I had a rough week last week and was getting down on Morocco. However, this story helped renew my faith in the people here. Education and particularly women's education is one of the greatest challenges facing Morocco. Illiteracy rates among rural women reach 80%!

Excerpted from News Release:

Aïcha Ech Channa, founder and president of a Casablanca, Morocco, organization that provides services to unmarried women with children, is the winner of the $1 million 2009 Opus Prize.

The University of St. Thomas and the Opus Prize Foundation of Minnetonka conferred the award Wednesday night at an event in Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. The other two finalists – Sister Valeriana García-Martín of Bogotá, Colombia, and Father Hans Stapel of Guaratinguetá, Brazil – each received $100,000 awards.

The honorees, who will use the award money from the Opus Prize Foundation to further their faith-based humanitarian efforts, were recognized as unsung heroes creatively transforming lives through a commitment to service and social entrepreneurship.

“The Opus Prize recognizes individuals whose work and story can inspire us to tackle the world’s most deeply rooted problems,” said Amy Sunderland, executive director of Opus Prize Foundation. “They demonstrate what faith, will and vision can do to make our world a better place. They show us change is possible.”

While the Opus Prize Foundation has worked in partnership with Catholic universities since 2004 to make the annual award, the recipient may have roots in any faith.

Aïcha Ech Channa of Casablanca, Morocco

Aïcha Ech Channa

Ech Channa, 68, is something of an icon in Morocco when it comes to human and civil rights for single mothers and their children. During the 1980s she worked in the Moroccan Ministry of Social Affairs where she was confronted daily by the ordeals of single mothers.

She recalled an afternoon in a social worker’s office where a single mother was giving up her baby for adoption. “This mom was breastfeeding her baby, which means she never wanted to abandon it. And at the moment when she forcibly took away her breast from the baby’s mouth, the milk sprayed all over the baby’s face and the baby cried. This cry was in my head. And that night I did not sleep. I swore to do something.”

In 1985, Ech Channa founded the Association Solidarité Féminine in Casablanca to provide services for single women and their children. She started in a basement and now operates three day-care centers and training schools, two restaurants, four kiosks and a hammam (fitness center and spa).

More than 50 women receive training every year in literacy, human rights, cooking, baking, sewing, fitness services and accounting. Participants also receive daily child care and medical treatments in addition to social, psychological and legal support and counseling for better reintegration in their society.

Ech Channa, a Muslim, says she gains inspiration from a sense of justice rooted in the value systems of all religions.“I want Solidarité Féminine to be a model that provides an example for the respect of human rights, economic development and confidence in humanism,” she says. “This is a model that can be carried everywhere in the world.”

Her organization was officially recognized in 2002 by the government as a charitable organization and has received support from Moroccan King Mohammed VI.

I got up early today and rode the transit from my village to Khenifra. My friend Miriam was waiting for me at the bus station in Khenifra. She used to live in my village but her family recently moved to Khenifra, so we had made plans to spend the morning together. She loves my pumpkin bread, so I had brought some with me and we went to a cafe to have coffee and catch up with each other. Miriam is 16 and has had a pretty rough life. Her father died a couple years ago leaving the family in a tough spot financially. Miriam is the youngest of a bunch of children and only her and an older sister are left at home; all of the other siblings have married, but none of them are helping to support their mother and sisters still at home. They moved to Khenifra so Miriam and her sister could work to support themselves and their mother. This meant that Miriam had to quit school, which broke my heart. She was one of my most enthusiastic English students and was visibly upset when she told me she had to quit school. I was a bit pessimistic about their move – many young women looking for work often end up in prostitution. Thankfully, both Miriam and her sister are working in cafes.

Today, I had a glimmer of what it must be like to be a parent. The last time I saw her, Miriam had told me about her new boyfriend, who is in his early 20's. He sounded like a nice enough guy, but men are men no matter what country you are in and I couldn't help but wonder what his motives were. While we had coffee, Miriam told me that she broke up with him because he wanted to sleep with her! Oh how my heart swelled. I have her a huge hug and tried to explain how proud I was of her. My Tamazight is not that good, so I told her in English. I'm not sure she fully understood, but I did my best to explain. Miriam went on to tell me that she was done with boyfriends for a while because all they do is cause trouble.

A little background on male-female relationships in Morocco: they aren't supposed to exist outside of marriage. While Morocco isn't nearly as strict as other Muslim countries, like Iran, sex before marriage is still not accepted. Well, its not accepted for women. A women who is discovered to be “making relations with a man” must either marry the man or face the consequences which include being shunned by your family and being essentially a “marked” woman. Then she must support herself, which often means turning to prostitution. Its a little easier for the man, since its culturally acceptable for men to have sex before marriage. Now I know you are thinking, who can the man have sex with if there are all these consequences for the women. Well, this is why prostitution is lucrative.

A side-story on this issue. I recently ran into a young Moroccan women who was friends with a previous PC volunteer. She lives in EEK and I hadn't seen her in a while. Turns out, she was visiting her new boyfriend and her old boyfriend saw them together. He called the gendarmes (the local police) and sent them to “catch” her and her new boyfriend together. The gendarmes found them alone (not necessarily in a compromising position, simply alone together), which resulted in a very quick wedding. Her choice was to marry this young man she barely knew or be turned out of her family's home. Just like that, her life changed forever. She is 19 years old, speaks English fairly well and had plans to attend University in the fall. Gone; all of that is gone. Now she lives with his family in a small village near mine and spends her days tending the house.

All of this was to frame Miriam's story. She is a bright, energetic young woman who wants to be a police woman! I would hate to see her dreams shattered and for her to start married life at 16. I was thrilled beyond words to learn that she had stood up for herself and not succumbed to pressure from her boyfriend.

We had a rather busy day together. We went to the Oued Srou Association, which led the SIDA workshop, to pick up more brochures for the event in my village. While we were there, another PC volunteer from Midelt showed up with a couple men from an association there. They are planning a month of SIDA-related activities, so we all met with Khadija together.

Miriam and I met another volunteer, Linda, for lunch. Linda has an Obama action figure, so we took pictures with Obama and our tagine. Miriam was a good sport through all of this because Linda and I spoke English as we caught up with each other. Tory met us and we went to tutoring. Miriam helped with our tutoring session by asking questions and answering our questions.

It was after 4 when we got to the bus station and the transit was already there. Miriam and I said goodbye and she made me promise to visit her again soon.

I was still recovering from the weekend and a late night last night, so I slept in until 9:45 this morning. Giving me enough time to throw some clothes on and rush out the door to meet Said and Ali at 10am to meet the director of the high school. It was a brief meeting and my role was mainly to lend them credibility. The director and teachers agreed to allow us time this Saturday afternoon for an information session about SIDA. Whew! They didn't seem to need any convincing, but this Saturday will be here before I know it. I made plans to meet Said and Ali later in the day to make a game plan and went home to eat breakfast and do some laundry. The sun was out, so I had to take advantage of it!

In the afternoon I met the women from the weaving cooperative. They did some serious networking over the weekend at the workshop – they learned about several craft fairs and festivals, picked up some great ideas from Fatiha and were talking about creating a shop close to the main road where they could be more visible to tourist traffic. Right now they mainly work out of their homes, if they work at all. They do own a small house but it is tucked behind another house and not easily accessible to the main road, plus its very dark so its not very conducive to weaving. There was some heated discussions going on as they made plans to purchase supplies to start weaving together. I suspect there are some trust issues and I want to talk to Zinb about doing some small seminars or tea talks about business skills and team work activities to try to build up their trust. They made plans to meet on Friday to hand roll couscous to sell at an upcoming fair.

The meeting was great because we hung out on the roof of the house they own. It was a beautiful day and women trickled in in the half hour after the meeting was supposed to start. Some had babies strapped to their backs, while others were had young children in tow. Everyone was very animated and opinionated. Sadia the young woman I mistakenly thought was shy and soft-spoken kept interrupting Zinb as she was talking. Zinb would quickly tell her to be quiet, please and she would pipe down for a few minutes before jumping right back into things. All of the ruffle feathers were smoothed by the end of the meeting and we all left on a good note.

I went over to Zinb's house for tea after the meeting. I had made pumpkin bread, also known as muskoota (cake) in my village. Most women make something like a tea bread in bundt pans and I don't think I've ever had the same cake twice. Since recipes are passed down from mother to daughter and nothing is written down, every woman's cake is a little different. None of them ever put any vegetables like zucchini, carrots, or pumpkin in their muskoota, although sometimes its flavored with yogurt or shredded coconut. I make what Americans know as zucchini/pumpkin/banana bread with chocolate chips and call it muskoota. It usually goes over very well and today was no different. The women loved it and wanted to know why mine had a nice golden brown color. My secret is whole wheat flour I bought in Meknes. It gives everything a heartier texture and that nice golden color. Unless you buy wheat kernels or grow wheat and grind your own flour, the only kind available in stores is bleached white flour.

We had a lovely tea time and I meet Zinb's family. She has twin brothers, who I haven't met, but she keeps trying to set me up with one of them. I always laugh and deflect her overtures by saying I don't know him (this doesn't usually work because arranged marriages are still fairly common) and she always tells me that he looks just like her. What more could I need to know?!

I had to leave tea early to go teach my English class. Zinb tried to give me bread before I left, but I declined with a promise to come to her if I ever wanted bread. Meals and snacks are not complete without bread and the fact that I don't eat bread all the time still miffs people. In English class, we worked on time and I was amazed at how quick they were with picking up the quarter past or quarter to an hour. They recently learned this in their regular English class in school, but I was still surprised at how fast they were telling time.

I went straight from English class to the women's literacy class. These women amaze me too. Most did not know how to write numbers or recognize numbers when we started and they are already counting in the thousands. We are also learning the Arabic alphabet – the main reason I joined the class. We are starting to learn words, but I don't usually follow enough of what is happening to pick up the words. Once I'm comfortable with the alphabet and feel confident enough with my Tamazight, I'll start studying Arabic. For now though, I'm focusing on improving my Tamazight and practicing the Arabic alphabet by writing new Tamazight words with it instead of the English alphabet. Literacy class also gives me face time with a group of women and hopefully, I can plan some tea talks or other events with the women from class.

Just as I was starting to make dinner, Said rang my doorbell to see if I could come to the internet cafe with him to find additional information and pictures to use for the SIDA information session. I needed a few minutes to eat something and gather my things together so I told him I would meet him there. He and Ali were crowded around a computer google-ing to try to find the information they were looking for. I had some pamphlets with a website in Arabic, which proved useful. Another English-speaking young man from the Sisterhood was there helping an older man video chat with someone. He asked me why I didn't invite him to the workshop...I wanted to tell him because I didn't know him, because he always asks me to help him with his English, but never shows up to class and because he strikes me as kind of a jerk - not good qualities for someone I wanted to do peer education about a sensitive subject. Instead, I told him there were only a certain number of slots for each village and I was sorry he didn't get to go. This made me realize how careful I need to be about singling people out for opportunities.

Said and Ali found some good information (I hope – its all in Arabic) and I agreed to buy red ribbon and print out some documents for them while I'm in Khenifra for tutoring on Wednesday. PC had sent me a bunch of pamphlets for World Aids Day, which we'll use at the high school. I was counting them, in English in my head, and I noticed that Said was counting along with me in Arabic. This struck me as rather funny and I told him we should switch – I'll count in Arabic and he can count in English to help us with our language.

They walked me home and I was kind of hoping one of them would invite me over for dinner since it was 9pm and none of us had eaten dinner. No such luck, Said mentioned hoping there was still dinner left for him, so maybe we were past dinner time and they didn't want to invite me over to nothing. I ate popcorn with curry powder (yum! you should try it) instead.

Today was souk in EEK, but I slept in and missed the last taxi out of my village, so I had to walk part of the way to the main road before getting a ride. I met up with Michael, the new PC volunteer there and we did our souk shopping together. We swung by the office briefly so I could meet one of the new employees at the project. It was pretty quiet in the office so we didn't stay long. I got back home in time to enjoy a snack on my roof before it was time to go to Arabic class. Zinb, one of the women who went to the workshop was there and we chatted for a bit. I learned that she is going to be the director of the new NEDI!!! I've been waiting for it to open for months and finally I know how is going to be in charge. I'm so excited because she came to the workshop, so she met some people who are doing great work at other NEDI's and hopefully we can replicate some of that here. We made plans to meet tomorrow for tea and to talk about the NEDI. She is also the president of the women's weaving cooperative that is trying to get going again, so she's a busy woman.

Just as I was making dinner, Said called to invite me to dinner with his family. I went over and spent a wonderful evening with him and his family. His father remembered me! He is old and doesn't hear very well, so sometimes I can't tell if he knows me or not, but today he greeted me with a strong hand shake and a solid hello. I've never seen him without a hat, but today he wasn't wearing one and you could see his permanent tan line. His head is bald and bright white, but his face is tanned and wizened.

Said and I made plans to talk to the director of the college (high school) to see if we can do a SIDA training for the students. We practiced his English and then my Tamazight. Over the weekend we had agreed to meet everyday to practice our languages together, so tonight was our first opportunity. After dinner, we drank tea and chatted. Before dinner, his mom had asked if I wanted tea after dinner and I had asked Said what they would do if I wasn't here. I hate to be a burden on people and I didn't want them to make tea just because I was there, but I don't know how to say that in Tamazight. Said translated and his mom looked at me and said, "we'll have whatever you want." I said, not to make it just for me, but of course we had tea. And it was wonderful! I had been craving a good glass of tea with shiba and that is what we had!

Ali showed up for tea and we all had a great time laughing and teasing each other. There was something on TV about Agadir and they asked if I had ever been. I haven't, so Hessna (Said's sister) offered to take me there. I would have to pay for her transport, but once we got there we could stay with another sister and we wouldn't have to pay for food or lodging. It sounded like a nice idea so I agreed, but I don't think they believed me. Later Said told me that he and another sister we planning a trip to Agadir and he invited me along. We joked and laughed about the boys - one of the other PCV's at the workshop is fluent in Tamazight and they were impressed with her. They kept saying the other one wanted to marry her, but Hessna told me they were both smitten with her! Said told a joke they had heard over the weekend and we had a good laugh over it. Said was in rare form - making faces, teasing me and generally seemed to be taking life a little less seriously than I am used to seeing him. It felt really wonderful to be among friends. Said told me again that I was part of the family.

Over the weekend, I felt like we reached a new level with our friendship. I was teasing them about going back to America - I had to leave the workshop on Saturday morning to meet with an association in Khenifra and I told them I was going back to America. Ali told me not to joke about things like that because I was his best friend and I couldn't just up and go back to America yet. I think he was serious, which just made me melt. I told him I thought Said was his best friend and he clarified that we were both his best friends.

While we were laughing and talking tonight, Ali asked me a question in Tamazight that I didn't understand. Said translated in a whisper for me, which didn't make sense since no one but the 3 of us would understand the English. Ali was asking if I ever drank alcohol. Said told me not to answer because it was none of his business, but I answered and truthfully. We had talked about it before when I first met them and had told them that I drank in America, but not anymore. I was still hesitant to be completely honest about that since it is a cultural taboo here. But, over the weekend, they borrowed my camera to take pictures with some of the other participants at the workshop. Said looked at the other pictures on my memory card and saw some pictures from New Years Eve, when I had a party at my house. We were drinking and it was obvious from the bottles in the picture. He told me when I sat down next to him that he was sorry he looked at my pictures and I told him it was OK. I didn't realize those pictures were still on there and that he saw them until I got back to the hotel that night. There was nothing I could do about it, so I let it be. Now Ali asked me this question tonight and I didn't feel I could continue the charade. Plus, I felt like I could trust them. That was the end of that discussion. I answered and they changed the topic and we carried on with our evening.

Before I knew what time it was, the clock struck 11 and I took my leave. Said and Ali walked me home and told me to be careful of monsters and scary things on my staircase. They know that when my downstairs neighbor is gone, she turns off her electricity, so the stairs are dark! They don't know that I hate to think about things like that. Its the reason I don't watch scary movies, so I told them so. They teased me some more and made monster noises while I turned on my flashlight. We said goodnight and I went home to tell you about it. It was really a great day.

This weekend was an incredibly productive and rewarding weekend. Last Thursday, 5 people from my village joined me in Khenifra to attend a workshop about “health.” This was my euphemism for AIDS. Sadia at the rural commune suggested this to me – she used to work for the association leading the event, so she knew what they would really be learning. AIDS (known as SIDA, the French acronym) is still very taboo in Morocco and I wasn't sure if they would be open to attending the workshop if they knew it was about SIDA. The guys, Said and Ali, are young, more educated than many and speak English. They've been my buddies over the past couple months, so they kind of knew what they were in for, but I don't think they really knew what to expect.

The taxi ride to Khenifra was a bit awkward – everyone was quiet and a little shy. When we arrived in Khenifra, the boys took off on their own to meet a friend and the women, Fatima, Zinb, Sadia H, and I walked to the hotel. Along the way, I talked to Sadia and learned a bit more about her. All 3 women are members of the weaving cooperative in my village and they have recently started working again. We were some of the first to arrive, so they went to get settled in their rooms and I hung out with Mara, the volunteer who organized the event.

The goal of the workshop was to teach HCNs (host country nationals – a nice government name for Moroccan citizens) to be peer educators about SIDA prevention. As Peace Corps volunteers, we can only do so much in terms of education and awareness, by teaching the people of our villages to be educators and leaders, our work is more sustainable. Ideally, the workshop attendees will return to their villages and teach their friends, family members and other community members about SIDA prevention.

The next 2 days were full of laughs, new friendships, some heated discussions and lots of bonding. Everyone met for dinner together on Thursday night and I managed to be the source of much entertainment at my table. Said and Ali were quick to translate when I didn't understand something one of the women from the Sisterhood said and then to give me a hard time about needing to study more. They told me I was like a student in elementary school and that if I didn't study, they would punish me! There was silverware on the table and Fatima looked at me and said she didn't know how to eat with silverware. I told her that I'd been in Morocco so long that I forgot too! We had a good laugh over that one and it seemed to break the ice a bit. Dinner was at 8 and it was after 10 when we actually finished and headed back to the volunteer's hotel. The participants were staying at the hotel where the workshop was taking place, but the volunteers had to stay at a different hotel across town because the participants filled up the first hotel!

Friday morning started with introductions and ice breakers. I sat at a table with the 5 people from the Sisterhood, but we were told to go meet someone new. I met a woman from Boumia who is a force to be reckoned with. She is the director of a women's center and runs all kind of programs to help women – she has a bakery cooperative, a weaving cooperative and other ongoing activities for women. And she knew about my NEDI and wants to help get it opened and up and running!!! Lahamdulah! Once everyone had a few minutes to meet their new person we went around the room introducing our partners. Everyone was very gracious to the PCV's as we tried our best to speak the language. Sadia H from my village was a little shy about the introductions because she couldn't remember everything her partner had told her, but she did her best and everyone was very supportive.

During the morning coffee/tea break, Said and Ali sought me out to tell me they felt a little out of their league. Most of the other participants were presidents or active members of associations, well-educated, and active in their communities and they were feeling unqualified to be there. I did my best to encourage them, told them I wouldn't have invited them if I didn't think they would be successful. Plus, I invited them because I don't think they realize the potential they have. I was hoping they would see what other people are doing in their communities and it would get them thinking of ways to be active at home. They are always telling me there is no work and nothing to do in our village, so maybe this will be the kick in the pants they need to start doing something.

A note about languages in Morocco – there is written Modern Standard Arabic, which is based on the Arabic of the Koran and is the universal spoken and written language of the Arab world; there is Darija, the spoken Arabic dialect of Morocco, which varies a little across the country; and there is Tamazight, the “Berber” dialect spoken by people in the Middle Atlas Mountain. These are not the same languages; a person can speak Darija, but not understand or know how to read Modern Standard Arabic. The women from my village fall into the latter category – they know the alphabet, but still sound out words and aren't comfortable speaking Darija. So, they were a little daunted by the morning activities which included a doctor from OPALS (another French acronym for an African organization fighting SIDA) talking about SIDA statistics in Morocco and other medical topics. Most of his talk was given in MSA, so they were a little out of the loop when we sat down to lunch.

The event was funded by Peace Corps, but led by a local association, Oued Srou which leads workshops like this in the Khenifra province and is involved in other community development activities. Khadija, the woman who led the workshop did a wonderful job and since she speaks Tamazight, made time during the breaks and at meals to explain anything my women didn't understand and to answer their questions. Most the other participants also spoke Tamazight, so they would explain their answers or reasons during discussion times in both Arabic and then again in Tamazight. It was awesome to see everyone come together like that.

In the afternoon, we played a game to demonstrate how quickly an STI or HIV can spread through a group of people. Everyone received a plastic bag and was told not to look at the contents. Then we went around greeting everyone and swapping a handful of the contents of our bags. After a few minutes we all sat down and opened our bags. Everyone had a mixture of lentils and rice. Khadija explained that at the beginning, one person had rice and everyone else had lentils. By sharing the contents of our bags, we had quickly spread a “disease” through the entire group. It is a great exercise and extremely illustrative. I had my women explain it to me and they were spot on! I've played other versions of this game where participants are given the option just to shake hands with people when they greet. This is illustrative of abstinence. Another option is to allow participants to knock their bags together in a “cheers” kind of motion. This is illustrative of wearing a condom during sex, i.e. you can still “meet” a person but not swap bodily fluids/lentils and rice.

In addition to their language challenges, it was hard to miss the fact that my women were the only ones wearing jellabas, a traditional, more formal garment. Women usually wear them when they go to souk in Khenifra, travel, or go to special events. The rest of the women wore more modern clothing - pants and sweaters or pants suits. I think it was partially because the other women are from larger cities/towns and they were a little younger than my women. Interestingly, all of the women wore head scarfs.

During dinner, some of the men started drumming on the tables and singing traditional Berber songs. This is known as a Hadus and one of the participants is a Hadus master/leader. As soon as the dishes were cleared, everyone joined in and soon books and metal serving platters were being used as drums! A lot of the music is based around drumming and call and response songs, so it didn't take much to get everyone going. Pretty soon, the men were lined up together and the women lined up across from them. Everyone stood shoulder to shoulder and danced...its mostly a bobbing up and down with a little hip thrown in. The Hadus master stands in the middle and leads and dances. Then a couple girls get in the middle and dance together...then a couple boys. Sadia H was the first to get in the middle and start dancing – I thought she was a shy person, but not anymore. She pulled me in and then before I knew it, Mara was wrapping her scarf around my hips. Its funny because in America, most women don't like to accentuate their hips, we would tie a scarf around our waist to accent it. But here, its the hips and then you shake them. So I did. And, I tied my scarf around Mara's hips and we all danced and laughed together! Since we had to get up early the next morning, we didn't stay up too late dancing.

Sunday was another full day of discussions and activities. In addition to learning about SIDA prevention, the participants learned how to be good communicators and educators. There was a heated discussion about communication styles. Many people believed that if you told people enough times or gave them the information forcefully enough, they would listen. This may be partially due to the education system where memorization and recitation is rewarded and critical thinking is not really taught.

During our afternoon break, I sat outside with Ali and Said and we discussed prostitution. Its a major issue in Morocco and something that people seem to accept. Its part of the reason SIDA could explode here in the next decade. Although Morocco has few cases of SIDA relative to Sub-Saharan Africa, the culture and sexual practices are ripe for SIDA to reach epidemic levels. Testing rates are not high, so infection rates may be much higher than what is reported. Said was arguing that if the women would be 'good' women and not make themselves available for prostitution, then prostitution wouldn't exist. I was arguing that just because it was available didn't mean men had to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, prostitution is economically viable. One of the participants is working with prostitutes in his village and his challenge is that most other income-generating ventures don't generate as much income as prostitution. Its kind of a vicious cycle because a woman who has been raped, divorced, widowed or has premarital sex is often shunned by her family and must support herself and her children. Education rates are low, especially for women, so often the only means of immediate income is prostitution. Said's argument was indicative of the cultural norms here and in many places throughout the world...Women are responsible for prostitution, not the men who shun them in the first place, leading them to prostitution...not the men who visit them. Its the women's fault. It is frustrating to have conversations like these, but I try to remember that we come from very different cultural backgrounds and in this culture, prostitution is widely accepted as a norm.

Linley, one of the other volunteers and I were also talking about this and came up with a campaign idea. We want the men to spend their money on other things than prostitution – baked goods, locally made clothes and crafts, eating out a restaurants and cafes, etc. It would support more women in other professions and save the men money.

We had another Hadus on Saturday night. At 11pm, the Moroccan participants started telling jokes and we volunteers headed back to our hotel. The sense of humor here is different and the jokes I understand aren't funny to me. Plus, everyone was talking so fast that I missed much of what was being said. Everyone met again for a farewell breakfast on Sunday morning. We all went our separate ways, but somehow ended up at the bus station together again. A majority of the participants were taking a 1pm bus so they bought tickets and then we went to souk together.

Khenifra's souk is on Sundays and it is crazy...packed with people, carts, donkeys and of course lots of food and goods for sale! It was great to be there with locals because they watched out for us “white folks” and made sure we didn't get lost in the crowd. At one point, a fight broke out and one of the young men from Midelt pulled me out of the way and then led me to a safe spot away from the gathering crowd. Its so interesting because in their own way, the men do look out for the women in their lives. Its just not the same way men look out for women in America.

I met my friend Miriam for lunch. She used to live in the Sisterhood but moved to Khenifra last month and I hadn't seen her since her family moved. We went back to her house and made a vegetarian tagine. Then we went for a walk to a little stream with a waterfall. It was beautiful and full of kids enjoying the warmer weather and sun. She begged me to stay the night, but I was exhausted and ready to crash. I promised to return again soon and to spend the night. She walked me back to the bus station and we made it just in time for me to get the last seat on the transit back.

Said and Ali were there and they gave me a hard time about being late. It was a quiet ride, but when we got close to home they struck up a conversation with me. We spoke Tamazight and they pretended that we weren't at the same workshop over weekend. It felt great to be taken into their fold and treated like one of them. As we got out of the transit in the center of town, they continued the shtick about not knowing me and invited themselves over for coffee. I welcomed them and told them they could come over whenever they wanted, but they told me they were just kidding and wouldn't actually come. They didn't of course, but I feel that a lot of cultural and personal barriers came down over the weekend. Even though Said and Ali had figuratively opened their arms to me before the workshop, I still felt like I had to be careful about how much I shared with them or how open I was with things that aren't culturally acceptable here (alcohol, sex before marriage, allowing American men in my house, my real religious views, etc.), but now I feel we have reached a new level in our friendship.

Over the past 3 days, I also bonded with the women from my village. We laughed and teased and were serious when we needed to be. It reminded me of the time I've spent with my Grandmom, Mom and sister in the sewing room or during quilting classes we've taken. We always have such a good time together and the atmosphere this weekend was reminiscent of those times with my family. I feel honored and humbled that these women embraced me as one of their own...they kept calling me “Hibangh” which literally means “our Hiba.”

I am anxious to get into my apartment! I have enjoyed getting to know my host family, but the lack of privacy and general chaos in a family with young children is wearing on me. For the past week, my host family has been telling me that I don't need to move, that I am welcome to stay for as long as I like. The idea of my living alone seems somewhat unsettling to them. It is understandable, since most young adults live with their families until they get married or move to a big city to work or continue their studies. Even then, they often live with extended family or with roommates. Living alone is unusual, especially for women. By living on my own, I'll have to cook my own food and “gasp!” eat alone, clean my house, do my laundry, etc. If I stay with my host family, I won't have to worry about those things and my host mom keeps trying this argument on me to convince me to stay.

I told my host mother that I wanted to move today and she told me to wait until the afternoon so she could help me clean before I brought my things over. I found my landlord and got the key to the front door of the building and went over to check it out again. I was happy to find my front door still in tact and the new lock properly installed. The trash was gone, but unfortunately, my window locks were still missing handles and my landlord had stuck various wires or nails where the handles should be!

I am on the 3rd and top floor and the stairs are uneven and the tread is narrow, making them rather treacherous. Building codes are non-existent, so you really need to be careful on stairs and with doorway and ceilings! I also have access to the roof, which is great – I can see all of my village and have a great open view for sky gazing and enjoying the sunsets. My apartment is probably the same size as my host family's house. There is a “front hallway” that is more like a small room that leads to each of the other rooms. Towards the front is a large living room and on the side is a kitchen and bedroom. I have a bathroom, plus a smaller extra room that I plan to use for storage. I am lucky to have both running water and electricity! There is a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the center of each room. I don't have a shower or hot water heater, so I'll be boiling water on the stove and taking bucket baths when I need to bathe. The apartment is just down the street from my host family – I can see their front stoop from my kitchen window!

After our afternoon nap, my host mom, Zuhir, Jalil and I went over to clean. Since all of the floors are cement, we splashed buckets of water over the floor and squeegeed it all to the drain near the front door. Its a great way to clean and we didn't use any soap! I wasn't using the squeegee properly, so Zuhir took over. We even did all the stairs down to the front door.

I began carrying my things over, starting with the smaller items in hopes of getting help from a couple men with the larger duffel bag and my bed and ponjs. My host mom recruited Hakim, my host cousin, and a couple of his friends to help and they quickly carried everything else over. I thanked them as best I could, but I think inviting them to tea would have been the appropriate show of thanks. However, having just moved in, I wasn't quite set up for tea.

I spent the afternoon getting settled in, although, there wasn't much to do. I don't really have any furniture, so I couldn't unpack my clothes yet. I haven't bought a refrigerator either, so I don't have any food. I ate dinner with my host family, but happily spent my first night in my new apartment! It was wonderful to sleep in a bed and to wake up and not worry if I am properly dressed to leave my room to use the bathroom.

Pictures of my new house are posted here.

I visited my friend Dan over the weekend! He lives a couple hours Southeast of Azilal in the High Atlas Mountains. His village is absolutely beautiful and more what I pictured my PC experience to be like than my village. I met Kaylyn, Audrey and Brian in Azilal (they all live within an hour of Azilal) and we took a taxi through the mountains on a stunning drive. Dan's village is a small farming community nestled into a valley, which also draws a fairly consistent stream of tourists. Many families have a “gite” attached to their homes; these could be compared to a bed and breakfast in the States – a couple sleeping rooms with communal eating. The gites house the tourists in a relatively discreet way – several of the guides we met told us there were a lot of French tourists in town, but we saw only a handful when we were walking from the taxi stand to Dan's house.

Dan's sitemates are Zarnaz and Doug, who were waiting for us at Dan's house. Dan's friend Tova was also visiting. She just finished studying abroad for a year in Israel and is traveling for the summer before heading home. Doug received a care package of dried fruit from Trader Joes and was making scones with crystallized ginger – yum! Dan's host family lives next door and they invited us all over for tea. They have a gite on top of their house and Dan was telling us that their actual house pales in comparison to the gite. In fact, he lived in a room the size of a closet during his home stay! The gite was beautiful and apparently they pull out all the stops for visitors. We had tea and coffee and wonderful bread with honey from the area!

Afterwards, we settled into Dan's house for the evening – made dinner, hung out on his roof and stargazed, had a “trash fire” and caught up with each other. A trash fire is kind of like a campfire except you add your trash. Dan's village is relatively remote, so absent packing it out when he goes to Azilal once or twice a month, Dan opts to burn his trash. We did not roast marshmallows over the fire! It was a beautiful evening and we caught a few falling stars. Dan's village doesn't have any streetlights, so we could see the Milky Way and more stars than I can remember seeing in a long time. I tried to sleep on the roof, but ended up inside on the floor because it was too cold! Can you believe it? In my site, I sometimes sleep on the floor because its too hot, but in Dan's mountains it was too cold to sleep outside!

Doug, our chef for the weekend, made pancakes with dried blueberries from his care package! After eating bread and oil for breakfast for the past 5 months, it was a wonderful treat. We headed out for a day hike to a gorge Dan had visited with the previous volunteer in his site. It was unbelievable – we hiked for about 3.5 hours through tiny Berber villages that still seem incredibly isolated. In several, they were separating the wheat grain from the stalk the old fashioned way. This involves tying a handful of donkeys, mules or horses together (shoulder to shoulder) with one attached to a pole in the center of a field. The grains are on the field and the horses walk or trot in a circle, while men mix the grains with pitchforks. Tova just finished a year studying abroad in Israel and she explained that there is evidence there of people using this technique hundreds of years ago.

This got me to thinking that in some ways, life in Morocco hasn't changed much over the past several centuries. Women still make bread the way they have for probably thousands of years. This grain technique dates back a while and although tea is a relatively new addition, arriving with the British in the late 1600's, it doesn't seem to have changed much in the past 400 years! Then we passed a man selling sodas and scarves outside his house – obviously, some things change! I just wonder who his market is – we didn't see anyone other than locals during our entire hike and he was a couple hours into the hike.

We had lunch at the mouth of the gorge where this is a beautiful waterfall formed by a natural spring. We drank right from the falls – cold, clear water! It was so refreshing. We had forgot to pack lunch before we left Dan's village, so we bought some bread and cheese from a small hanut in the first village we passed at the beginning of our hike. The bread had whole wheat flour and was among the best bread I've had in Morocco! We napped and relaxed by the falls for a while before heading back.

By the time we got back to Dan's village it was starting to get dark and we were all exhausted from our hike. Dan and Doug introduced us to their “Berber McMuffins” - basically a scrambled egg sandwich with laughing cow cheese and some sort of salami. You can get this just about anywhere I've been in Morocco, but they swore by the sandwiches at their favorite cafe, so we all had a sandwich before heading back to Dan's house.

Dan had asked everyone to bring food to share, so I bought a watermelon in Azilal on the way down. I didn't realize that Dan's house was an hour walk from where the taxi dropped us off. By the time we got to his house yesterday, I couldn't raise my arms because I'd just carried a good-sized watermelon for an hour! Today, it was totally worth it – after our egg sandwiches, we gorged ourselves on watermelon.

After a short night of sleep, we all headed home. I had a long, hot trip back to my village, but I stopped in Khenifra for a shower. There's a place where you can pay 8Dh ($1) for as long and as hot a shower as you'd like. I opted for cold, but not ice cold and spent a while cleaning up; it'd been a while since my last real shower and I missed out on my family's hamam last week, plus our hike was pretty dusty.

Before I left I was feeling a little disheartened after my host uncle's advances and some other personal things going on. The weekend was just the escape I needed to get back to my site feeling energized and ready to face the world again. Dan's language is pretty good, which was encouraging, since he was communicating pretty well with people in his site and I understood the majority of his conversations. This gave me hope for my language skills because I still feel like I miss 70% of what is said.

View Pictures of my trip to Azilal here.

Today was souk in my village and I wanted to get a few items for my apartment. Soumia went with me and we bought a bucket, tea pot and some pots. As soon as we got home, everyone asked how much my purchases were and then examined everything. The same thing happened when I got back from Khenifra on Sunday. In a society where just about everything is bargained for, I can understand the interest in prices, but it sometimes wears on my nerves. Luckily, I seem to have done a good job with my purchases, although my host mom was curious what I am going to do with 5 pots. She has one sauce pan, a pressure cooker, a frying pan and several different tagines. I plan to start a “family” dinner once a month so that any of the volunteers in the area and others who are visiting can come for a good home-cooked dinner and a movie or game night. So having a couple pots will come in handy. I was supposed to get the keys to my apartment today, but that didn't exactly go as planned. When Mo came for my site visit, he suggested I buy a new lock for the door to my apartment, so that I would be the only one with the keys. I did so and turned the lock over to my landlord the very next day. So, imagine my surprise when we go to my apartment today (a week later) and he brings the lock with him! The lock didn't quite work as easily as it should and after 45 minutes or so of him messing around with it, he told me he would have to come back on Saturday to finish everything. There was still trash from the previous tenant and the remnants from the painter – paint cans, paint thinner, brushes and other trash. My landlord also indicated that he would fix the windows – they all have locks, but some were missing handles. I am glad to be leaving for the weekend. It would be really frustrating to be here all weekend and not be able to move into my apartment.

Today was a holiday in Morocco, so I met Elisabeth, Anna and Tori to go swimming! We went to Tori's village and swam in the river. It was blissful! The sun was shining and it was hot – we worked up a good sweat on the hike to the river and the water was cold and refreshing. There is sand in the river and its really goupy. I was goofing around and rubbing it on my arms claiming to be giving myself a beauty treatment. Pretty soon, Tori, Elisabeth and I were covered in mud! It was fun and actually helped cool us off as we sat in the sun for a while.

Peace Corps sometimes reminds me of being in high school again. Although everyone is a college graduate, I feel like we are in some warped version of Sweet Valley High. The gossip mill is amazingly swift and vicious. I was happily out of the loop during training – I would much rather talk with friends about their experiences and lives than talk about other people. But one of the volunteers close to me is plugged into the rumor circuit and happily shares information and conversations had in confidence. While its nice to know how other volunteers are doing, all of the extraneous commentary and judgments seem so immature and hurtful. I feel like I have to be careful what I say around this person and I don't like being so guarded.

I guess its to be expected...there are approximately 200 volunteers in Morocco and when almost your entire life – friends, support network, significant others, co-workers, etc. are contained within such a small community, news is bound to travel fast.

I had planned to get up early today and go to Khenifra to buy the big ticket items for my apartment – a bed, ponjs and a fridge. But no one in my house was up because they were at the wedding last night! I had mentioned to my host father that I wanted to go to Khenifra and would like him to go with me. I knew I needed a Moroccan to go with me so I wouldn't get ripped off. He was still asleep when I was ready to go and Fatima asked if he wanted to go and he said no.

I decided to go anyways, thinking I could get the smaller items instead. I have to take 2 taxis to get to Khenifra and while I was waiting in T-town I ran into my host uncle, Sidi Mo. He agreed to go with me to Khenifra and we were off.

We went to souk first, but Sidi Mo decided we should go to the regular stores instead. We went to a friend of his who owns a fabric/bed/ponj store. I want a double bed because I like my space when I sleep, but this completely miffed Sidi Mo. He kept asking who else was going to sleep in my bed with me. I had 2 options – top of the line and not top of the line. Top of the line was out of my price range but the other one was within my budget, so I bought that one. The store was tiny, so we couldn't lay the mattress on the floor so I could try them out. I have my fingers crossed that the one I bought will be good for my back.

Now we were on to the ponjs. These are kind of like large floor pillows that serve as couches. Some are simply foam rectangles and you can choose between different heights. This is what I have been sleeping on for the past two months and it is not comfortable. There are also ones that are stuffed with stuffing, which is what I wanted. We went upstairs to an apartment filled with foam rectangles. I sat on a couple different heights and found one I liked. Then we went back down to the store and I saw the stuffed ones. Sidi Mo negotiated a price on the ponjs and then we just hung out for a couple minutes. I'm not sure why.

Then it was time for lunch. I kept mentioning that I wanted to buy a fridge, but Sidi Mo kept telling me “shwia b shwia,” which means little by little. We went to the fish/pizza place, which I have since discovered has a good salad. It was hot and I welcome any opportunity to eat fresh vegetables, so I ordered a salad. This did not please Sidi Mo and he kept insisting that I eat something else. I kept saying no and telling him I didn't want to eat a lot because it was so hot. This conversation continued for most of the meal.

I had expected to rent a little van to haul everything to my village, but Sidi Mo said we could put it on top of the transit vehicle that goes to my village every evening at 5:30. We had some time to kill and we were not buying a fridge, so we went to an air conditioned cafe! It was too hot for coffee or tea, so I ordered a juice. We sat for at least 2 hours and Sidi Mo kept telling me to order something else. I didn't want anything else and he kept telling me to drink coffee or a soda. I am so frustrated with people telling me to eat and drink. I know when I am full and when I want to drink something. I didn't want to drink anything else!

Earlier in the day, we had seen my fellow volunteer, Sarah, who is dating the English teacher from her village. He is Moroccan and they were walking hand-in-hand down the street in Khenifra. Since dating isn't really practiced in Morocco – most marriages still seem to be arranged or dates heavily chaperoned, most people expect Sarah to marry this young man and take him to America. This situation apparently planted an idea in Sidi Mo's head because most of our conversation at the cafe revolved around him asking to go to America with me. I tried to fend this off with my usual answer, which is that its expensive to go to America. When I told him the cost of the plane ticket, he told me no problem. I mentioned visa's and passports and he said no problem. Then I joked about how everyone in the Sisterhood wants to go with me and I'm going to have to buy an airplane to bring them all with. This line usually diffuses these kinds of conversations but it wasn't working with Sidi Mo.

Somehow the conversation turned to me being old and needing to get married quick and start having babies. Because once I turn 30, I'll be too old to find a man. The conversation was cyclical...We'd get to me not wanting to get married and not wanting to have babies (not really true, but it usually quiets people down when they are annoying me with questions about my marriage plans) and then we'd start over with him wanting to come to America with me. He never outright said I want to marry you, but mentioned getting a job in a factory and buying me a car and nice house. Then he mentioned me having babies – skipped right over the marriage part to me having his babies. We'd come to Morocco every summer to visit family. I kept telling him no, that only I was going back to America and he asked me what I tell my family about him! He also kept telling me that it was easier to get papers if you are married to an American!

I can't tell you how frustrating and belittling it is to feel like all anyone sees me as is a ticket to America, especially the men. Sidi Mo is someone I trusted and thought would not follow this line of thinking, or at least be decent enough not to bring it up with me. I felt trapped...I had no desire to be anywhere near him or to continue the conversation, but he was helping me get my stuff back home. I felt helpless and completely out of control of anything, which is really a crummy feeling.

Thankfully, displays of physical affection between men and women are not acceptable outside of marriage, so Sidi Mo did not try anything, but I still felt like I'd been violated somehow. By the way, public displays of affection are illegal in Morocco. Foreigners can get away with it, but it is not accepted among Moroccans.

Around 4pm we returned to the shop to collect my purchases. We hired a small pick up truck to bring them to the bus station. Sidi Mo was really helpful in getting them loaded on the transit and making sure we had seats. I would have struggled to get everything done that we accomplished, had I been alone.

I slept in today and when I finally emerged from my room, after reading for a while, it was nearly 11am! While I ate breakfast, my 2 year old host cousin, Samir, walked in wearing dress clothes. He was antsy, so I took his picture and asked him where he was going. I thought my host mom told me it was a wedding, but it turned out to be a party for a boy being circumcised, I think. They invited me to go and gave me a “taksheda” to wear. It's kind of like a jellaba, but doesn't have a hood and its fancy. It was absolutely beautiful and I accompanied Fatima and Mouna to the party.

It was your typical Moroccan party – we hung out for a while and then drank tea. Once everyone arrived, we ate lunch. There's a special occasion dish I've eaten a few times here, which always poses a challenge for me. Its a big hunk of meat served over a bed of onions and topped with either olives or stewed dates. It tastes a lot better than it may sound and I enjoy eating the onions, olives and dates, but the people at parties are always miffed when I don't touch the meat. In some cases even breaking off chunks and putting them in front of me! I'm wasn't worried when it showed up today, because there is usually a second course that is more appealing to me.

But my host mom was worried about me and she asked the hostess to bring a bowl of onions and olives for me, which the hostess happily did. Problem was, this happened after they had kept telling me to eat and I'd eaten a bunch of bread. So, I ate some of the extra food, but couldn't eat it all, plus they brought out another course! It was yummy – buttered spaghetti noodles topped with crushed peanuts and sugar. Delicious!

After lunch, many of the woman made a dash for the door, my host mom and Mouna included. I had befriended a couple of the girls at the party and they asked me to stay for the “hadus.” I stayed and danced with the women – a hadus seems to be anything that involves a drum and dancing. Someone drums and chants a song which others join in. Sometimes its a call and answer style. Eventually a couple girls start dancing and by the end all of the women were dancing. It was a lot of fun!

I went home with Fatima and her daughter, Mamaw who are somehow related to my host family. My host mom was coming there for evening tea. Fatima's brother, Mohamed, has always been kind to me and he started talking to me and asking me questions partly in French and partly in Tamazight. I was holding my own for a couple minutes until he asked me about Israel. My standard answer is that I don't know enough about the situation to form an opinion, but he wasn't accepting this. Thankfully, but also infuriatingly, Mamaw chimed in and asked why he was talking to me because “she doesn't understand Tamazight.” I was thankful for the interruption, but so maddened by her comment. It is so frustrating, especially when I've just conversed with someone for a couple minutes and then I don't understand something and they tell me I don't know any Tamazight or that I don't understand anything. Sometimes makes me want to scream!

The rest of the day was uneventful. There was a wedding in town and my family was going to watch, at 12 or 1am! I opted to sleep instead.

Its 6am and I woke up to the rooster next door cockle doodle doodling. He seems to live on the roof and for some reason he always comes to the edge closest to my window seemingly to wake me up. Once he starts, the donkeys soon follow and I think once one starts, they all start hee-hawing. Normally, I just turn over and fall back to sleep, but today the flies won't leave me alone. I don't know where they come from – my window has a screen and my door is closed when I sleep. There weren't any flying around when I went to bed last night, because I killed them all with my trusty Reader's Digest! It's too hot to wear much to bed, so I am in a t-shirt and shorts, which leaves plenty of skin for the flies to find. Its when they land on my face, especially my nose or lips, that really gets me going. I tried pulling my sheet over my arms and legs, but that drove them to my face! GROSS!

I had heard that the flies were bad during the summer, but I thought I might get lucky being in the mountains. No such luck. I've gotten used to them on the table when we eat and finding them swarming in the kitchen, but it really drives me crazy when they land on me!

I have a meeting this morning, which I am leaving for at 8:30, the time I usually roll out of bed! So, I'm annoyed that I'm missing out on my last hour of sleep. By the way, if it sounds like I get to sleep in, consider that we don't eat dinner until 11-ish and I don't make it to bed until midnight or later.

Friday Evening: The meeting went well. It was with the presidents of several associations in my rural commune and a neighboring one. MEDA is working with them to create a new association to manage and protect the forest in the area. I didn't understand most of the meeting, but I got the gist of what was going on and was able to repeat the highlights to some of the MEDA staff to prove that I understood something!

If you are interested in some background information on the forests and this project, here it is. A rural commune is kind of like county government in the U.S. Its a local unit of government that collects taxes and provides some services to its residents. My village is the “capital” of the rural commune, so both the village and commune have the same name. The commune governs a sizable area of the surrounding countryside, which includes a bunch of smaller villages.

The area is mountainous and forested in some areas. Due to a number of factors including erosion, clearing land for farming, and cutting trees for firewood the forest is disappearing. The firewood issue is a big one, remember that fantastic hammam experience I told you about? Wouldn't be possible without some firewood feeding the fire. Consider that a majority of the houses in my village have their own mini-hammam on the roof, which they fire up once a week. Plus, there is the communal hammam that provides hot water all day, every day. Don't forget the bread, many families still cook their bread in wood ovens – there is a somewhat pervasive view that bread baked in a gas oven isn't as good as bread from a wood oven. So, people in my commune are still cutting a lot of wood for fires.

The national government, through its Water and Forest Ministry developed a forestry management plan for the region which includes planting new trees, preventing the cutting of existing trees and fencing off areas to protect them indefinitely. Interestingly and perhaps somewhat progressively, when Morocco conducted a comprehensive inventory of its natural areas, it allowed indigenous groups and existing communities to remain within newly designated protected areas. The idea being that through grass-roots development, these communities could live in harmony with their surroundings. My commune is not in a national park or SIBE (Site of Biologic Importance – the acronym comes from French, so it doesn't quite translate), but the forest is critical and needs to be protected.

The idea behind this new association is to help get local buy-in and support for the forest management plan. If the existing community associations are supportive and bringing their constituents along as active partners in managing the forest, then the plan will be more successful than if a forest ranger from Rabat comes in and tells people not to cut trees down. Once the association is up and running, environmental education about the benefits of a healthy forest and alternatives to all that firewood must be presented. That is where I come in.

The Peace Corps Morocco Environment Program is a partner with the Moroccan Ministry of Water and Forests (EEF). We have a MOU and a strategic program plan that was developed jointly by PC and EEF. The main goal of our plan is environmental education – building an environmental ethic in our communities and linking it to everyday life. In my community, trash is the other big issue. Although the commune collects trash every Friday, they take it across the valley and dump it on the side of the mountain! I can't tell you how many times I've seen someone open a package of candy, cigarettes, etc. and just drop the wrapper.

Changing those kind of behaviors definitely won't happen overnight, but one of the PC target audiences is children – if we can get them early, it is easier to teach them new environmental ethics than if they are adults and already have habits and ideas somewhat ingrained in their minds.

I don't think I explained how PC Morocco is structured. There are four program areas – Youth Development, Small Business Development, Health and Environment. Each program has a manager and assistant – all are Moroccan and have extensive experience in their field. My program manager is named Mohissine (Mo) and our assistant is Aicha. Both are awesome – well-informed, supportive, approachable and responsive to my requests for information. Throughout the month of July, they are visiting all of the new volunteers to make sure everything is going well.

Mo visited me today and I was a little nervous about it, but everything went well. I went for my usual walk this morning and came home sweaty and ready for a bucket bath. Much to my dismay, the water in my village was turned off! I hadn't had a “real” shower since Fez and it had been a couple days since my last bucket bath, plus its been hot, so I was feeling rather rank. Oh well, I thought, I'm sure Mo has seen volunteers in worse shape than me. I put on fresh clothes and did my best to clean up, which is difficult when you don't have water.

I met Mo just after lunch, around 3pm and we went to a cafe to chat and have a limonada (code word for soda). We were there for a couple hours chatting about the situation in my village, potential projects, my host family, my family at home, etc. It was a good talk and very reassuring that I'm on the right track. Then we went to check on my apartment.

I had asked my host father for help finding an apartment and he showed me one which, thankfully, worked for me. I got the impression that it was this one or I was on my own, so I'm glad I liked it. Its just down the street from my host family and close to the center of town. I should be able to see the bus from my window and know when to go out to catch it! When we saw the apartment for the first time a couple weeks ago, another man from the Commune went with us to see it. I thought he owned the building, but he told me to negotiate rent with my host father. PC had scoped the real estate market when the chose my village and determined an acceptable amount of monthly rent, which I wasn't allowed to exceed. This amount was fine with my host father and we filled out a rental agreement earlier this week.

When Mo and I went to see the apartment, Mohammed, the man from the commune told Mo that his mother owns the building and she wasn't happy about renting the apartment to me for the previously agreed amount. She wanted 25% more per month! They went back and forth in Arabic, so I didn't really understand, but Mo told him that once we saw it, he would decide if it was worth the increased price.

Luckily, he decided it was – when we got there, a man was painting all the walls and window and door trim! It had looked pretty shabby when I saw the apartment and I had asked if I could paint. I don't know if there was a misunderstanding or if they wanted to fix it up, but I'm so glad they are painting it! They are also going to put new fixtures on all the windows so they lock properly. I kind of wonder if the mother story was a ploy to get a little extra money – I've heard so many stories like that and PC has warned us that we will always be seen as a rich American, although I recently learned we make less per month than welfare recipients.

I said goodbye to Mo and he set off to return to Khenifra. As I turned the corner on my street, I could smell the smoke of a wood fire. My heart soared when I saw smoke coming from my family's roof – the hammam was stoked up! Oh the absolute joy in my heart when I realized I'd get a good scrubbing. Its been a couple weeks since I've been to the hammam and I was starting to notice the effects. There's really only so much you can do with a bucket of cold water and a bandanna. The hammam was wonderful and I am once again squeaky clean. In the heat, it won't last long, but I will savor it while it lasts. By the way, my apartment doesn't have a shower, so I am hoping I can continue to join my host family for the weekly hammam.

My friend Marja, who lives in EEK, has been out of town for a couple weeks working at summer camps. She's a youth development volunteer and while the youth center is closed during July and August, she is working at a summer camp near Casablanca. Her host sister got married last night, and I went with Marja to the wedding.

Weddings are normally 3 days long, but this one was crammed into one. Normally, the first day is for the groom, the second day for the bride and the third day for the couple. I'm still trying to figure out everything involved in the weddings. They are usually held at home, but are still expensive affairs. We arrived at 10pm in time to hang out for a couple hours before things really started happening. The women were in one room, men in another. We drank tea and ate dinner around 12:30am. By the time the meal was finished it was pushing 2am and everyone moved to the roof.

It had been tented and the floor covered with carpets. There were ponjs around the perimeter and pillows on the floor where people could sit. It was quickly crowded and more and more people kept coming. Apparently, since the party goes all night, the neighbors all join in for this portion of the party. They family had hired a “band” - I forget the proper name for them, but its a group of male musicians that includes a drum, violin, recorder-like instrument and a vocalist. There are also four women who do traditional dances.

We stayed until 4:30am and the groom still hadn't made his appearance! There was dancing and singing and they did some things with the bride while we were there, but I'm pretty sure we missed the actual “wedding.” I kept getting wafts of what I thought smelled like beer, but dismissed it as my mind playing tricks on me. I later learned that there was indeed “shrab” or alcohol at the party.

The dancing was interesting, because the corner with the alcohol was surrounded by all the young men. The next layer of people was young women and there was quite a bit of male/female dancing in that corner of the roof. I was somewhat surprised - although Morocco is more tolerant than other Muslim countries, I hadn't seen men and women dance together.

I was exhausted last night when I went to bed and I woke up with a fever and flu symptoms. Gross! It's souk and my counterpart Said was supposed to be in town, so I dragged myself out of bed and took a couple Tylenol. I made it to the post office and decided to come home. Some kids were yelling “tiromine” at me, which means foreigner when I walked out of the post office. Souk was super crowded and I couldn't handle all the people and animals, so I went home and slept for a couple hours. When I emerged from my room, my host mom teasingly scolded me for sleeping all day and missing lunch. I told her I wasn't feeling well and she asked if I wanted to eat tagine – they had saved me some! I couldn't handle much in the way of food, so I agreed to eat some bread. When I walked into the living room to sit down, I saw a plate of “shalada” which is onions and tomatoes chopped up and seasoned with salt and cumin. Its one of may favorite things to eat and I almost burst into tears at how thoughtful my host mom was. I was in need of some TLC and she definitely gave me a little.

I met my friend Jonathan in Fes this weekend and we had a wonderful time. We spent most of Saturday wandering and getting lost in the medina. Once we got beyond some of the touristy areas, it was surreal – narrow alleys, dead ends, people going about their daily lives. I read something interesting about Fes recently – few of the homes in the medina have first floor windows and if they do, they are usually covered. Its true and its because as the city was built, wealthy families lived beside poor families and without windows you wouldn't know who lived where. This concept hit home when Jonathan and I found ourselves lost and decided to follow signs for a tapestry cooperative.

It was a short walk and we quickly found ourselves in a beautiful building, but you wouldn't know it from the outside. There was a wooden sign hanging above a nondescript doorway, but once you entered, it was a whole new world. A docent/salesman introduced himself and told us about the home. It dates to the 14th century and was recently restored by UNESCO! It was obviously one of those wealthy families that built the house because the tile work and attention to detail was stunning. The tapestry cooperative is now housed there and one room had carpets seemingly stacked floor to ceiling.

When we regained our senses, the gentleman led us to the roof, which was literally breathtaking. We could see the entire medina spreading around us in all directions. Words truly can't describe how incredible it was – you'll have to look at the pictures. I was struck by the vastness and the thought of everything that happens in the medina – food markets, clothes markets, tanneries, people living, tourist attractions, mosques, and universities, much of it continuing as it has for centuries. The modern satellite dishes on almost every roof are a striking contrast to the centuries-old building they reside on.

Juice is big in Morocco – not just orange juice, which you can find just about anywhere, but avocado and almond “juice,” which is like a milk shake. Any kind of fruit or nut you can put in a blender can find its way into your juice. One of my personal favorites is avocado, almond and prune – don't laugh - the prunes add a nice sweetness. While walking in the medina, Jonathan mentioned finding a place to get juice and I immediately got visions of these “fancy” juices in my head. We did find a cafe with orange juice, but no other juices. I was a little disappointed, but couldn't shake the idea of a good juice.

We later found a medersa, which served as a dorm for poor, rural men studying at the mosques. There are several in Fes and I don't remember which one we visited, but it was stunning despite its less than well-preserved appearance. Medersas were built all over the Middle East beginning in the 1st century. The ones in Fes date to the 14th century and were used almost continuously until the 1950's.

We ate lunch at McDonald's and it was less than impressive. Unlike the U.S. where the golden arches are a cheap lunch, the cost was the equivalent of going to eat at a decent restaurant in Fes. Although the fries certainly tasted like McDonald's fries, it wasn't worth it.

On our way back to the hotel, we passed an ice cream and I poked my head in to see if they had juice. I was so happy to see a basket of avocados and other assorted fruits! I made Jonathan stop for a quick juice even though we had both just said how tired we were. It was wonderful!

The K-5 attended our second MEDA staff meeting today. Once again the day started wonderfully with lunch together in Khenifra at our favorite pizza place. The pizza isn't great, but its centrally located and one of only 2 restaurants that offer anything other than tagines and sandwiches.

My cell phone stopped sending text messages over the weekend. This might not sound tragic, but since this is the cheapest way to communicate, it is my main connection to other volunteers. I had fiddled with the settings to no avail and took it to the young man who works in the teleboutique where I buy my phone cards. He spent a good 15 minutes checking it out and told me it was a problem with the network. He suggested going to the Maroc Telecom office in Khenifra, which I did before the MEDA meeting.

I was thrilled when I walked into an air-conditioned office which was mostly empty. I thought this would take 15 or 20 minutes and I'd be on my way. I took a number and waited a couple minutes for my turn. In my best Tamazight, I explained the situation to the customer service man. He called someone else over and this man played around with my phone, but couldn't find anything wrong. He asked me to come back tomorrow. I told him I couldn't come back tomorrow and told him where I lived. They looked me up in the computer and declared that I didn't have a contract. This was correct, but I was using the prepaid phone cards – no contract needed. They suggested a new SIM card and the customer service guy disappeared to an upstairs area for a while. He returned with a stack of SIM cards, but then called the next customer over. He tried putting a new SIM card in my phone, but it didn't work. He didn't explain this to me, but just set my phone down. Apparently the next customer needed a new SIM card, too and they fixed him up immediately. This had now taken 45 minutes and I got the impression that the customer service guy was going to ignore me. He called the next customer. I picked up my phone and handed it to him and asked for the new SIM card. He told me to go to a teleboutique to buy one. I couldn't see how the teleboutique would have a card that would work, but he wouldn't. The teleboutiques are independent shops that sell phone cards and SIM cards, but they aren't officially affiliated with Maroc Telecom.

I was extremely frustrated because before I could clarify, he called the next person. ARGH! Was it because I'm a foreigner, an unaccompanied woman? Why wouldn't he help me? I left because I was going to be late for the MEDA meeting.

After last month's meeting, we were all frustrated, so Elizabeth and Jake invited their tutor to the meeting to translate. This was not received well and we spent a good 15 minutes going back and forth with Mr. S. He explaining that this was an internal meeting and only staff were allowed. Point taken by us, but what is the point of sitting through a meeting we won't understand? Mr. S told us it would get easier as we learned the language, except that we are all learning Tamazight and they conduct meetings in French and Arabic. Finally, they brought in Mr. C who I think is the number 2 person at MEDA and who speaks English. He explained again what Mr. S had told us and we conceded, but then he left and we sat through a meeting we didn't understand.

I later asked Said why Mr. C couldn't or wouldn't stay to help us understand the meeting and he told me that he isn't responsible for this area of the project. I'm not used to this kind of response to things – I'm used to the “if we have the resources, we should use them” kind of response. If I was running the show, I'd want to make sure the volunteers knew what was going on. I'm not in charge, so I contented myself with Said's explanation of the meeting. We've gotten to be friends over the past month and he has patiently explained as much as he can to me about MEDA and the projects they are working on in and around my village.

I asked Said to help me with my phone, thinking maybe something was lost in translation. He took me to a friend of his in Khenifra who owns a technology hanut that rivals Best Buy. It took about an hour, but he diagnosed the problem as an old program on my cell phone that doesn't work with the Maroc Telecom's new network. For 20Dh he put the new program on my cell phone and I didn't have to buy a new SIM card or a new phone, which would have run me 400Dh! The best part is that I'm back in touch with my friends!

On our way to the taxi station, Said and I stopped for a juice at the patisserie. We must have taken our sweet time because by the time we got to the station, there were no more taxis to the Sisterhood! Yikes! We tried a couple options for getting me home – calling my host dad to see if he was around, Said calling friends who have cars, etc. but we weren't successful. Since I had come for the day, I wasn't prepared to spend the night in Khenifra and Marja, the volunteer who lives in El Kebab was out of town, so I couldn't crash with her. I ended up buying out a taxi to take me home. I had to pay round trip since it was too late for him to pick up passengers for the ride back. I tried my best to haggle with him – chatted him up on the ride, used my best Tamazight, talked about how I am a volunteer and a friend of Said's (he is a friend of Said's so I thought that might work), even talked about my brother after he told me he served with American troops in the Balkans, but nothing worked. I reluctantly handed him the cash when we got to my village. He insisted on giving me his phone number and told me to come to his house to meet his family and eat couscous, like we were old pals.

I certainly learned my lesson the hard way – don't stay past 7pm in Khenifra! It would have cost me half of what I paid for the taxi to get a hotel room in Khenifra, which is an alternative should I find myself stuck in Khenifra again.

I slept in today, knowing that I didn't have anything to do and that we wouldn't leave for the party until early evening. When I finally emerged from my room around 10am, Fatima was dressed like she was going somewhere and there was a flurry of activity in the house. The whole family was going to nearby Tighsline, which has souk on Saturdays. Fatima told me to stay home and relax and that I could eat lunch down the street at Mouna's house. WOW, could today get any better? I get the whole house to myself for some much needed and appreciated alone time.

I read, I watched TV in English, I read some more. It was downright heavenly! About the TV, most families have a satellite dish and get more channels than I could possibly imagine and there are a handful in English. My personal favorite for news is Al-Jazeera International, which provides some of the best world news coverage I have seen and produces some amazing specials about issues in the news. A recent one was about the U.S.'s ethanol policy and the impact it could/is having on world food prices and availability. There is also a series of MBC channels that show movies, old and new American TV shows and cartoons. Tom and Jerry and Looney Toons are wildly popular – I never fully appreciated these cartoons as a kid. They seemed so silly, but seeing Zuhir and Jalil crack up over and over at these classic cartoons has helped me develop an appreciation for them. I haven't figured out the schedule, but Oprah, Days of Our Lives and several other American shows are shown in prime time.

Back to my really amazing day, I took my usual afternoon nap and fell asleep to the sounds of American TV. My family returned home around 4pm and we had tea. They showed off their new purchases – mostly new clothes for all of the kids to wear to the party. Everyone changed into their party clothes and piled into my Haddou's car. We drove to “T” the nearby village my host mom is from and hung out at her parents house for a while. The kids ran around in the fields, trying to knock the ripe plums from the trees.

The party was next door and was a relatively quiet affair. The men hung out in separate rooms from the women and children, although, the boys are allowed in both rooms. Most of the time was spent chit-chatting and taking care of the small children. I don't think we ate until midnight and it was close to 2am by the time we got home. I was surprised there wasn't music or dancing, but there was still a festive feel to the evening. As far as I could tell, they didn't do anything special for the woman who is leaving.

I give her a lot of credit. Her husband has been working and living in France for a while and they finally saved enough money for her to join him. She doesn't speak any French and is leaving behind her family, friends and everything she knows.

Rihanna is performing in Casablanca this month! WOW! It rained today and I was having lunch with a family that lives a little outside the main part of town. They were trying to convince me to stay for tea, but I had told my host mom that I would be home to go to the hammam with her. That explanation wasn't working, so I used the rain as an excuse to go. It was barely drizzling, but the storm clouds were rolling in. Their son Said was telling me I needed an umbrella, but I didn't know the word for umbrella and it sounds like the word for “later,” which was confusing because I thought he was telling me to stay later. We had a somewhat circular conversation until someone straightened me out.

Their daughter, Naima, walked me home and I was explaining to her that I always slip on the steep path that leads to their house and that the boys hanging around always laugh at me. Just as I finished telling her this, I slipped on a relatively easy portion of the trail and landed on my butt. We both had a good laugh about this and when we got to the steep part, she showed me a shortcut that is more manageable than the trail I knew and runs next to a couple houses, so the boys don't congregate there.

This path went past a fig tree, which has good figs. Naima had pointed out a couple trees where the figs were “no good,” and I told her how much I liked figs and that it was sad that we couldn't eat the figs. This tree with good figs had quite a few that were ripe and Naima hiked her skirt and started climbing among the branches to pick them. Both her and I had large handfuls of figs when Hafida, the tree's owner, joined us! I offered her the figs in my hand and she just laughed. I guess Naima regularly “steals” her figs! Hafida kindly gave us each a bag to carry our figs home and told me to come to her house whenever I wanted a fig.

Have you ever eaten a fig straight from the tree? It is a heavenly experience and the figs at home pale in comparison to these. I shared the figs with my family when I got home and told them that I love figs, but we don't have them where I live in the U.S. They were somewhat shocked by this information and then told me to eat the rest of them. I happily obliged.

Rihanna is coming to Casablanca....this is completely irrelevant information except for the fact that the TV commercial for her concert featured her Umbrella song.

Happy 4th of July! It doesn't feel like it can be this late in the year already. My parents and sister leave this weekend to spend a week with my extended family in upstate New York. It is slightly surreal that life continues as usual back home and everyone is going to BBQ's and fireworks and enjoying a 3-day weekend, while today was just another day in Morocco. Some of my PC friends who live near the Mediterranean are camping at the beach this weekend. I am a little green with envy.

We PC volunteers do not observe American Holidays, we observe Moroccan holidays, so today is just another work day. Plus, the new volunteers like me are not allowed to take vacation time during our first 3 months of service. The beach is too far away for me to get there and back in 2 days. Have I mentioned I'm a little bummed?

I spent most of today at souk and meeting with my counterpart Said, who was in the Sisterhood. By the time I returned home, it was tea time and I joined my family in the family room. Souk days are a bit crazy at my host family's house – their family from the nearby village comes to town for souk and uses the house as a home base. There are usually 5 to 10 more adults and a handful of kids around. Throughout the day, their purchases pile up in the entryway, so I didn't really make much of the ubiquitous black plastic bags that were stacked in the hallway when I arrived.

After tea, nobody got up and left like they usually do. The conversation turned to me – I couldn't quite figure out what they were saying, but someone told Zuhir to go get the bag. He quickly returned and handed me one of the black plastic bags. “Open it!” everyone told me. My host sister, Sumia, had the biggest smile on her face and everyone else was watching me expectantly. I opened the bag to find a polyester outfit in maroon with black flowers! I had absolutely no idea what to do. I must have looked confused because they told me to go try it on. Still rather confused, I tried it on and discovered that the skirt was tight. Thinking this was my “out” I returned to the living room with the shirt and my own pants on and explained the situation.

The only solution was to return to souk and find a bigger size. By this time it was early evening and the vendors were starting to pack up. Despite this, Sumia, my host uncle and Zuhir and I quickly headed to souk and found the vendor nearly completely packed up. He gladly opened one of his large boxes to reveal several versions of the outfit I had just tried on – white with gold flowers, black with gold flowers, black with white flowers and another to match mine. None of them had sizes, so I suggested holding up the skirt I had tried on to see if any of them were larger. This was interpreted as taking all of them home and trying them on. We rushed back home and all the women in the house ushered into my room for the fashion show. There I was with my host mom, aunt, cousin and Sumia – all of them watching and waiting for me to start modeling.

Seeing no other option, I grabbed the first outfit and tried it on. We went through all of them, my host mom reassuring me that the skirts were not too tight and me protesting as best I could in Tamazight. Without a full length mirror, I was relying on their judgment of what was appropriate or too tight. I try to call as little attention to myself with my clothing by wearing long, flowing skirts that don't hug my hips or loose-fitting pants that don't draw attention to my backside. This new skirt was decidedly hugging my hips and would probably have been completely fine if I was at home, but I am in Morocco where the men stare and tell me how beautiful I am when I'm in an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants. By the time we got to the last skirt, which was identical to the one my family picked out, I was holding out hope that none would fit. But as soon as I slipped it on, my host mom smiled and said this was the one. It was indeed looser fitting than the others and didn't hug my hips.

We dashed back to souk, where my host uncle was waiting. He wouldn't let me pay or even help to pay for the outfit, which was rather expensive. We returned home and I wondered what would happen to the matching outfit that was still sitting at home. I didn't have to wonder for long, because my host mom handed it to Sumia and she took it home with her. My next mission was to find out why I needed a new party dress and I asked Mamaw, my host-cousin. She told me there was a baby-naming party over the weekend. For good measure, I also asked my host mom, who told me that a cousin I had met previously was moving to France and there was a going away party for her. Turns out the party is on Saturday evening in a nearby village.

Mondays are the day that my counterparts Rachida and Said are in their office in EEK. It is souk day in EEK so many people from the surrounding towns and villages that Rachida and Said work with travel to EEK to do their weekly shopping and they stop in the office to say hello and take care of paperwork. Sarah and I are the K-5 volunteers assigned to work with Said and Rachida, so we go to the office on Mondays.

I get up early, at 7 or 7:30 to get ready and make sure I catch a taxi by 8:30 or 9am. If I am any later, the taxis are gone and I have to wait a while or walk out to the main road. My host mom usually insists on my eating breakfast, but breakfast usually isn't ready before I want to leave, so I try to “sneak” out when she is milking the cow or otherwise occupied.

The taxi usually isn't full when I get there so I make a quick run to the post office to check my mail and to send any letters I've written over the weekend. By the time I get back, the taxi is usually full and we are on our way. The taxi is a 15 to 20 minute ride and EEK is busy by the time we get there.

I haven't figured out the office schedule, because some Mondays, Rachida and Said are there and in full swing when I arrive and other times I've sat outside reading my book until 10:30 or 11am waiting for someone show up. So far, there hasn't been any work that Sarah and I can help with, so we catch up with each other and try to get information out of Said and Rachida. They are busy actually working, so I feel a bit awkward pestering them with questions. Sarah and I usually stick around for an hour or two and then take off to meet Marja, the youth development volunteer who lives in EEK. We meet for lunch and sometimes hit the internet cafe or go to souk. By the time we return to the office around 3 or 4pm Said and Rachida are wrapping things up and there is more time to talk. I stay and chat with Said about the things happening in my village and he patiently answers all of my questions.

Around 5 or 6pm I head back to the taxi stand to get a ride home. For some reason, they really cram people in on this route. Once I counted 13 people in a station wagon – 4 in the way back, 5 in the middle and 4 in front! The front seat was interesting because it was the driver, 2 women and me. One woman was straddling the gear shift and I was sharing the front seat with another woman. Talk about uncomfortable! The woman next to the driver had her jelaba hiked up and she had to kind of stand up every time the driver shifted gears.

Its usually tea time when I get home and Fatima, my host brothers and I sit down for an early evening snack. Sometimes I accompany Sumia to the spring to get water and other evenings I simply relax and try to process the day. Mondays are good because I have a set schedule and I get to speak a little English!

I finally went swimming yesterday! It was glorious and I am a bit jealous that my friend Tori can walk to the river whenever she wants. Tori lives just north of Khenifra, outside Mrirt in a small, agricultural community. I visited her and her host family yesterday and went went for a swim. Getting to the swimming was interesting, though.

I met Tori in Mrirt and we took a transit bus to her village. It was packed to the gills and these 2 boys kept asking us if we were going swimming and if they could have a couple Dirhams. We made the mistake of telling them we were going swimming because then they wanted to join us. We firmly told them no and thankfully, they got off well before we did. When we got to Tori's house, her host mom, Shumisha wanted to make tea, but we were anxious to get swimming so agreed to have tea afterwards.

We walked/hiked/slid through the fields and along a path to get to the river, but found the spot Tori swam last time to be overrun with young men. She knew of another spot further downstream, so we headed in that direction. Our walk was accompanied by the sounds of “Bonjour,” “You want to swim?” and plenty of stares. Just as we were spreading our towels on a rock and looking around to make sure we were alone, 2 young men emerged from the path and joined us. They were probably in their late teens or early 20's and spoke a little English. They wanted to join us for a swim, which we tried to decline, but they weren't taking a hint, In addition to simply wanting to be by ourselves, it would have been very inappropriate for us to swim with Moroccan men.

One young man was wearing his white boxer briefs and matching white Crocs; the other a looser pair of shorts – no shirts, no modesty that we could very clearly see their “family jewels,” and they seemed completely oblivious to the fact that we were uncomfortable with their presence. They encouraged us to jump in the river with them and one of them even jumped in to show us everything was OK. We continued to decline and increasingly, just ignored them. They finally took a hint and left, leaving Tori and I marveling at a society in which many women won't leave the house without their head covered, but men can walk around in their underwear.

We enjoyed the rest of our swim – the current was fast so we had to jump in and then swim as fast as we could to the edge. It was a rush and a welcome relief from the heat. We went back to Tori's house and lingered a bit too long over tea because we missed the last transit back to Mrirt, where we were going to meet Anna and Ian to make dinner and spend the night at Anna's.

We walked out to the road and waited a while, expecting one to come at any minute. I was sitting on a rock close to the ground when a herd of sheep and goats passed. We were talking and watching them walk by when a black goat at the end of the group strayed and approached me. I naturally said hello and he stared at me for a minute before rubbing his head against my shoulder. I was completely taken aback and busted up laughing, while the goat sniffed my bag. He lost interest and quickly joined the rest of the herd, leaving Tori and I laughing rather hysterically.

In the mean time, her host mom and aunt watched us from afar, waiting for us to admit defeat and come back to the house. It seemed like they were watching from a distance so that we wouldn't notice because as soon as we started to walk back, they scurried into the house and were seemingly going about their business when we got back. Like almost every Moroccan mother I've met, Tori's was concerned with how much dinner we ate. We were eating sharia, the spaghetti noodles with a creamy sauce, but everyone had their own individual bowls. Once Tori and I finished our first ones, Shumisha wanted to fill them up again. Tori asked for a half bowl and I tried to explain how nice it was to get something only half-filled because in my host family, you always get a full glass of tea even if you ask for half. Shumisha jumped on this and said that if that was the way it was in my house, she would fill up our bowls because she wanted me to feel at home!

We spent the night at Tori's and got up early the next day to go to Azrou, because one of the volunteers was having a get together so the new volunteers could meet the other volunteers in the area. Sharon definitely lived up to her reputation as the Martha Stewart of the Middle Atlas Mountains! She has a beautiful apartment and prepared quite a spread of food. There were quite a few volunteers and it was a nice day.

I traveled back to Khenifra with Linda, a small business volunteer who lives there. I misjudged when the last taxis to my site would leave and missed the last one, so I spent the night at Linda's. She is a lovely host and is endlessly inspiring. In her 60's, she is an “older” volunteer, but is still young at heart. There is something in Linda that reminds me of my Grandmom, but I haven't quite placed it. It is something beyond the obvious.

Oh the exquisite joy of mail! I went to the post office yesterday – I try to limit my visits to once or twice a week, otherwise I am disappointed when there is no mail. Much to my surprise, there were 2 packages and 4 letters waiting for me! My friend Andrea sent me my favorite shampoo and some other goodies from Lush as well as an assortment of books and magazines. Today, I took an extra long “bath” and finally washed my hair with good shampoo! I usually have to wash it twice with the shampoo I bought here because the first time it doesn't lather, just soaks up all the grease! gross, but this Lush shampoo is awesome! I used a dusting powder that Andrea sent and I felt like a woman again! It was downright luxurious.

My brother and sister-in-law sent some goodies, too! 2 bags of mini reese's PB cups, which are my favorite! They are a little melted and smooshed, but still delicious. I can't wait to have my apartment so I can put them in the fridge.

Mail is awesome.

I was sitting in the way back of seat of a station wagon taxi waiting to go back to my village this afternoon, when I understood my first joke in Tamazight! The last passenger to show up had some large sacks of grain, which the driver was trying to fit in the trunk. Unfortunately, the other passengers had placed their souk purchases – mostly fruits and vegetables in the trunk and people were admonishing the driver to be careful not to crush their fruit. I was taking it all in, when the driver pulled out a plastic bag of figs and handed it to the man sitting in front of me. He examined his figs and declared, “These aren't figs, this is jam! Where's the sugar I bought? I'll just add it now.” I busted up laughing and then realized that I had understood what he said. People usually take notice and are really excited when they realize I speak Tamazight but today, no one noticed. I was a little disappointed that not one of the 10 or so people noticed that I was laughing with them, but I was pleased with myself for my progress at understanding the conversations taking place around me.

I met up with Tori, Kaylyn, Jake and Logan this weekend. It was Kaylyn's birthday so she came to visit us in Khenifra. Its amazing what a few weeks of immersion in another culture will do to people! I met up with everyone mid-afternoon and they had been talking since mid-morning. We continued to talk well into the night – I think it was close to 3am by the time we called it a night! Everyone had stories of host families, mild harassment in their sites, frustrations with the language and cultural barriers and those moments where all you can do is laugh at yourself because you are failing miserably to communicate with someone in your site. Lacking any solid time to interact with people who speak English, it felt like we had to get the most out of our time together. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

It is miserably hot this week, but I had no idea how hot it was. My village is at an elevation of approximately 6,000 feet and it was 100 F! Down in Khenifra, which is closer to sea level it was even hotter. Growing up in Chicago, where humidity can reach 100% and 90 F can be deadly, I was somewhat surprised at how well I was faring. OK, I wasn't doing fantastically, but I don't really have anyone to complain to, so I wasn't complaining. I have never really bought into the whole dry heat theory, but it has earned some credibility since I've been in Morocco. But, hot is still hot and my butt still sticks to the plastic chair at the internet cafe even in the “dry” heat. Thankfully, it cools off somewhat at night, although I have spent a few nights sleeping on the floor because simply laying on a bed was too hot.

Despite my best efforts to “maintain my figure,” as someone recently put it, I am growing a bread belly. Moroccans eat a lot of bread. Breakfast is bread with olive oil, butter, jam or honey. Lunch and dinners are usually eaten without utensils with bread serving as the means to getting food in your mouth. I've devised ways to eat less bread – stopping when I am nowhere near full because someone always insists that I eat more and puts another piece of bread in front of me or finishing my first piece of bread and then eating the potatoes and carrots in the tagine with my fingers or using as small a piece of bread as I can to scoop the largest chunk of vegetables. My family is catching on because they offer me utensils for some meals like the salad (chopped tomatoes, onions and garlic) usually eaten with bread, but I get to use a spoon. Other meals are simply delicious, but not at all healthy like fried zuchini or eggplant and french fries. Yummy, but not helping my waistline.

My attempts to exercise have been counteracted by the invites to tea and breakfast that I receive while out on my daily walk/run. I usually go out early to beat the heat and most people are at home still sleeping. When I return, my host mom has tea and breakfast waiting for me. Even if I've stopped for tea or breakfast on my way back, she still insists that I eat again and I have a hard time refusing her.

It would reflect poorly on Fatima if I lost weight while under her care. Many of the women tell me I need to gain weight so I can have a larger chest and a nicer belly. I try to explain wanting to be healthy, but it doesn't really translate, so I stick my belly out a far as I can to demonstrate that I have one. The chest is more difficult to prove because I wear looser fitting clothes to detract any attention from the men in my village. One women told me to keep eating because I don't have a chest and men like women with large chests. She demonstrated this last part by holding her hands out well beyond a reasonable size!

Despite what I eat, someone always tells me that I don't eat enough. I honestly think I could eat a whole tagine, and they would still tell me I didn't eat enough. I think part of it is that I don't eat meat, so they want to make sure I eat more than my share of vegetables and bread. Part of it is cultural, they tell everyone to eat. Except that they are much more persistent with me. If someone else says they are full, the pressure to eat is off. But when I say I'm full, I am faced with “a little more, please?” Sometimes its a nice request and other times its a sharp directive to “EAT!”

Thankfully, my pants still fit and I'll be cooking for myself in a month. I have visions of stir fry and eggs over easy dancing in my head.

Yes, you read correctly. Today, was circumcision day at the clinic and there was quite a bit of celebrating to accompany the procedures. All last week, people in town would stop me and ask if I was going to the hospital on Sunday. They would hold up their pointer and index fingers on one hand and mimic a scissors with the other hand. “They are cutting the boys,” was the message I took away from these interactions.

This morning, I walked to the clinic to find a large group of women gathered outside and some kids hanging around. I had my usual group of girls accompanying me and we hung around outside for a while. My host father noticed me and invited me to come into the hospital. I was a little nervous about what I would see, but figured I should check things out since everyone made such a big deal about it.

Thankfully, there were a lot of men from town milling around and drinking tea, and they stopped me to chat for a few minutes. I learned that they bring in a handful of doctors from the larger hospital in Khenifra about once per year to perform the procedure. They were surprised to learn that in America, most boys are circumcised before they leave the hospital. The boys here are circumcised anywhere from 6 months to 4 or 5 years old. Families from the surrounding countryside traveled to the Sisterhood for the procedure.

As for the actual procedure, I have no basis of comparison to what happens in the U.S. In my village, they had desks from the school set up as operating tables, which were covered with plastic. Each boy was propped up on a pillow and held spread eagle by a male member of the community – not a family member (they waited outside). The doctor performed the procedure and then bandaged the boy, who was returned to his mother with a “goody bag.” The goody bags had yogurt, a hard boiled egg and some bread.

I didn't have the stomach to watch an entire procedure, so I watched the end of one and it was gruesome enough for me. The interesting part was that the pillow the boy was laying on matched the set in my room at my host families house! I thought, “No, someone else must have the same set,” but when I returned home, a pillow was missing from the room!

Back to the hospital. I was struck by the less than sterile environment. One doctor had a pile of peanuts and a cup of tea on the edge of his “operating” table. They would wipe the surface off after each procedure, but it didn't look like they were disinfecting anything, merely washing things off.

I went outside to see what was happening and found the women singing and celebrating. It was a small Haduse, involving drums and singing. Some of the younger girls were dancing. I couldn't help but notice one boy who wouldn't stop crying. He was strapped onto his mother's back and it must have been putting pressure on his recent wound. I felt so bad for him, but his mother seemed oblivious to his cries.

After the last of the surgeries, I hung out for a while chatting with the doctors. Several of them spoke English and I was a bit of a novelty, We talked about life in Morocco and life in America and compared notes. They were surprised that I liked living in my village. We went to lunch at the home of a prominent community member. It was a bit surreal as I was one of 2 females – the other was a nurse from Khenifra who had helped earlier in the day. Lunch was a dish that must be reserved for special occasions – its a large chunk of meat (I don't know what kind, maybe lamb or beef) served over a bed of onions and topped with stewed dates. This obviously doesn't leave much for me to eat, but I dug into the onions and dates and when someone noticed that I wasn't eating the meat, we got into quite a discussion.

Normally, I tell people that eating meat makes me sick. While not entirely true, after 8 years of not eating it, I'm sure it would make me sick. This usually works on the women in my village, but this was a room full of doctors! They weren't buying it, but I insisted and told them that I didn't eat meat in America either, which seemed to satisfy them.

After lunch a man started chanting and the others joined in. I wasn't sure what was happening, but this continued for a couple minutes with the men bowing their heads and placing their hands palms up, one on top of the other. Afterwards, they explained that they were chanting a verse from the Qu'ran and the man who initiated it was the Imam. A short time later, the festivities broke up and I headed home to join my family for a nap.

Moroccan's have a wonderful sense of hospitality. I think if I wanted to, I could stop cooking for the next two years and just rotate through my community. It seems like everyone I meet wants me to come to their house to eat lunch or dinner and spend the night. That old saying of “What is mine is yours,” really applies in Morocco.

One family invited me for tea and then insisted on watching what I wanted to watch on TV. Most families have satellite, so the channels are endless and I really don't know what is available in English. They flipped through the English channels and we settled on the news. I was somewhat enthralled and after we exhausted our conversation in my limited Tamazight, I happily learned what was happening in the world. This was one of the wealthier families in town, so they insisted on me using their computer to check my email. WOW, I thought, this is not the Peace Corps I pictured. The family insisted that I stay for dinner and then asked if I wanted to take a shower! My protestations of no clean clothes were met with offers to loan me clothes and no worries about shampoo, soap or a towel, either. As I was leaving, the family invited me to come back whenever I wanted to watch English TV, use their internet or take a shower. They even told me they have multiple TV's so I could watch in English by myself while they watch their shows!

I joined another family for tea and over the course of conversation, my habit of not eating meat surfaced. They invited me to lunch the following week and planned it so that it would be the day after souk, so they could buy lots of fresh vegetables. The meal was huge! Lots of vegetables for me, 3 hard-boiled eggs they expected me to eat by myself, a tagine, and salads. This was topped off with honeydew and watermelon and more tea. We rested for a while after lunch and they showed me some of their handicrafts. When I tried to leave, they insisted I stay for evening coffee. After coffee, I was leaving and they invited me to stay for dinner! I declined because I needed to get home, but they invited me back the following week for lunch and a bath (more on that later).

I simply have to walk out my door and down my street to receive an invitation for tea. If it is evening, tea usually turns into an invitation to stay and eat dinner and then spend the night. The sleeping over thing still confounds me, but I guess it is standard procedure.

I met up with a couple volunteers from my training group in Fes for the weekend! It was great to get out and travel on our own without the rules and restrictions of training. We barely saw any of the city, but had a good time!! I met Jonathan, Phil and Erin.

Fes has a new city, built by the French and an old city built over the past 1,000 years by the locals. The old city, Medina, is still surrounded by defense walls, but has large “doors” or entrances. We stayed at a hotel near Bab Boujeloud which offered views of the nearby mosques and the beautiful “door” to the city.

We spent Saturday morning walking through the Medina, which is a maze of roads and alleys. There were narrow alleyways where it looked like the buildings on either side were reinforcing each other with wood beams. Others where you'd see a sign directing you down a side alley towards a shop promising wonders. We found our way to a leather shop and after much discussion, back and forth bargaining and pleas of “we have very little money, we are volunteers,” all 4 of us left with new leather bags! The shopkeeper had to go check with the “owner” to make sure he wasn't accepting to low a price. He made sure to tell us what a deal we were getting.

OK we didn't exactly leave with the bags. The straps on mine and Erin's bags were too long, so the man offered to shorten them for us. We paid half the agreed price and told him we would return before he closed at 7pm. When we returned later in the afternoon, he tried to charge us an extra 20Dh for the sewing job! We refused on the basis that he didn't tell us that previously and he kept telling us no problem to shorten the straps when we were bargaining. As were were leaving he told us “Well, I paid the man 20Dh but if you don't want to pay me then OK, but I paid him 20Dh.”

We barely touched the old Medina in our 2 or 3 hour stroll...I think we were still in tourist land and not into the heart of the Medina. One of our teachers from training, Said, lives in Fes and we met him for lunch. He took us back to his family's house and his mom and sister made us a wonderful feast! It was fun to see how city Moroccans live and to compare and contrast that with how people in rural areas live. We all practiced our language and also spoke English with Said and his brothers.

By the time we got back to our hotel it was 7pm and everyone wanted a shower and some time to relax. By coincidence, there were 4 PC volunteers from Gambia staying at the same hotel. They were at the end of a month-long vacation around Morocco! It was a great surprise and we spent the evening chatting and comparing our work and the PC rules. We Moroccan PC's had planned to go to a sushi restaurant for dinner and we convinced our new friends to join us.

The restaurant was just outside a fancy hotel/resort place and was a bit upscale for PC volunteers, but we were all craving “American” food and decided to go for it. We Moroccan PC's are still living with host families so we can't yet cook for ourselves and the Gambian volunteers stay with their host families the entire 2 years so they were really craving a taste of home. Over dinner we talked about food...we are sick of bread and tea here in Morocco but the Gambian volunteers were thrilled to see bread. I would love some beans, and they are sick of beans. So we decided its a give and take and no matter where you are, the local food will become routine and unexciting.

My sushi cost half as much as my new leather bag and I decided I would be staying home for the next month and saving my Dirhams. It was worth every penny, though – yes Fes is nowhere near an ocean and I am in Morocco, but I've been eating home-cooked Moroccan food for 4 months. When else will I get a chance to eat sushi?!

Sunday morning was too short! We slept late because they began tearing down the building next door at 1am and continued for most of the night, so none of us slept much. Since the streets are so narrow and crowded during the day, I guess the construction has to happen at night. There was yelling and then something would crash and then people would cheer. This happened over and over again...

We ate a leisurely breakfast and then said goodbye to Jonathan and Phil, who had an 11am train to catch. Erin and I walked around a bit until it was time to catch our buses. We passed the man from the leather shop and he greeted us like old friends, so I think the extra 20Dh request was just a way to get a few extra Dirhams out of us.

The bus ride home was long and hot. The bus was oversold and I waited until it was leaving to board. This was a mistake because people save seats on the buses and I hadn't saved one so I was stuck with the back row. I was relieved when I found that there was an open seat, but that feeling was short-lived. The bus was oversold, so they crammed an extra person in with me. So I spent the next 4 hours between a young man listening to his music and trying to make room for me and a man who alternately rested his arm on the seat in front of him or on my leg. Neither was pleasant because when he lifted his arm, I was overwhelmed with body odor and when he rested it on my leg, I was just plain uncomfortable.

There's no air conditioning on the buses and only 2 windows that actually open, so its like being in a greenhouse in the sun. By the time I got to Khenifra, I was drenched in sweat and thrilled to breathe fresh air.

My village is 4k from the main road to Khenifra and if there aren't any taxis or mini buses in my village I start walking to the main road, where there is a taxi stand and a few cafe's. This morning was a walking day, so I set out for the main road. A car I recognized from my village passed but didn't stop to offer me a ride and then a taxi went by and it didn't stop either. I was beginning to think that I would actually end up walking all the way, when I happened upon my host father getting his car fixed. He was talking to a group of men and I stopped to say hello.

A man I'd met previously was among the group and he asked if I remembered him. I did but couldn't remember his name. He gave me a hard time about it because he remembered mine and I tried to explain that it was easy for him to remember my name because I am the only white girl in town. There are 4,000 people in the Sisterhood and I am meeting so many people its hard to remember everyone's name. I have taken to writing them down along with an identifying characteristic, so I had Said write his name in my notebook. He drives an orange car.

Said ended up driving me out to the main road where we hung out for a while. An empty mini bus passed and they flagged it down. The driver was a friend of Said's and agreed to take me to Khenifra. He and his passenger were from my town and going to spend the day in Khenifra. Apparently the mini bus was the only vehicle they had to drive. We chatted in Tamazight and when we arrived in Khenifra would not accept payment and insisted on taking me out for coffee, which I really couldn't refuse.