out of breathtaking coves, oh and it happened to be sunset. So that was wonderful. Natalie and I found one another at the station, I squealed a few too long held in words in Tam and we were relieved to see we both had the berber smear. We wandered for the afternoon and then met up with our very last minute couch surfing savior of a host, Shanti. We had dinner with him and his wonderful friends, Kristina and Alfredo (who offered to host us on our way back through). Shanti had been to Morocco and was very interested in the Amazigh culture and much of our experience there, and we learned a lot about Catalan culture in Spain. Then we all went to a great, crowded bar with live music, all of which was in Catalan and Spanish, so I didn’t understand, but I've grown quite used to not understanding so I didn’t care and it all sounded good. After a couple hours of sleep we left super early the next morning for the airport onto Germany!

I have a lot to say about how much I dislike Ryan Air and particularly Frankfurt airport, but will just sum it up as an experience that cost me way more than it was supposed to due to an unannounced policy change, and Frankfurt stole my beloved pesto (and yet let my razor through? What the hell!?). Anyhow, I'm thankful for getting to my destination. Berlin was incredible. If I was as lost as I was six months ago, Berlin would definitely be a place I might look to for some time and answers. And I love German. Maybe its just that its not English or Arabic or Tam so it sounds lovely to me, but I really think everyone was wrong who ever said it was an ugly language.

Anyhow, Natalie and I met up and stayed with her friend Ruth, who is currently studying abroad there. She was awesome and hilarious and full of smiles and I'm so very grateful to her for being such a great host and tour guide! It was funny actually that first night we went to the infamous hole in the wall, or middle of the street rather, Burgermeister for delicious, and way long overdue burgers and German beer. Chatting as we stuffed our faces, I found out she’s from Ventura as well! She went to Buena (lame, ha) and we even have a close mutual friend, small world.

The next day happened to be beautiful and we had a whirlwind tour of everything-from Reichtag, to a memorial, the wall, I'm beating myself up for not writing it all down as we went, but I have pictures! The weather was lovely and in order to see it all we didn’t go in any museums. The wall was one of my favorite places, its now also called the East Side Gallery, referring to the art on the wall. The whole length of whats left of it is covered in all languages and colors and politics going on throughout the world.

Another great thing about being hosted by someone living there is they take you to all the best places to eat, we had the best doner ever! Also known as shwarma. Later we went to, haha, an American bar and met up with some of her school friends and some Germans and had a very late night (and one of the worst but most memorable shots of my life!)

Along with many other great sights the next day we went to a Bauhaus Museum, which was pretty cool. My college, KCAI, uses the Bauhaus as a model for the freshman year. We often called it art boot camp, but they righty called it Foundations; you’re pretty much thrown into every aspect of the field possible, made to fall apart over and over again, and see what happens when you get up. I don’t really remember much, I didn’t sleep that entire year. Anyhow, the museum was alright, I of course was disappointed by their itty bitty textiles section, but what's new? I had the great fortune of having broccoli pizza and the best pesto of my life (I know, not exactly German cuisine, but I had some needs to fulfill!) and we saw the reconstructed temple and went to a crazy squatters place. Many places we went to were recommended to me by Annika, a girl from Berlin who I hosted from couchsurfing recently. She told us about a place called The Teahouse Project, part of Volxkuche, which translates as the kitchen for the people and we went, and of course, it was amazing.

The next morning we went to the flea market and then had the most amazing brunch of my life! A very crowded little place with all the kinds of people you want to spend hours getting to know. It was all vegan and all delicious, and you decide how much you can pay. The setting is so that you meet people and one guy we sat with was working on a sustainable energy project I really want to look into, but I'll write more on that later.

And for our last night, of the very short trip, we had the most wonderful, but most un-german Vietnamese dinner. I'll admit I've actually never had Vietnamese, but I am surely a fan. Though I have witnesses that can attest that my head popped off a number of times for I am a true weakling when it comes to spicy. In our short time back in Spain we made it to Figueres to finally see the famous Museu Dali. It was overwhelming and unexplainable. All I can say is I am now a big fan. We went back to Girona and spent the night at wonderful Kristina and Alfredo's house and set out bright and early the next morning. Oh and I forgot to mention that I was terribly sick by this point. Due to my cheapness, when I met up with Natalie that first day I drank from her water bottle, knowing full well that she was terribly sick. But I was being cheap and I was thirsty, so a few days lalter when I got an awful cold I only had myself to blame. And I gotta tell you, three flights while you're really congested=blinding ear pain.

I did have an amazing time, but I felt by the end of the trip as I thought I might. I didn't have any crazy new revelations about life and all the places I'd rather be, in fact it was really comforting to know now that I am not a traveler. All the moving, all the unknowns, all the confusion, it's not really all that fun to me anymore. It was a wonderful little trip with amazing people and places, but I can say for certain now the real adventure I'm yearning for is my future, inshallah, in farming.

What I didn't expect was just how freaking much I loved Morocco. I had started missing Morocco the moment I left; as I took the various cabs further and further from my site I tried to picture it was the last time I'd see the mountains, and the donkeys, and the sheep, etc., etc. What an awful little game to play on myself! And I'm terrified now of how hard leaving it for good will really be. My first meal back was a simple and cheap bowl of pizara and a coke and it warmed me and brought me back home in ways I never expected. I even had some awful cat calls in Fes, which reminded me of exactly why I am here, to see the Morocco beneath the big cities. I am so amazed by how much I have fallen for this country and in ways no one can ever fully understand.

Being back is good, but also the same. Same in the way that I'm not fulfilled by the work I'm doing, disappointed by how little I know or try at the language, but most of all just how much I love it here but will never be able to express that to them fully. I have grown in incalculable ways, but haven't found a way to give back in any meaningful manner. So, we’ll see. I have just over 7 months left, my goodness, its like nothing!

Oh and even though I'm not a huge traveler anymore, I'm really excited about the trip, inshallah, this June to Ieland with my dad, stepmom and sisters. I started reading about Ireland, oops, and it sounds like a glorious country. I can't wait to see you all!

sorry!

sorry! yes i'm back and safe and happy and all that and the trip was awesome, but ill have to post about it later, im off to couscous, but i did update the other blog. so go eat something and check back again later!
love ya all!

leavin, on a jet plane

A very short jet plane that is, but my destination will feel like worlds away! I am off to Spain tomorrow afternoon, gonna have an AMAZING time and will be back in a couple weeks! Peace out Morocco! I love you dearly but Im takin a few days off.

Birthdays

March is a month of birthdays. A couple aunts, some cousins, and my brother (who's turning 18, congrats!) all have birthdays this month. My baby boy Buggid was also born sometime in the first couple weeks of March so he is now 1! I can't even begin to express how much I love this stinkin cat. Anyhow, today is also a big Muslim holiday, Eid Al Mouloud, where we celebrate the birth of the prophet. This holiday resonates with me a bit differently than most, for last year on this holiday I kinda got attacked by a pack of dogs. So this morning I walked the other direction, the safe direction, 6k to souq, and reflected on how much has changed since this holiday last year. Lhamdullah I was not attacked by dogs today, but the walk was lovely-a rare gorgeous day, though winter is still far from over. Today I was abundantly grateful for the sun, my eyesight and this country. I am overwhelmed by how much this country has influenced me, and for the better I hope.

4 days until Europe…

Boon for the Belly – my new blog!

I’ve been meaning to start a recipe blog for some time now, and finally did! After an awful long introduction all future posts will be strictly recipes, pictures and short anecdotes. I’ll only have time to put a couple up before my trip, but there are plenty more to come I assure you. Please check it out, eat happy and let me know what you think! Click here- Boon for the Belly

premature culture shock

I leave Morocco one week from today. So I’m kinda freaking out. Not really freaking out, just really nervous about my trip. Not like I didn’t know already, but I’ve taken a new look at myself and my clothes and realize I’m nowhere near appropriate for clubbin’ and going out and having fun and whatnot. My cousin gets into Barcelona a couple days after me so no one I know will be able to see the dumbfounded first look on my face as I enter the vastly different culture and landscape of Spain. Chatting online the other day she said the night she gets in her and I and others “should all go out dancing, won’t that be great after over a year of covering up?” Ha, well ya! But also, what!? I’ve never been the clubbin’ or dancing in public type, though it seems like a lot of fun. In the states I knew how to get myself ready for a night out and done up enough to not feel like a complete idiot, but wow it’s been so long. Kohl is the extent of my make-up collection.

Even if it’s not welcome or easy, it’s incredible how quickly we adapt. I took a shower for the first time Tuesday since before Christmas (I’ve been hamaming instead, which is way better anyhow, and I’ll write a post about it soon) and realized I didn’t even know what to do. It’s been a solid cold winter; on average I wear three pairs of pants, wool socks, uggs, five wool sweaters and my jellaba or coat-all at the same time. Oh and a scarf or two. So I’ve been a blimp since October or so.

I’m fine with being blimpy and not having a care in the world about how I look, forgetting fashion and treating clothes as only what they are-utilitarian. However, the lack of exercise, accompanied by my fabulous cooking, and the curse of elastic, the changing of my bodies shape could sneak by relatively unnoticed. I noticed of course, but when I tried on my least raggedy pair of jeans the other day and had to hold my breath to zip them up, I realized confidence and dancing would not be my forte this trip. Eek. I know everyone feels a little funky about their bodies, and I’m generally ok, and don’t try to be something I’m not. But to lose what I had completely! Anyhow, it’s a bit scary.

I’m also nowhere near ready for Europe mentally, and simple social interaction. I have a painfully awkward demeanor in general, always have, but it’s so much worse now! Not only am I not capable of having discussions that aren’t in some way related to Peace Corps, Morocco, bodily functions and malfunctions, language, missing, and food, but my general habits around men and women are wildly different now. I haven’t lost my American culture, but the Moroccan culture I’ve acquired sits heavily on it. What the hell am I going to do if I get hit on? Call the gendarmes?

I guess we’ll just wait and see; whether I’m going to run home to my bled village and the comforts of hot sugary tea and bread, and my life as a cat lady, or if I will wake up, remember myself in America and feel rejuvenated and refreshed by a new place and culture. I’ve never stayed in one place this long before, most Americans don’t. Since moving around a lot when I was a kid, then later flying back and forth between different states for family and college, I was often on the go. I’ve stayed in the same country for a year and a half now, the same village for 15 of those months. I’ll only be gone a couple weeks, but I feel like it will be worlds away. At least my excitement equals my nervousness, I think, but goodness the dirham-euro exchange rate is seriously depressing.

The plan has changed slightly, and any new tips or info are greatly appreciated. I’m still going to Barcelona with Danielle, then maybe going near the border of France, possibly traveling with her friends. (Funny bit I have to share, when chatting another day she said some of her friends may be going to Spain for spring break as well and asked if I’d like to go around with them-she’s at Harvard Med School by the way-and I said of course, but beware since I’ve become so ridiculously socially awkward by now, and she said, “bri, they’re med students, they know awkward.” Haha, but really, what am I gonna say to a Harvard Med Student?) Then Natalie and I are going to spend our time in Germany in Berlin, not Munich, with a friend of hers. So, I’m wishing myself luck, yikes.

mika eshra! mika eshra! mika eshra!

Here’s a little video Natalie slyly shot at our most recent souq. Note the angry looking boy that walks along the bottom of the screen and read ahead.

I love souq. It can be frustrating at times, always at the mercy of the elements, but always some kind of adventure. The thought of going to a sad, fluorescent-lit supermarket for food and other necessities at my beckon call doesn’t appeal to me anymore in the slightest.

Souq, as I may have mentioned before, happens one day each week, the day depends on where you are. My village is too small for a souq, so we travel 6k away to the next town for Sunday souq, the next closest town has souq on Thursdays, and another on Tuesdays, and so on. Souq has different sections, or departments if you want to look at it that way. There’s the used clothing, shoes and whatnot section, the “plastic plantation” for all household products you might need, there are the spice guys, the bucket guys, the 3 dirham table, the furniture guys, the rug and blanket guys, the egg guys, the chicken guys and so on, and then of course, the main event, the fruit and veggie area.

Its much like the Farmer’s Market, you buy your produce by weight, only nothing is labeled and it’s very crowded. It used to stress me out and I was often not in the mood for crowds, but it’s so ingrained now. I love greeting people I know and being able to scoff at the few still quoting high prices like I’m a dumb tourist. Shoot, I’m amazigh dude!

One not so great aspect of souq is what this blog title is about-the mika eshra boys, and sometimes, girls. Mika is the word for plastic, any kind, including plastic bags, and eshra means ten. Ten refers to the cost in ryal. Something that first infuriated me but now is just an accepted little test of my multiplication memory is ryals. Except in the big cities, everyone quotes in ryals here. Even though the coin says 10, they only see 200 ryal. I know it’s odd, but its reality. So I’ve gotten quite used to it. The mika boys yell 10, for 10 ryal, which is half a dirham.

When you buy produce the seller will bag it up unless you protest like I do, in a regular mika. The boys sell these fancy, sturdy, big mika for fellas that didn’t bring real souq bags. I bring my extra mikas from home to separate veggies or just let them all get mixed up in my souq bag; I really don’t care, point being, I hate acquiring any new mika.

Since these boys are fascinated by foreigners and are dying to make some dirhams they often follow us all through souq, screaming “Mika eshra! Mika eshra! Mika eshara!” the whole way. I love kids, but not when they get bratty and gawking. We’ve told them off a few times, but ya know. Like all annoyances, you have to make a choice about whether you’re going to let it bug you or not. So that little boy in the video is one such little monster. You can also hear a donkey bray, see me sifting through zucchini, and men yelling “miya!” which means 100. Which is 5dirham, which is something under a dollar, I have no idea (I stopped thinking in dollars about three months into service).

Faith in Tom and Love for Aldo

There is much to say about my landlords negligence, his final roof fixing appearance the one day I couldn’t be here, my craze from not living in my house for a week, how grateful I am to Natalie for taking my cats and I in that week, not bathing for almost two weeks, the awful trip to a dear friend’s site to rescue his cat since he’s currently in America, locking ourselves in his house, being freed by a bobby pin, too many cat transport adventures, and the continual lesson in patience I attend every day. But I can’t catch you up on everything; right now I just have a little apology and a blurb on my Valentine’s Day.

First off I would like to apologize for my lack of faith in the new Secretary of Agriculture, Tom Vilsack. It seems he’s having a far better start than I feared, and I’m darn grateful. A great new blog I’ve come across is Epicurean Ideal, and her recent post, on Feb. 12, explains it all better than I can, so please check it out.

My Valentine’s Day was pretty uneventful; I returned from Azrou in time to go to the cooperative in the afternoon and attend their script class, then returned home and got my house fixed up a bit and the ferno returned to its proper place (the roof fixers kinda broke it) and settled back in. I made my newest favorite recipe, and ate my first home-cooked-all-alone meal in quite some time and watched a dumb movie. Then I decided the best valentine I could give myself was some Aldo Leopold. My real valentine, Bu, and I curled up and began A Sand County Almanac. I first read it my senior year of college for Environmental Ethics and Policy, and honestly all I can really remember about it was that I loved it and it brought me rare moments of peace in those crazy days. So this is take-two, and I plan to take it all in much better this time. I realized a few pages in that this year is actually the 60th anniversary of its publication, and it’s unbelievable how true and imperative its message remains.

Now I’ve really got to get cracking on trip planning-I leave for Spain and Germany in less than a month and haven’t thought it through at all! To be perfectly honest, I’m not even that interested in where I’m going or what I’ll be doing; I’ve lost the crazy wanderlust I had just a couple years ago. I’m excited for the break from Morocco, to have time with my awesome cousin, and to see how I act around not-PCVs. And I know myself well enough that I know I have to plan it down to the minute, even if I plan to break each and every plan. I hate going somewhere randomly, but just haven’t been able to tear myself away from planning for the next big trip, that one happening in nine months or so, that trip that not so much a trip as it is LIFE after Peace Corps.

I’ve grown far more loving lately of my experience here and I wholeheartedly and willingly mean to complete it now. Of course it’s far easier and more pleasant to go each day knowing what my later goal is, but wow! I’m soooo excited! I’ve been looking into so many different farms and philosophies on farming and styles and plants and animals and everything; it’s all incredibly overwhelming and yet invigorating. So, oddly, I have to force myself to take a break from planning my life and focus on my itty bitty vacation.

My last post seemed a bit rude in hindsight and I want to let you all know how much I truly love this country, its people, and my life overall here, and I won’t be making a surprise early return. The trials and frustrations here are only vital lessons in patience and everything else I still have to learn. I’m not deliriously happy, but I’m also not constantly wishing I was somewhere else-I am grateful for the overall experience here, and for the crazy way this time and this country has helped me finally recognize my calling.
I feel I haven’t said it in awhile, so I will - I love and miss you all dearly and do look forward to the day we’re reunited, and it will feel so good!

raindrops keep fallin on my head

Ya, and not when I’m outdoors, it’s raining in my damn house! But I will explain fully soon, right now I have to backtrack a bit.

Months ago now we’ve been trying to plan a weekend to do a SIDA TOT (AIDS Training of Trainers) for the volunteers in my region, and we finally got it set for the last weekend of January, and I was set to be the host. Since November the weather has only gotten worse and worse, with fleeting and teasing bouts of sunshiny-beautiful days in between. But each time a new storm comes, whether its rain or snow, or both and more, my house continues to disintegrate more and more. The melt from the snow a week or so ago finally broke through to my ferno room-so it was leaking in EVERY room. The weather flipped over into absolute loveliness after that, enough that parts of town actually dried; for once we had dirt rather than mud! It was so nice. I was nervous about hosting because the weather can change so fast, but we went for it anyway.

Everyone arrived at some point on Friday, making a total of seven sleeping in my little abode. It got a bit muggy, but lhamdullah we got through the weekend dry and the trainees did an awesome SIDA and STI tea talk with the women at the cooperative. Being the host, I wasn’t trained, I just cooked and cleaned. I cooked my ass off all weekend, and enjoyed every minute of it! It’s possible I’m just meant to be a housewife, because I friggin love just cookin it up for people! Just a little taste of what I made-stuffed peppers with homemade ricotta, cinnamon rolls, rosemary breakfast potatoes, pumpkin curry chickpea soup, English muffin bread, sloppy lentils, spinach béchamel lasagna (only I used spaghetti instead of lasagna noodles, and this dish was much thanks to Jed and his generous contribution of parmesan from Italy), butternut cookies, lemon zest cake…and some other stuff. Sorry for the vanity, but I had so much fun doing it!

Sunday morning everyone made their way off and I prepared my house for a new guest just as the weather began to turn from muggy to freezing wind and spitty snow. Though exhausted by the training, Nat and another PCV helped me clean the house; I was excited, it would be my first time hosting a couch surfer! Around lunch time the weather really started getting bad-extremely windy and wet snowy rain, or rainy snow, I don’t know what to call it, except that it was a mushkil amkor (big problem). She arrived around 2pm, as did the leaks in my house. While my couch surfing profile promises a quaint mud house, a sweet Berber village, and beautiful Middle Atlas Mountains, this poor girl would see none of that. We all prepared an awesome late Asian style lunch of egg rolls (thanks to Nat), rice dishes and peanut sauce and hung out by the ferno hoping the weather might clear up. It didn’t.

It also happened to be this Aussie’s birthday, so I crushed candy canes from a holiday package and we had peppermint brownies and chatted with intermittent comments like, “oh shit, there’s another leak!” and shrieks when it hit your face, or down the back of your neck, etc., and so the night went. There was no safe place. We shifted ponjes around awkwardly and managed to find spots we thought were free from the dripping. The wind kept up, but it was hardly raining outside, and yet inside my house you’d think there was a monsoon. I actually slept rather well until about 5:30am when I had to pee like none other (I’d been listening to water dropping all night ya know) and realized my entire right side was wet and water was dripping on my pillow an inch from my face. Apparently in sleep I had been hit in the face enough that I had rolled over and been hugging the ponj of my friend to get away from it-I realized this when I got up and realized my back was completely tweaked. Everyone else was in some state of dampness as well. So that was a fun night.

The other PCV left and my poor guest who didn’t think she’d be so close to literally couch surfing, Natalie and I spent a good two hours removing endless buckets of water from my house. My entire neighborhood now truly understands that I wasn’t exaggerating when I told them “guri bzaf timqa; taddartinu am wasif!” (“I have so many leaks; my house is like a river!”). Everyone is having really bad leak issues, but generally have one safe room to sleep in. My landlord will now be getting an earful from a few angry women. So after all that, and moving everything valuable I own to the half of one room that seemed to be safe we got the hell out of there.

We went to survey the damage at Nat’s house only to find, lhamdullah, no leaks! We could hardly believe it and after warming up a bit we went back to my house to gather the few dry blankets I had, some movies and the cats. The girl was a real sport about it all, and Nat’s house started leaking a bit, but nowhere near the downpour within my house. She took off this morning for Chef, Nat went off to tutoring, and I’m catching up online and refusing to return home. I’m just so bummed. I love my house and I’m so damn tired of being wet and cold. Rain rain go away! Come again another day… or not… please just wait til my roof is fixed.