Classroom repair project update:

Background: I went to a school in the country a few months ago that had a chalkboard and half a plastic carpet for some twenty-five students http://picasaweb.google.com/MoroccoSolar/ClassroomProject. The ‘town,’ if it can be called that, has no electricity, the well is drying up and needs to be extended, along with some serious income issues. We met with the townsfolk and they complained that all kinds of development groups always came to the town, talked a lot about helping, and never did anything. I told the group I would do everything in my power to help get them equipment. Fast forward to me getting a grant to purchase tables, chairs, a chalkboard, school supplies for the kids, and money to add insulation/solar heating to the school.

About a month ago: I go to the town to tell them the great news that we are going to be able to get them school supplies and fix the school up. The town representative unexpectedly tells me how the ‘school’ isn’t actually a school but somebody’s house which was donated for the greater good of the children (which is a complete contradiction to it being the ‘dedicated school and training center’ he promised us it was when he asked for our support). And, because it is somebody’s house, we can’t do anything to it (like add insulation or put in a floor or fix it up). But, he is willing to donate land (which is completely arid and useless anyway) so that I can build him a new school. I went through with my end of the bargain, but for some reason this asshole wanted to try and squeeze me for everything I was worth. We eventually agreed, after I ‘persuaded’ him, to allow me to add the tiles/insulation that he wasn’t paying a THING for, to the school so the kids could benefit. Anyway, story of my experience in Morocco with Peace Corps. Moving on.

Meet with the School Teacher: To determine what materials would be most ideal for the kids’ education. He says, without hesitation, ‘computers.’ I look at him incredulously, and mention the slight complication that the town has NO ELECTRICITY. He says it isn’t a problem because he will charge them at his house and bring them every day (since he commutes every day to teach them). I couldn’t even begin to explain the stupidity of trying to bring laptop computers to a town for educational purposes to kids who still sit on dirt to learn and are most likely illiterate. He also insisted upon bicycles, sports uniforms, and beach trips. I tried explaining the role of Peace Corps; how we are a small scale organization and I can only afford basic school equipment (notebooks, pencils, pens, etc) for twenty-five students. He told me he was good friends with a previous volunteer and knows all about the Peace Corps model. I considered asking him how he thought I could afford laptops and bikes if he was familiar with Peace Corps, but realized that would require a logical explanation-which I knew wasn’t forthcoming. Anyway, we eventually settled on the legit materials he wanted (TWO notebooks per student for the entire year, pencils, pens, mini chalk boards, rulers, etc). He continued ragging on me for not getting him laptops-but I angrily told him that I don’t even have a computer that works-so he most certainly won’t be getting any from me. I refrained from telling him what I really thought of his corrupt ass. Moving on.

Now: I have purchased all the materials (twenty tables, chairs, a four meter chalkboard and individual supplies for every student-we are going to wait until after summer to modify the school) and am waiting for transport to commence. A Peace Corps staff member was supposed to come with more school equipment some two weeks ago, but due to the King’s visit (I will talk about this in another blog entry-but it will make for a much better entry if he ever actually comes to my town, instead of being delayed week after week after week after week) she couldn’t get a hotel room and has been delayed. I met with the (legit) group I am working with to help get this classroom stuff together today and my friend told me she would take care of ‘preventative measures.’ This translates to the people in town signing paperwork saying they won’t…wait for it…steal and RESELL the school supplies we are bringing for the kids. I suppose if they try anything like that all aid coming to this town will be cut. Still stupefied that we have to do this. Moving on.

The Reason I am Writing This: Is I know a few of you have offered your support for this project. As much as I would love to donate all kinds of material to the kids, I am hesitant to simply ‘give’ anything to the people of the town in fear that the ‘responsibles’ will steal it and sell it. I want to do something that guarantees the kids will benefit. And the teacher’s beach idea actually has some merit. A field trip for kids who have most likely never left their small village. To the beautiful beach town that is two and a half hours away. I think the overall cost would be somewhere around $600. This would pay for transport for about thirty-five people (twenty-five students, group I am working with, maybe one or two volunteers, and the teacher), about ten dollars per person for food, and hopefully some sort of beach ‘stuff’ (soccer balls, maybe a Frisbee, etc). Anyway-for those of you who have ever offered to donate towards a project, I think this is a good one. It will go towards an ‘experience’ for the kids instead of stuff that someone can hawk off. If you are interested in donating towards this, shoot me an email at lightmmr@gmail.com or comment on the blog or contact me on facebook or skype or carrier pigeon.

About two weeks ago I was in Rabat for training for a volunteer group I am in. After the training I was planning on spending an extra day in town to get work done at the office (as we have access to lots of resources and staff in person) but was strongly encouraged to leave the afternoon the workshop ended. As I live a good eleven or twelve hours from the capitol, I decided to detour and spend the night with some friends in Fes. I arrived in Fes early evening, and my friends were enthusiastic on sitting in on a Sufi concert. A quick glance at the audience showed me most of the guests could be categorized as hippies, Muslims, or people who strive for a further intellectual understand of the world they live in. This was my first indication that I wouldn't fit in. The second indicator was when the group began singing. It turns out that their 'band' was really a men's prayer group. Don't get me wrong-it was really good. I just listen to the call to prayer and words about Islam a good five times plus a day. So-half an hour was the 'respectable' amount of time I decided to sit in on the concert before hightailing it out.

As the night was still young and I was alone, I decided to hit my hole in the wall hookah joint. The guy that runs it is a laid back fella who dresses in Sahara style clothing. Despite being in the biggest tourism spot in Fes, and it being illegal by Muslim law, he normally has a few beers tucked away for preferred customers. I popped down in the only open spot and ordered a hookah (for those of you who don't know what it is-a hookah is a Turkish style device used to smoke flavored tobacco through a water filter). As I waited for it, the gentleman next to me began rambling to me in barely understandable English. It was difficult to get the gist of what he was saying, especially since my eyes kept lingering to his company-three beautiful ladies. He insisted on my returning to his 'flat' to drink wine with him and discuss work, and his three guests immediately began making fun of him in English with a slight New Jersey accent. Turns out they weren't friends traveling together…

I turned my attention away from the gentleman and began speaking with my new friends. All three of them were visiting Morocco from Italy. Two were originally from Columbia, and the last Italian. They were supposed to have flown out the previous evening, but due to the volcanic eruption they were stuck in Fes for another two nights and two days. All three students-two of them speaking fluent English (having spent some time in the garden state-they pronounced 'water' as only we can) and the other just Italian and Spanish. During our few hours talking we discovered that one of the ladies studied architecture in undergrad, and is familiar with Moroccan style building as it is similar to that of Columbia. This happened to tie directly into my project of rebuilding/providing natural ways to heat a local school, and I insisted upon their coming back to town with me. I realize this goes against the lessons DARE officers teach us in sixth grade, but I assumed that only American students get those lectures. Anyway-I eventually turned in for bed-not expecting to even see them again the next morning for our breakfast date.

'You are getting more than you bargained for!' This was how the girls said 'good morning' the next day at breakfast when they arrived with all their bags. I asked them, in mock seriousness, if they were going to kill me on this little adventure. They, in unison, promised to, and we were on our way! I got to know them all better during the train ride. All three were really cool people. Even the one I couldn't 'speak' with, as she knew very little English, taught me a few phrases so that every time we made eye contact I could at least ask her, like a parrot, what her name was and if she was doing well.

We eventually arrived in town. I gave the girls a tour of the area, we made some dinner, and hung out. The next day we went to the school I am working with. My new friend gave lots of advice on different ways to insulate/heat the school. Another, a rugged journalist type, got all our conversations in video, along with all kinds of great photo shots. And the last just enjoyed her time on the Algerian frontier. We got a chance to climb some really cool mountain areas nearby and got some more amazing photo shots. Their pictures will undoubtedly come out much better than mine (and I hope they read this story and attach links to their pictures in the comments).

Anyway-the story ends rather blandly, as they simply left the next morning. A real bonsai run to my area. But-for the future some really cool stuff. One of the ladies is now using this classroom heating/insulation as her university design project, and is working with professors to come up with the optimal way to provide heat with my limited resources available (lack of money and material). Another is hoping to come back to Morocco to continue videotaping my classroom project (rebuilding the school and putting school supplies into it) in the hopes of making a documentary. This would be AWESOME. Why? One of the hardest parts of trying to get work done is lack of continuity with projects over generations of volunteers. By having a documentary in both English and Arabic, it would be very easy to both educate people on and market products like insulation and solar ovens/heaters. Of course-there are parts of the previous video shot with my friend and me talking about stealing the money and using it to buy women and whiskey-but I guess that just comes with the territory. And hopefully my last new friend will continue teaching me Italian. The end.

As most of you know, I was home for a month back in December. The typical question I got was 'what do you do in Morocco?' I got this question because: I never update my blog, and most of my friends don't actually read the blog. So-for the first half of you-here is a quick overview of what I have been doing. Following that will be an outline of what I am hoping to do this year (focusing on the 'energy renewables' projects-but I will also be working with truffle mushroom jarring, a program called Women in Technology, and a few other things).

Last Year: Long story short, last October I held a workshop at a local orphanage teaching people how to make basic thermal solar panels that heat air and retro install insulation into existing buildings. The three goals of the workshop were to: 1) educate people on the basic technologies 2) offer them a very simple training (in the loosest sense of the word) and 3) push said people to do this work independently as a business. As I am not an engineer, have no background in this, nor received ANY emails back from ANY companies (numerous) that do this, I designed the system with books found in the Peace Corps library, assorted webpages, and random feedback from peers to design the system. Despite those limitations-we still went ahead with the project (as sitting around complaining no resources exist gets you nowhere). Included in the workshop were some volunteers from across the country, the NGO IDRB, a solar company based in Rabat (the capitol), a local specialist in business formation, a local engineer, and a reporter (among others). I could go into more detail about successes and failures, but the important thing is that MY three goals succeeded. This may have happened by a weird fluke, but I don't question my luck-just ride it. However, the system itself does not work (due to poor design, poor ventilation, size of the system, poor tubing, and lack of roof installed insulation). I'll get back to this later.

Post Workshop: After the workshop I met with my new solar counterpart-a hard working guy with a PhD in chemistry (so one smart mother). He wanted to build a similar system for a company that cooks cous cous. So first step-we went to the Meknes University of Science and spoke with some professors of solar technology about the design. Long story short (again), they gave us some better technique ideas and the inspiration for a future project.

Cous Cous System: Working almost as a consultant, I worked with my new counterpart to put the cous cous solar system up. We insulated the room and built the solar system-consisting of twelve panels, heavy duty equipment, and other junk. And-assuming it is sunny out, the system works quite well (although still has its kinks).

Fast Forward to the Present: What now? I plan on building a water heating solar system at the orphanage (using a water radiator instead of air), helping my counterpart setup the same water system with the cous cous, building a solar Stirling water pump (with help from professor), help another PCV build an evaporative cooler, build a windmill for a nearby school with no electricity, and help raise said classroom money for supplies. If there is still some time left, I would like to work with another professor with solar absorption pump technology (air conditioning) to help create a solar panel that is useful in the winter (heating), the summer (making ice/cooling) and year round (pumping water).

Water Heating: Heating water is a complicated project. You have to worry about water leaks and tubes expanding in the winter-and subsequently exploding. There are multiple techniques out there, but all of them deal with automated pumps or using some sort of anti-freeze mixture. Due to my limited background in this, I want to avoid anything too complicated (not to mention that the people building these systems will be doing so with local materials). When I was home for those three weeks, I went to (lots of) Barnes and Noble and to my utmost glee-found all kinds of reading material on DIY (do it yourself) solar systems. I picked some up and found a quaint system that simply has you build a 'solar box' around an electric water tank.

Electric water tanks are designed to be able to expand naturally in freezing weather-so our biggest problem is already gone. It is also naturally designed to use electric to heat in case there is no sun, so a backup heater is literally built into the system. And-water tanks are one of the best 'heat batteries' that exist, so the water can stay warm longer assuming bad weather rolls in. Anyway-I am hoping to set this system up in the classroom.

Cous Cous Water Heating: I am simply a backside rider on this. I will offer my counterpart my thoughts, but chances are we will brainstorm together and I will simply help where needed.

My Dream Project: When I was a wee boy of twelve, my science teacher had us do 'inventions' for our big science projects. With the help of my grandfather, who has two masters in engineering, I designed a 'Solar Stirling Engine.' The Stirling engine (Stirling) is essentially an efficient heat powered motor technology that has only recently been taken advantage of (Google search it-you will find all kinds of new companies utilizing the technology-and even a submarine manufacturer). While I can assure you I was not making any breakthroughs with my 'invention,' the point of that story is to show you my long standing interest (albeit nerdy) with the Solar Stirling.

While in Meknes one of the engineers showed us his PhD project-a Solar Stirling water pump made from…locally found materials (not high grade blah blah blah that swanky energy companies in Europe are making)! Unfortunately for him he went straight into teaching before getting an opportunity to do any sort of implementation activities with his pet project. But funny thing-my job as a Peace Corps volunteer is to help 'resources' work together (in this case-a man starting a solar business, a man with an amazing but unutilized technology, and a location without running water).

Before mass producing them, we of course need to run some experiments. Without going into details, getting funding through Peace Corps can be a long process. Luckily there is a new volunteer who needs a pump for his evaporative cooler-and is willing to use his own money on the experimental technology to use ours (realize that the pump, due to being made from cheap local materials, has a limit of 10 meters vertical pump and 2-3 cubic meters of water per day assuming sunny weather). So-next week meeting with the professor again to write out a supply list/budget to get this show on the road!

Evaporative Cooler: Don't know too much on this. What I do know is that a very competent volunteer has ample experience with the topic, and I am going to do whatever I can to help out and learn from it. Basically-they work quite well and cheaply in low humidity environments (ie Morocco) and are pretty cheap to make.

Absorption Pump: Long before you would have imagined, this technology (Absorption Cooling) came out. Long story short, it takes hot energy (such as the water from a solar panel) and overnight turns it into cold water (like...ice). There is another professor in Meknes who is doing his studies on this, so I am hoping to work with him more in the future to help design a cheap system that can work in conjunction with our previously mentioned solar heater and evaporative cooler. However, this bad boy is currently on the back burner.

Classroom Project: About a week ago I went with my counterpart to a small hovel of houses about thirty kilometers from where I live. There are probably five houses-no running water, electricity, etc, with lots of farming. There is one room being used as a school (as it is too far for kids to commute to the bigger schools) so that twenty-eight kids are using it. The room is made of mud with plastic on the roof to keep rain out. There is half a plastic carpet and an old chalkboard.

In conjunction with my World Wide School class and all you enthusiastic readers (hopefully), I am hoping to raise the money to rebuild the class, put in desks and chairs, and provide all twenty-eight kids with school supplies. I will also be working with my counterpart to build a windmill (Windmill) to provide lights for the class. If you are interested in taking part in this project please let me know!

Support: As you can probably tell, I have a lot of things lined up for this year. Many of you will point out that I am not trained to do this sort of work. The thing is, as a Peace Corps volunteer my job (as I see it) is to connect resources. Here are some of the different groups I am hoping to collaborate with (or avoid):

The king of Morocco has begun a push for the development of energy renewables AND simultaneously a push for development of the 'Oriental' (the name of the region of Morocco I live in). Despite all the talk, the only changes I have seen in town have been rebuilding two perfectly fine parks, ripping up perfectly good streets, and adding additions to the perfectly giant governor's office. I will skip the commentary on corruption and incompetence in local governments, but I do not think that a government system that doesn't provide funding to schools but purchases new Land Rovers every year is going to offer a whole lot of support.

USAID is also looking to do energy renewable related work in the Oriental. I have been meeting with some representatives for the last few months. Unfortunately things in the US government tend to work slowly. However, the people I have been in touch with are highly competent and enthusiastic, so I am confident that we will eventually see some collaboration.

The NGO I have been working with has continued to offer its support. They are great. Enough said.

The local government representatives I am assigned to work with as part of the Artisanal development program are…unhappy about the work I am doing. Meetings with them, when they actually show, tend to be heavy on the criticism on light on the 'work.' Not happening.

You! Any information you have pertaining to the work I am doing is always encouraged. As is money for projects! Here is a link to my picture webpage-with new links for 'Stirling Project' and 'Classroom Project.' (Pictures)

As most of you are aware, I recently went home for the Christmas holiday and New Years. If my trip home did nothing else, it really gave me a strong resolve to hit the ground running upon my return to Morocco and finish this year strong. I am currently in the process of writing another blog entry entitled 'My Dream Project,' in which I talk about my…dream project-building a solar stirling engine that powers a pump to provide running water in towns without that convenience (and it uses locally found materials!). This is one of about four or five energy renewable related projects I plan on doing this year. However, I am writing this blog first to tell another story about my return to Morocco.

Prelude: For the last few months some hooligan has been coming to my house and stealing my dog's chain…while he is still on it. This happened about three times, and each time my dog would loiter around my house (or neighborhood) while I went and replaced his chain. Realize that my front yard is open, and nothing short of building a tall concrete wall would change that. I alerted Peace Corps of my thief problem, and they in turn contacted the local police. Their response was that it is a 'child's prank' and to not worry about it. After harassing them, they finally drove into an area where the child pranksters are suspected to live. What happened from that I can only pretend to know. Anyway, due to lack of appropriate funding (my job title is volunteer) each following chain and collar for my dog was more and more haggard. This led to my dog breaking off the chain quite frequently (and quite often being removed by unknown person) and my going insane as I live on a major street (fear of dog and car mixing). So anyway-when I went to America my mom was kind enough to purchase a high quality chain, leash, and collar.

My Return: I returned from America to the sight of my extremely happy dog Hobbes. I outfitted him with his new 'clothing,' and life went back to normal. We went for lots of walks, watched movies, cuddled at night, the usual. About three days after arriving in site, I came to my house to discover that Hobbes was gone and his collar had been removed (it is the kind of collar that has a button you have to press-so there is absolutely no question as to the fact that someone had physically let him out while I was gone). After 22 hours of freaking out (the longest he had been gone), I finally recovered Hobbes and was quite relieved. I realized that something had to be done.

Solutions: An obvious solution that may come to mind is doing a 'stakeout' and catching the culprit. Well, the honest truth is that if I were to have caught the perpetrator in the act, the absolute best case scenario is that said person would have left my house without the ability to use any of his fingers for at least three months. The worst case scenario ends with his inability to breath unassisted and my spending the rest of my life in a Moroccan jail. Considering that I am employed by an agency named 'Peace Corps,' I figured that keeping myself out of violent situations is the most appropriate approach, and decided not to do a stakeout.

Another solution is keeping Hobbes inside. My house is the size of a McDonald's bathroom. Not possible. Keep him enclosed in a neighbor's yard? Again-not possible.

I decided to do something that goes against my Pavlov's conditioning, which is to ask Peace Corps for help. I could write many a blog on how my well articulated and respectfully written attempts for support and help from various Peace Corps staff have been met with brash attacks at my abilities and competence (some of which are documented in email correspondence-in case someone in Peace Corps DC happens upon this blog entry). However, I have a great deal of respect for the current person responsible for handling safety and security issues, and believe that she would do everything in her power to help. So-part of my email to her:

'As this is a small deal and hard to solve case for the police, I suggest the police come to my house one day and we fake 'install a video camera' to my house. We then post a sign saying that my yard is now under video surveillance, and that anyone seen on the video in my yard or with my dog will be punished to the fullest extent of the law blah blah blah.'

I got a reply by the end of the day saying that due to it being 'surveillance' (there exists an inherent fear in people that we are spies) and cultural differences, this would not be possible. However, I also got a call from the number two Peace Corps Morocco staff member, in what turned out to be a very touching call trying to brainstorm ideas and share a personal story of his own about his dog troubles in Morocco. But regardless, the moral of the story was-no dice.

Conclusion: I'm going to speed the rest of this story up now. Two or three days after that email and phone call, I came home to discover the same situation-chain and collar on the ground, collar 'opened' and dog nowhere to be seen. Unlike the previous months, my dog wasn't loitering around my house. He was gone.

I am writing this entry one to two weeks after that event. It may be a bit presumptuous to say that my dog was 'stolen,' but my neighbor's dog was stolen about seven months ago. I wrote this email to the staff member I had been in touch with:

'So my dog came back the evening you replied to my email, and two days later he was taken (again). These so called 'child pranksters' are quite relentless, eh? Anyway, just thought I would let you know that it has been a few days since he left, and none of my neighbors have seen him, which leaves me to believe he may be gone for good this time. Maybe in the future we could put a little more pressure on the police, since this is someone breaking into my property at least six times now and stealing from me. I mean, this isn't like I was negligent in taking care of my dog (or 'property')-I consistently purchased new collars and chains when they were stolen. And had I done a stakeout and caught the perpetrator, something I am sure Peace Corps policies would frown down upon, I am not totally sure if my response would have been as peaceful as I like to imagine it being (imagine if you caught the thief in the midst of stealing your best friend). Regardless, I am not a vigilante, and my responsibility does not encompass policing my property-I believe that is the role of the 'police.' Anyway, just thought I would let you know this is (most likely) the end my dog problems. I am going to go drink some coffee and try and figure out a lesson to be learned from all this. If there is any way you could convey my absolute disgust to the local constable, please do so. Thanks.'

She called me a bit after and expressed her frustrations as well. Apparently she had been calling the police a lot about this (I remember during training having multiple talks with her about our mutual love of dogs-so I am sure she was relentless with the police) and told me that the police eventually responded quite rudely to her about how their job was to help people, not animals. So, it seems police responsibilities exclude protecting people's property if an animal (outside their jurisdiction) is currently occupying the space of said territory (remember-someone has been entering my land and stealing my property-but not police's job to look into this). An interesting theory to exploit in the future, maybe with a bank or something of value…

Why Am I Telling This Story? The point of this story isn't to rag about how bad Moroccan people are, incompetent police are, or allude to my previous difficulties in dealing with Peace Corps staff (as the first isn't true, the second isn't going to change, and the last will only exacerbate any issues I may have in the future). My goal of writing this is to create closure on the issue. I still wander aimlessly around my neighborhood hoping Hobbes is sitting patiently waiting for me to collect him and bring him home. Writing about 'the end' will hopefully decrease the frequency in which I do that.

The second is to prevent people talking to me about this. I don't want to hear empathy, sympathy, pity, anger, or any other emotions that may come out. I don't want you to comment on this, contact me personally about it, or so much as mention my dog to me. If something positive happens (like my finding him) I will write about it and you may then discuss. However, please do not ever talk about this with me. Thank you.

I don't write in here very often. This is one of the reasons why. http://picasaweb.google.com/MoroccoSolar/Workshop#

This is the raw and uncut stuff. I haven't put up comments, edited, or any of that stuff. The general gist is that we put in insulation and a thermal solar panel into one classroom at a local orphanage. The goals of the workshop were to train people/motivate to start a business-and it looks as if there is a potential for that. I have something like 5 hours of video, and a newspaper article getting published (although it is in Arabic). After I finish writing reports and doing the exact same project with a local association (long story-but there is suddenly a high demand for insulation/solar), and take a vacation, I will write more in here.

A few months ago I began working with a group called Women in Technology (WIT). Instead of explaining the group, let me just direct you to their webpage: WIT. The director of the Moroccan program is looking to expand to the eastern part of Morocco. I just happen to be a volunteer who lives in that region. Long story short, I am helping start the program in my town and two surrounding areas. There are lots of things I could talk about with WIT, but our story today is about something a little different.

In order to be functional, the ladies of WIT need a computer lab to work in. Part of the program requires they pay rent for use of the room (to help teach financial skills-they make a budget up for the rent). The only computer labs in my town are cyber cafes, the local artisana (of which my counterpart will not allow use of more than one computer-hence my technology classes failing miserably), and the local orphanage. I went with the director of WIT to check out the computer lab at the orphanage, and there were more than enough computers to comfortably hold a large class of technology students. Half the computers still had the green and black screens (you know, the ones where if you left 'Number Cruncher' up for too long, it would be permanently engraved on the monitor), but more importantly, there were working computers! (PS-my counterpart in town has TWELVE brand new Dell computers; he is just too much of a tight ass to allow them to do anything aside from rot in their boxes at his house). The director of WIT decided that the orphanage would be an ideal spot for the program in my town, and made a deal with one of the orphanage directors to start the program up in September. My new role was to help the group come up with a business plan, and recruit women for the program.

Fast forward a few weeks.

I decided to drop by the orphanage to see if a) there was any update with WIT for me to work with and b) to see if they had any interest in me stopping by part time to help out with whatever. My sitemate decided to come along to offer his help as well. We were greeted by four French volunteers who were spending a month in town teaching youth…French. The head of the orphanage wasn't around, so we decided to come back that evening to meet him.

Fast forward to evening.

My sitemate and I come to the orphanage and meet the boss. He brings us into his spacious office; complete with a copy machine, air conditioner, and new computers. We go through the basic pleasantries, and I tell him that I am working with WIT, and would also be interested in helping teach classes on a weekly basis. His response:

Well, I actually couldn't understand his response, since he only spoke to me in French. After interrupting him about seven times, the last two with my voice raised, he finally gets that I ONLY speak his native language-Arabic. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND FRENCH. He looks at my sitemate, who has been bobbing his head in understanding the whole time, and continues speaking French to him. Realize-neither of us know a word of the language-we are just so used to 'nodding in agreement' it looks as if we understand what people say to us. Despite not being able to decipher a word this guy is saying, it begins to dawn on me that something isn't right. When someone comes to volunteer, the typical response is 'oh yes, thank you-when should you begin?' This wasn't anything like that.

Fortunately for us, the French girls were still there. We bring them in to translate (despite the fact that I speak this guy's native tongue fluently), and they begin to spell out the inevitable:

'Thanks for the offer to help. We really appreciate it. However, with the current economic crisis, a lot of our funding has been cut. So, while we appreciate your offer to come here and volunteer your time, we really just want money. Oh-and your WIT program isn't going to happen. The woman here you met with is…a woman. She doesn't have the authority for that sort of thing. So-how much will you give us?'

Interlude: I don't know if it is something in the water during the summer, but the beggars here have been getting really pushy. I have had people grab me and demand money, people demand exactly how much I am going to give them, kids try to go into my pockets and backpack, and people 'buy' things and tell the shopkeeper that I am paying for it. I realize that in my line of work patience is a must. However, the little patience I have is at a near breaking point from the obnoxious and shameful actions I have been getting the last few months.

Back In: At this point, I am literally shaking in anger. This guy has the nerve to decline my offer to volunteer at his orphanage, and instead tell me I have to give him money. In as much of a controlled tone as possible, I explain to him (in HIS native language) that Peace Corps does NOT give money, and we are strictly here for education purposes. As soon as I finish speaking to him as if punishing a child, my sitemate offers to look into getting him some money (which won't actually happen, but will make him stop demanding money in the immediate). GREAT.

Let me be perfectly clear. I am out OVER an entire months pay because I was stupid enough to invest my own money into a project (still waiting for the local government to pay me back). Assuming that I HAD money to give-which Peace Corps volunteers most certainly don't have; in the real world I would need to see his operation and make sure it was legit, look at a budget, and then a whole slew of other things. However-I don't have money.

Back up to the WIT program-they RENT the computer lab from the orphanage. Why would you decline a perfectly fine business idea and instead demand money from a white guy?

Little Follow-up: My tutor is pretty good friends with the director, and I told him to shame this guy. I'm not actually sure if he did, but I am keeping my fingers crossed that next time I go back this entire episode will be forgotten, I can do some work at the orphanage, and WIT will happen. We shall see!

I haven't written in here in a long time. Why? My project has really expanded in the last few months, and I have been using my small intellectual capital to write a grant (which was approved) and a guidebook on my project. Those two were in between traveling the country to acquire supplies, meet with government officials, and a presentation to a new group of volunteers on my project. So-what am I doing?

A Reminder: My project is twofold: I am, with local groups, building thermal solar panels that heat AIR. 'Air' is capitalized since most people have a hard time understanding that solar panels can do more than electricity or water heating. It is true, solar panels can be used to heat air, which is then pumped into a cold room, thus heating it. According to science, this should work in Morocco just as well if not better than America.

The second part of my project is retrofitting insulation into existing buildings. I am using the simplest and cheapest option; polyester (think Styrofoam, but not the 'brand'). There are two ways we plan on doing it-one style inside and one outside. For our upcoming experiment, the installation will be done inside (money and logistics prevent an outside installation-plus the fact that it is being done to a government building). Essentially, we will 'create' wooden studs against the cement walls, put the polyester boards in between the studs, and nail particleboard to the studs (making the room look similar to a 70s party pad). Simple and cheap-and according to science, this should also work. The outside installation has already been done by my tutor (see that-sustainability in action!), and here is a link to some shots of it going up. According to him, the room was noticeably cooler and is 'tolerable to sleep in now.'

I am still having a hard time explaining the importance of insulating the roof/ceiling (hot air rises, remember?). However, for this project, we are using baby steps. It is highly likely that even a small amount of insulation in a classroom that holds forty people will make a difference (as the body heat that emanates from that many people is like a furnace). So-when this works, the next step will be to try something more advanced. Like insulating a ceiling.

Where I Stand: So far I have met with the delegate of education in my town, and he is paying 10,000dH ($1,300) for supplies for the solar panel AND insulation to get put into a local classroom as an 'experiment.' Assuming it works-this will get put in EVERY CLASSROOM in the district. I have a guy who has practically finished my first panel. However-and getting into too much detail on this will only make me angry, the first solar panel is not going to be all that great. Long story short-I told the metalworker to return the materials when I found new, better, and cheaper stuff, but he decided to not listen, build it, and charge me an absurd amount of money for labor (plus the supplies that were overpriced). I ended up getting in a fight with him, but since he is enthusiastic about the project AND did good work, I decided to get a grant to pay for the second panel (the one that should work a little better).

I got my grant, and am holding a workshop in town to teach local construction companies how to install the insulation, local metalworkers how to make solar panels, and show local businesses the potential behind both. The grant will pay for one solar panel and food and transportation costs for an NGO and solar panel company to come and help. Great.

Not so great: bureaucratics.

In order to do this project, I needed permission from the local delegate. Got it. Permission from the regional delegate. Got it. Permission from the governor. Got it (so much that he asked why we were only doing it in one room and not the entire school). Permission from the Ministry of Interior. Waiting now about two months for that. I'm not sure if they are doing an exhaustive background check on me (you know, since why else would an American be here if he wasn't a spy), drinking tea, watching television, having sex with prostitutes, or simply staring at the walls. All I know is that I have yet to hear a response from them, and I can't do jack until I hear something (include getting reimbursed the months pay I forwarded to the project back in May, expecting to get paid back).

In the Meantime: I wrote a guidebook up on how to do the project. I gave a presentation on it to about thirty new environment volunteers. That's it. Until I hear word from the ministry, I can't even pick a date to hold the workshop. However, this (in theory) should all work out just fine once vacation season is over. And then hundreds of children should be warm in their classrooms during the winter!

Preface: So I haven't been writing frequently for a myriad of reasons. To begin with, my computer was broken for a good three weeks, followed by a week and a half of traveling without my computer. I have been in the process of starting a new project in town, and that has taken a lot of my 'typing' efforts. Lastly-I have a dog, internet, books, and nice weather now. So-writing in the blog seems to have taken last priority.

What's New: This entry is going to focus on my new project, but I would like to share a bit of what has been happening over the last month/two months. Two site visits (one entry written about the first site visit), technology classes began, trip to Rabat-where I inadvertently stumbled upon an Alicia Keys concert, trip to Meknes and old Roman ruins, practice emergency consolidation of all volunteers (mine in Fez), a month late Earth Day celebration at the youth center, and my cousin visiting me (she is sitting next to me now). In a week and a half I will be in Marrakesh for a week long training, and also my birthday. I will probably be able to remember to celebrate it, as I will be surrounded by some sixty Americans (whereas I missed Easter by a week, and have all but forgotten about all other holidays).

The Problem: I am supposed to be working with the artisan sector (carpet weavers, woodworkers, metalworkers, painters, etc) in my town-helping with any business aspects or product development. However, I have not encountered a whole lot of artisans, and the few I have met aren't all that interested in 'getting help.' On top of that, I was under the impression my assigned Moroccan counterpart in town didn't want anything to do with me until about three weeks ago (when my boss came in and we all sat down together). Regardless, the place I am supposed to be working is yet to open, the artisans I am supposed to be working with aren't all that motivated to work with me, and I possess the patience of a gnat.

The Inspiration: As you may remember reading in previous posts, my town is COLD in the winter. If it weren't for my 15 degree Marmot sleeping bag combined with lots of layers, I would have had some serious issues. My host family didn't use any form of 'heater,' and simply laid around miserable under cheap blankets for some seven months (although I only had the luck to live with them two months-after which I beset the misfortune of renting my own house and using things like 'heaters' to stay warm). In addition to the lack of heaters (it isn't that people can't afford purchasing heaters, they can't or won't pay for the fuel-most families have heaters that act as tables) pretty much all walls are made with concrete. That's it. No wood, insulation, etc. So not only is it cold, but in the winter it can be colder inside than out because there is no sunlight in a house.

I went to an energy renewable conference in Itzer a few months back, and saw some really cool prototypes for thermal solar panels for air and water heating. Some of the ideas were used on a solar hemmam, but it looked to me as if the hemmam was too big for solar energy to be efficient. However, the ideas looked as if they could be applied to a house relatively easily. I spoke with the NGO director responsible for the hemmam, got locations that sell polyester in Morocco (for insulation), and looked up solar panels online. And just like that-I had a new project.

What Has Happened So Far: Thermal solar panels can be purchased in Morocco-only they cost somewhere between 8000dH to 15000dH (with something around 8.5dH to 1 dollar). They are also only water heaters. I want to start by making an air heaters, and want any heater I make to cost no more than 3000dH for materials (including installation). So instead of using existing panels, I turned to homemade deigns found online. One stood out among the rest. Not wanting to bore you all to death, I will spare the technical details of the prototype. However, after my recent trip to Rabat I will say that pretty much my entire design is going to be revamped. A hypermarche (think small hardware store) in Rabat sells the supplies I want PRE-MADE for about half the price of the raw materials it would cost to build the same item (not including labor cost).

Oh yea-I met with the delegate of education of the region, and he likes the idea of the project so much he is paying for the all costs for an experimental classroom of my choice to be insulated AND given a solar air heater this summer. I am planning on having a week long workshop sometime this summer to teach any interested volunteers and locals interested in doing the project (AND-that way I won't need to pay them for labor-simply chalk it up to hands-on education). I have recruited the president of this NGO to come, a guy who installs solar panels in Rabat, and a local construction company so far.

Of course-things are never as easy as I want-and while I am not paying for this experiment, I need to put the money up and will later get reimbursed. So as of right now-May 31st, I have already spent over my next two months allowance on this project-in the HOPES that I will see that money again (and possibly eat). But-you have to gamble to win.

So at the moment I have purchased the majority of the supplies for the solar panel, and am just waiting for them to arrive in town (since I bought most of them in the capitol). I need to give the delegate another presentation on insulation (just got new info on prices, need to see what he is willing to spend) and go back and buy more supplies.

Future: Assuming this project works, there are a few goals I see coming from it. I would like to help the formation of a small business that builds/installs all of this in existing houses/businesses/schools at an affordable rate (which so far in my experimental version is doable). I would like to get locals motivated to try new projects. And of course-I would like to see the inside of buildings a bit warmer in the winter. Being the nerd I am, I heard the engineering university in Meknes has two Sterling engines (think retro steam engine)-and I would like to procure one of them to show people the theoretical potential of using cheap thermal solar panels to power generators-but that isn't so much a Peace Corps project as my being a nerd.

P.S.: I have emailed lots of companies in the US that work on solar projects, insulation, etc, and have heard back from...none of them. So if any of you work for those companies or know people who work for them (chance are it is one I have emailed), please kick their PR rep as hard as you can in the balls.

And make sure to check out my pictures site-there are lots of new pictures up (and more coming, my internet is just slow).

There are not a whole lot of volunteers in the east. Of the 260 some volunteers in Morocco, there are maybe ten of us who live out here. So, when a good friend of mine from staff called me and told me she was coming by to do a site development visit, I got excited. A chance to see an old friend, and the potential to get a new one.

Sidenote: I went to visit a new volunteer Saturday to help him get acquainted in town (help translate and answer any questions he had), and came back with a nice bout of food poisoning. I am not entirely sure if I was sick from the bad food, extreme sun, or dehydration, but either way I threw up and had some nasty diarrhea Saturday night and Sunday. I was lucky that sleeping all day Sunday got me into shape for my visit Monday-otherwise my much anticipated visit would have been miserable.

Monday: My friend was scheduled to come Tuesday, and get into Oujda Monday night. I spent the afternoon with a French volunteer in a nearby city called Genfouda. I met her bread makers association and stopped at the local artisana. Both were interested in my coming by and teaching some business stuff later on. Something to put on the back burner…After Genfouda I came into Oujda to meet with my friend. We went out to dinner (I got a tasty four cheese pizza-something pretty much unheard of in these parts) and wandered around the new and old city.

Tuesday: Since this story is meant to revolve around the adventures of our site development visit, I will spare you all the details of hanging out in my site before and after this story took place. Fast forward to late morning when we arrive to Ain Beni Matar (nicknamed ‘Bergem’). We drive in (all staff members traveling get Peace Corps cars and drivers) and stop first at the Gendarmes (think State Police). I got a phone call at this time (from another staff member coming to visit me the next day) so didn’t take part in this meeting.

Some of you may remember a previous entry when I mentioned I met a guy in a taxi to Bergem who offered his house to crash if I needed it, bought me a coffee, and at one point even helped me get back to my town when a taxi strike stopped all transportation. After the Gendarmes I gave my friend (Abdulmola) a call, and he met us outside a café. The three of us (plus driver) talked for a few minutes and then stopped by the women’s association.

Bergem is a smallish town, so I didn’t expect a whole lot from the women’s association. I figured there were a few carpet weavers who could go either way about having a volunteer. It turns out there are forty-three members of the group (compared to the typical seven). They have traveled across the country (and to Spain) for both sales and development workshops (unheard for most women, unless they are from big cities). When asked what kind of help they would want, the president immediately said ‘marketing.’ I asked her questions pertinent to getting a new volunteer, and all her answers led me to believe that this is a good site (possibly great site) for Peace Corps.

Problem: As we spoke with the president of the association, my friend, and basically anyone at all in town, we came to discover that there was a volunteer in Bergem a few years back. This volunteer was apparently a bit more interested in things like staying out late with guys, being promiscuous, and avoiding the women’s association than doing ‘volunteer like’ work (such as not sleeping around and doing development work). It eventually got so bad that the president of the association called the mayor and the volunteer was kicked out of Bergem. This is not to be mistaken with any euphemism-this broad was so skanky she got the boot.

Not all was lost, as the guy I replaced made a good impression on the women’s group, and apparently I have such a pretty face that the president said she was super excited to work with me and insisted upon my visiting as much as possible. I told the group I would be happy to come in and work with them from time to time, and came up with some potential projects we could do together. However, the priority for me is staying and working with my community, and getting a new volunteer to Bergem.

We met with the mayor of Bergem, and things went pretty well. He seemed like a happy, friendly guy. We laughed, talked a bit, and generally had a good time together. And then my friend suggested putting a new volunteer in his town. He didn’t take too kindly to that. Basically, this dame had made such a bad impression and did so little work he actually thought she was CIA. She tainted the Peace Corps name enough so that he wanted no volunteers living in his city. Of course, he was kind enough to invite me and said I am welcome to come any time I would like (this may have been due to my sitting in the room, my pretty face, or the two people sitting next to me telling stories about me and how I am a ‘good volunteer’).

As we were getting up to leave, the mayor said to me that I should watch out for my friend Abdulmola (who was sitting next to me)-he is trouble. I have heard this (and have had this said about me) enough to know to laugh, say some smart remark, and move on. It wasn’t until we were heading home that my friend from Peace Corps mentioned offhandedly that ‘oh yea-the mayor said your friend is a member of a radical Islamic group. You may actually want to stay away from him.’

WHAT!

I am still trying to wrap my mind around this one. Maybe my idea of a ‘radical Islamic group’ and their ideas of one differ. I would typically rant for a while at this point about the implementations of having a radical friend, but I don’t even know where to start.

Conclusion: There is one thing that really opened my eyes on this trip. I typically view most things with a pretty light attitude, and never take the time to actually appreciate what it is that I have or am doing. This is certainly true for my experience in Morocco thus far. I simply live my life day to day-struggling more so than any of my neighbors (language, culture, trying to organize work, etc).

I sat in the mayor’s office and watched three people fight vehemently for the opportunity to put a new volunteer into his town. As they slowly and inevitably lost, I saw the association president drop her head into her hands. Here is a woman responsible for the well being of forty-two other people. She acknowledges and appreciates the fact that she needs help, and has found a willing outlet to help her achieve her goals. And then some worthless wench ruined her chance by joining the Peace Corps and then going against every integration idea possible.

I guess what I am trying to say is that watching this gave me a renewed initiative to make sure I do good while I am here. What I may view as ‘everyday living’ or an irrelevant event may be a trivial part of somebody else’s life. It is important that I make a conscious effort to make sure I represent America in the right light.

After a bout of winter rainfall, the area I live in finds itself engulfed in truffle mushrooms. For those of you who have not been acquainted with truffles, here is a Wiki article on them. Truffles. However, the truffles we find here are the North African variety, not the $5000 a kilo gold. At least, I think they are, since there is almost no information on them in the area, and identifying mushrooms based on what a wiki article says is harder than one thinks. North Africa Truffles. Regardless of which truffle we actually find here, there is potential for business:

Structure: Throughout the plains of Eastern Morocco, people gather hundreds of kilos of these truffle mushrooms. They sell at local markets for about…10dH a kilo ($1.20). I have heard of Europeans coming into the areas and buying them up in bulk, bringing them back to Europe, and selling them for…get this…500 euro a kilo. A lot of people in town preserve the mushrooms in old jam jars to eat once the season ends, and they stay good for a year room temperature. Having visited the six or so cities that have easy access to these mushrooms fresh, I can say with certainty that there are no locals who do the business idea that all of you are probably thinking of right now. So, before I go into the trials and tribulations of motivating people to invest in a low risk high yield business plan, let me ask this: If there are any people who know any interested parties of buying preserved truffle mushrooms from Eastern Morocco, a place with no access to FDA investigators, and take the word of a Peace Corps volunteer that they are legit, please direct them to this email address- lightmmr@gmail.com.

Starting a Business: Here is a short breakdown of a possible business with truffle mushrooms:

Price of one kilo of truffles (high estimate): 20dH

Price of one new jar (not bulk bought, bought individually at a marche-where things are more expensive): 10dH

Price of labor for one jar: 5dH

Price of label, overhead (gas, water, salt, etc): 5dH

So-at a high estimate, we are looking at 40dH a kilo preserved (between 5 to 6 dollars). Assuming the going price per kilo has remained stagnant from the 2002 price, at 26 (round down), that is a 20 dollar profit PER JAR. I don't think Abercrombie and Fitch have a profit margin that high.

Potential Problems: There is not enough demand. Since this is a startup project with no buyers who know of the reliability of the product, I figured we would begin by selling to people we know (like Peace Corps volunteers-who have been asking relentlessly for us to send them truffles), tourist spots that we have connections at, or restaurants we know. We would also start by selling cheap. Once trust is established we could expand. Let us say that despite our best efforts, we don't sell all the jars. People jar them here anyway for future use! The only wasted money would have been from buying new, fresh jars instead of using old jam ones. The truffles would still be eaten! So-I see this as a low risk project.

Selling the Idea: My friend's wife preserved three jars for me. I took one of the jars and went up to the women's center, a spot that has been asking for my help with work. Only one person in the place was receptive, and she was only interested in doing the work of jarring them. Not in investing, learning business techniques, or any of the who-what. Just jarring them. I explained that I had emailed Peace Corps volunteers, and already had enthusiastic buyers. Still no interest in investing a cent of her own money. In fact, after explaining she would make 40dH per jar (we are only selling them for 80dH now) she asked me who was going to pay for the gas it would take jarring them. Gas costs about ten cents. My friend, who likes the idea, offered to invest. However, I am responsible for the majority of the purchases. This is wonderful, as my investment money just happens to coincide with my 'buying groceries and eating' money. Ordinarily I would try to get a grant or find a more enthusiastic group, but when I started this project (Monday) there was about two weeks left in truffle season. Not a lot of time to wait for things to fall into place for me.

Despite my best efforts, this lady from the women's group and my friend were the only people interested in doing this project. I went to local business owners, and they all agreed it was a great idea, they were just 'too busy.' My hope is that once I show everyone the potential this project has, they will be a little more inclined to get involved. Regardless, truffles are based on the amount of rain, so who even knows if there will be truffles next season. If there is, we can hopefully reinvest any money made from this year into trying again.

I plan on investing in the production of about thirty jars of truffles. So far maybe ten have been accounted for. Any money made from this will be going into the creation of a group who would officially preserve them the next time they about. So-if anyone is interested, let me know.Here is a link of two shots-one of them at market and a jar my friend's wife jarred: http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/Truffles#

So a few weeks ago I took a vacation. Lets talk about that:

Prep Work: For every month volunteers are in site, they get two vacation days (accumulation able). Training does not count towards accumulated days, and volunteers must be in site for three months before they can use any days. March first rolled around, and coincidently so did a Moroccan holiday (we get off on Moroccan holidays, not American). I got in touch with a few friends, and we decided to take a trip down south. A few days before leaving, we got an email from staff giving us the exact days of the holiday-they had changed! Almost all Moroccan holidays are based on the lunar schedule, which seems to change from year to year... Due to this, our 'extended weekend' went to a middle of the week holiday, and about half the crew dropped out (as they didn't want to use vacation days, only do an extended weekend trip). However, I was planning on taking the entire week off regardless, so a few friends and I went anyway. While I was gone, my awesome tutor/friend kept Hobbes at his house (where he cooked him three meals a day).

Tendrara and Bourfa: I live in the far northeast of Morocco. It typically takes me a full day to travel to any place worth vacationing (with the exception of Saidia). For this reason I decided a trip south to the desert would be preferred over a city tour (as volunteers typically get work related leave opportunities to the cities-and I wouldn't have to use vacation days to get there). To get to my first destination-Erfoud, I needed to travel through two volunteer cities-Tendrara and Bourfa. There isn't a whole lot to report from here-other than good cooking and great hospitality. Two notable exceptions: there was a crazy sandstorm going on that I thought would ruin the trip (but didn't!), and on the taxi ride to one of the cities I met a very friendly guy who insisted I spend the night with him and his family, and when I refused took me to a café and paid for my coffee. More on him later.

Erfoud: Two Thanksgivings ago I was in Naples, Florida, with two friends. Erfoud is Morocco's take on Naples. It is a vacation center as close as you get to the Sahara Desert. Getting there was a total pain in the butt, as transportation from Bourfa was unreliable and fell through. My friend and I were lucky and someone I knew from Jerada who had a car just happened to be driving to Errachidia, and gave us a lift. We met with the seven volunteers waiting for us (one who lives in Erfoud), got dinner, and hung at the volunteer's house (which was AMAZING). Other than that-I met with the tour guide I had been in touch with, negotiated the rest of the package, and hung out until the Sahara.

Merzouga: In the morning we all went to a fossil excavation/cleaning site in Erfoud, and got a grand tour. Apparently there are a ton of fossils in the Sahara. They make some really cool stuff with them for good prices. I would recommend checking it out-www.manaramarble.com. I really wanted to get a fossilized chess set, but couldn't because it was too heavy to lug around in my backpack for the next week. Anyway-met with our tour guide and jumped into his touristy Land Rover. We cruised out to an excavation site, did some tea with Berber nomads, and eventually hit the edge of the Sahara. There are some pretty wild hotels sitting on the edge, but we didn't take much time to look at them. Simply got on our camels and took off. Not much to say about camels, other than they are relatively hard-headed. But they are all tied together, so even if one wanted to stray he/she couldn't.

After an hour and a half of 'trekking,' we got to our Berber style campsite. It was at the base of a giant dune! As soon as we got off our camels and threw our stuff into the tent, we all scrambled up the dune as fast as we could. Which, incidentally, is very slow. For every three steps up a sand dune, you may fall down at least one. It is an endurance test to climb to the top (which I did twice, thank you). After meandering across the dunes for a bit, we came back to our candlelit tent and had a delicious tajine dinner that our awesome camel trek leader Yusef cooked. Played some cards, joined another tour group who were doing Sahara dancing (very cool) and went to sleep.

As some of you may be aware, I am not a morning person. The next morning Yusef was kind enough to wake us up in time to see the sunrise. I stood in the sand and wallowed in tiredness until the coffee came out. After that we hopped on our camels and came back to the real world. Everyone took turns showering at a really cool Kasbah hotel, and we went back to Erfoud.

Todra Gorge: Next day we all hopped into a bus and took the ride to Errachidia, then through Tinjdad. In Tinjdad we met with another volunteer, and went to Tinghreir, then the Todra Gorge (lots and lots of traveling). The gorge is a very intimidating spot. Apparently it is host to world-class rock climbers, and I was not able to take any pictures that do it justice. Regardless, the original plan was to climb to the top (well, hike-I am not a world class, or any class, rock climber) and camp at the top. However, we could not get our hands on any more tents (I was the only one who had one-for some nine people), and it was raining. After considerable wandering, we found a pretty swanky hotel at the base of a really awesome spot at the base of the gorge. It had an amazing roof to hang at that night, two giant rooms, and breakfast, for 50dH each (6 or 7 dollars). However, a volunteer who lived in the area didn't like that because it was too expensive. She brought us to her friend instead.

There aren't a whole lot of adjectives I am acquainted with that could accurately describe this individual in a blog that children have access to. Some of the volunteers felt like boozing. Our new host stole their booze and drank it (in a culture where drinking is against the religion AND against the law). He smoked up in front of us. He was in fact so high and drunk that he screwed up our dinner. Oh-and he then charged us MORE than we would have spent at the hotel, which had a much better location. That is all I will say about this moron.

Next day we got up early to get out of this guy's house, and hiked to the top of the gorge. A young boy, Yusef (lots of Yusefs on this trip) followed us to the top of the mountain with his shoe shining kit. I was able to talk a friend of mine into getting his shoes shined at the top of the gorge (very cool picture of this online), but was too cold-hearted myself to hire his servies. The gorge and entire area are awe-inspiring, but not quite as much when the previous day you were camping in the Sahara Desert. But still amazing.

Tinjdad and Reich: Two travel days to get to our next destination: Azrou. Transportation in Morocco is somewhat unreliable (I am writing this entry some six or seven weeks after the trip, but there has been a public transportation strike for the last two weeks now-thus NO traveling). The day we hiked the Todra we spent the night in Tinjdad with a volunteer. Good time. Next night we made it to Reich. Reich is a beautiful Middle Atlas town on the way to Azrou. A friend of mine from town is an English teacher there, and was more than happy to host us. He was a great host, but not too much of excitement to mention.

Azrou and Ben Smim: On the last leg of vacation, went back to my old training site and host community. Azrou was fun-just kind of loafed around. Ben Smim was very nice-saw the volunteer there, my old host family, and ate some roasted chicken. Hung out for two or three days, and then came back home.

Sorry this post has taken so long. I would like to go into more detail about everything, but this is already a bit long as it is, and I have a lot more to write about over the next week or two.

So I haven't written in here for the last five or six weeks because I have been quite busy. My adventures started with a trip to the south east, hitting the desert and then a giant gorge. I travelled up to Azrou afterwards, and eventually worked my way back home. After a week at home, I was off again to Itzer, a town in the Middle Atlas, for an energy renewable/energy efficient heater presentation. I had training in Fez immediately after, followed by a weeklong youth spring camp in Figuig, a desert oasis. I got home last night (I was supposed to be home early afternoon but transportation can by spotty at times). Hopefully I will be home for a while, and will have plenty of time to write stories about my adventures: riding a camel and camping next to a giant dune, spending the night with a crazy pot smoking/boozing Moroccan, learning about high efficiency heaters, possibly changing the work I do in my site, teaching team building games to very hard-headed independent kids, sitting patiently for some 50+ hours in trains taxis and buses, and exploring every city in the south east. In the meantime-I have a good three hundred more pictures for you to feast your eyes on:

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/EnergyRenewables

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/SpringCamp

I just got back from vacation yesterday. I traveled south to the Sahara desert, then went west to the Todra Gorge. Throughout I visited volunteers and my old host family from training. I have a LOT to write about, but I am a little busy the next few days. For now look at the pictures.

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr

For those of you who haven't been staying vigilant with the happenings of my life, I got internet at my house. And literally had to fight every step of the way with the phone company and the tech guys (although in their defense, once the tech guys showed up at my house, they were great). Once I got everything setup my tutor told me there was a 'whatever you buy you get double' special going, even though I hadn't heard anything about that from the snake at Maroc Telecom. Despite my attempts of not getting taken, I was. So I planned on a special trip to the Maroc Telecom store on Monday.

Sunday: The nice thing about having a house phone is that from 8 PM to 8 AM you can make unlimited calls to any other landline. You also get Saturday and Sunday free. Those of you in America may scoff at my giddiness over being able to make a phone call that doesn't cost 50 cents, but I am pretty excited to talk to friends that have been placed across the country. So middle of the afternoon Sunday and I am on the phone making travel plans to Fez. *Beep* *Beep* and the line goes out. An English voice gets on the line and tells me I have no credit. Looks like the guys at Maroc Telecom decided not to follow through with the phone plan they set me up with. Damn it.

Monday: Meet The Tutor outside Maroc Telecom. We stroll inside and confront my good friend, The Salesman. The Salesman tells The Tutor that he explained that I wasn't getting the deal when we originally went over everything. I may have been thrown off by his lisp and demands that I pay a ridiculous amount of money upfront, but I distinctly remember him explaining multiple times that I had unlimited calling from 8 to 8 and on weekends. Even the other salesman told me this. For those of you who may question my memory, I have learned AND REMEMBERED a foreign language over the last five months. I said as much to the rep, and The Tutor and he argued for a few more minutes. We left, and The Tutor explained that I wasn't given the unlimited deal because The Salesman was under 'strict orders' not to give foreigners anything but the most basic plans when they signed up. The Tutor called him on my signing a contract and deserving the same rights as other people. The conclusion was that I could come back Tuesday and they would switch me to the plan I was told I had-which costs the same as what I am paying now.

Ponder: So apparently this foreigner rule is done because there were some foreigners here before who skimped out on their bill when they left town, and Maroc Telecom didn't want the same thing to happen again. So they are charging me the same amount that the plan costs, only giving me less benefits. What!? I could give you about five or six other contradictions to the logic behind the crap I am getting from this sales rep, but it isn't worth it. I am lucky to have a friend who gets more upset about my getting ripped off than I do.

Double Internet?: Yeah-got so worked up dealing with the phone contract that we never got a chance to take care of the double internet situation. It is probably for the better, and The Tutor said we can call it in and order it via the phone. Regardless of how this turns out, I think it is best if I stop writing about Maroc Telecom. I have yet to say a good thing about them on this blog, and eventually some big wig is going to read this and make my telecommunications life harder than it is.

Monday: Being the American I am, I eventually came to the conclusion that I needed to get internet at my house. Fiscally it makes sense. For another 100dH (12 dollars) more than I am paying a month right now, I can have internet all day every day, plus a home telephone that doesn't cost 50 cents a minute. This is compared to the one hour of internet and super expensive cell phone. AND-one of my sitemates lives close enough that we are going to split the bill and setup some kind of a router for him. So basically I will be paying what I pay for an hour of internet a day at a cyber cafe for internet and phone at the house. Good thinking Mike.

There is a Maroc Telecom store in town, so this last Monday I went by and asked for the setup. The gentleman who set me up with my plan was a bit difficult to deal with, as he was speaking Arabic with a lisp. I am getting pretty decent at understanding language, but throw in a whammy like that and I am done. We essentially communicated with grunts and drawings. He explained that my bill would come to something like 3000dH a year, and that I was to pay it all NOW. This didn't bide so well with me, as we use the 'pay by month' setup in town. I wasn't about to get bamboozled because some guy thought I was a rich American. We haggled down to pay by month, and he told me the technician would be to my house in the next day or two to setup the phone wire at my house.

Tuesday: Around 1:00 PM, I get a call from the technician. He is speaking to me ONLY in French, which I explain about five times I don't understand. I tell him to use Darija, his native tongue. We eventually come to an understanding that he is on his way to my house, a five minute ride from his location, and to be there. An hour and a half after he doesn't show, I walk to the Maroc Telecom store to see where this guy is. On my way back to my house, he calls me and says he is at my house. I tell him to wait 5 minutes-I will be RIGHT there. I get back and no sign. Long story short, after hearing 'I am on my way' about 3290 times Tuesday, I didn't see one technician. And I actually had work to do that day that I cancelled…

Wednesday: Get a call from the technician around 10:00 AM-he is on his way. I wait vigilantly until his crew shows. Despite my incredible frustrations from the previous day, they are all amazingly friendly and helpful. All is forgiven. The guys take about an hour to run the phone wire to my house, and then tell me I need some piece called a 'priz.' Turns out this is something I am supposed to supply, despite not hearing this from Maroc Telecom. I explained that I had no vehicle and they gave me a ride down to the market to pick it up. I bought the piece for what I didn't realize was an 'overcharge,' and the technician I was with got in the store owner's face until he gave me back more change. These guys were cool. Anyway-they left and the internet started working that afternoon.

BUT-the modem I have is a good five years old, and doesn't work with Vista. I don't know if I should be angry at Microsoft for making such a crappy operating system or Maroc Telecom for telling me before I signed the contract that 'the modem will work perfectly with Vista' and after telling me 'you need to go to a cyber café and find the software and download it before it will work.' Either way, did it and the modem works.

BUT-my tutor came and told me that Maroc Telecom has an 'everything you buy is double' deal, so that technically my internet speed should be double what I am getting. I went to the store to explain this, and they reps outright refused to hear me out or acknowledge that they had a deal going. I am going to come back Monday with a flyer stating said deal, and see what happens.

BUT-my new house phone didn't send calls, it only took them. I went to the store and explained the situation, and the rep told me that I need to read the Quran in Arabic so I don't go to hell. Then he told me I need to learn French so I can become worldly. Then he told me the phone takes two days to activate. You couldn't have just said that first?

So all in all-it took from Monday to Saturday to get my phone and internet installed and working at my house. But I will say, it was worth it.

Other Stuff: Going on vacation in two weeks to the Sahara Desert and then hiking the gorges of the High Atlas mountains.

Started organizing my work related leave teaching at a tourism school in Saidia, the AMAZING Med Sea town near where I live.

Hobbes's brother followed me home last night. He then cried and barked outside my door just like Hobbes does when I leave him out. Anyone want a puppy?

This weekend I went to visit a friend from training. He is actually the closest person from training to me, and lives a mere five hours away. I needed to take a cab to Oujda and then take the train to get to him.

I was sitting at a café enjoying peace and quiet from the dog, reading a book, when a guy came up to me and sat down at my table. I don't know exactly what it was about him, but I was instantly on edge. It could have been his demeanor, my hesitance to interact with strangers in cities, or my natural instincts that kicked in when he announced in English 'I am poor and you are going to give me money.' That seemed to be all he knew how to say in English, and afterward he spoke to me in French. I explained multiple times that I only knew English and Arabic, but that didn't stop him from speaking French, and then getting upset with me when I didn't understand him. Instead of ordering a coffee, he drank the grinds in the bottom of my glass. And he ripped through cigs-but only smoking half of them. He eventually gave me his empty lighter and walked away. I was safe!

No-he came back, and told me the train was there are we should board. We got on the train, and he literally tried selling me the clothes off his back. I refused to buy them, and he began getting angry with me. He then announced he was coming with me to visit my friend, and that I was going to buy his train ticket. I flatly refused, and he walked out of the train cab. The train started moving, and I assumed he was gone and I was safe. I wasn't. He poked his head into the cab and demanded I give him back his empty lighter. I explained that I left it at the café, and someone was kind enough to give him one of theirs so he would go away. Throughout the train ride he would pace back and forth in front of the window, smoking a cig, giving me the 'I am watching you' look. Despite two Moroccans who claimed to know karate and being bigger than me in the cab, I was emotionally preparing myself for fighting off getting jumped. It never came to that, as the conductors kicked the bum off the train when they discovered he had no ticket. Disaster averted.

The weekend visiting my friend went well. He is in the biggest volunteer site in the country, and I am convinced that he has the nicest apartment setup of all volunteers worldwide. Seriously, his apartment is nicer than where I lived in college. What is a vacation spot for me (and probably most volunteers) is where he lives. It is nice.

So I haven't really posted much about my life recently. That's cause my life is pretty slow right now. But there are more shots of Hobbes at my picture site. So, check that out. In the meantime send me some topics you want to hear about and I'll write some stuff up.

Life in Morocco has got its ups and downs. When things go well, you are top of the world. You are living in a completely foreign culture without 'comforts of home,' speaking in a completely foreign tongue, and really accomplishing something awesome. It is a great feeling. However, when things are bad, they are bad. As soon as something stressful happens, it can spiral out of control pretty quickly. You are suddenly incapable of communicating the simplest thoughts, cannot understand a thing, and only want to escape. And typically those times you really need to just talk with someone, you can't, because the only telephone service around charges sixty cents a minute domestic. That is why I have decided to get myself something to punch when times get rough. His name is Hobbes.

I have been planning on getting a dog since about a year before I left for Peace Corps Morocco. You can't bring a dog from America, can't have a dog during training, and can't have a dog during homestay. So officially the first day I can have a dog is February 1st.

At first I thought getting a dog would be easy. And then I began asking around:

Dog Breeders in Morocco: Don't exist to my knowledge. Animal rights work a little differently here. Animals are meant to be worked and eaten, preferably in that order. Dogs are typically pretty nasty. However, I would probably be a little nasty also if kids were always hurdling rocks and kicking me. Dogs are considered dirty and nasty and wretched animals. In Islam, it is in bad taste to have a dog as a companion. If someone owns a dog, it should only be for protection. Dogs are not allowed indoors, as it may prevent the entering of angels. In larger cities like Rabat and Fez it is more accepted to have a pet dog, but in the bleds life is a bit more conservative. And that means that most dogs are wild and nasty. Take for instance the pack of eleven dogs that literally ambushed me while I was running, surrounding me before I realized what happened. I was lucky to get out of that unscathed-stealing a puppy from them would not leave me without some bites.

There is a vet in Fez who gives free medical everything to Peace Corps volunteers. I emailed said vet about supplying me with a pre-vaccinated animal, but there were none 'in stock.' I had my house, dog food, and even a name picked out, but no sign of a dog. And then last weekend I met the neighbors across the street.

My Neighbors: Kids are sometimes allowed to own dogs as pets, as, and I will quote my host brother, 'they are too young to know any better (religiously).' And a pack of kids live across the street. And one has a mom who just gave birth to six puppies. Five of them are claimed by neighborhood kids, but one of them is mine! The best part is that this family takes really good care of the animals. The mother always wags her tail and comes over to me when I come up (unheard of in these parts). The puppies are all rambunctious and full of energy. Very exciting. The only thing I am a little worried about is time. The puppies are only three weeks old right now. Technically they should be eight weeks old minimum before leaving the pack. Today the owners told me I needed to pick him up tomorrow. Developmentally this is pretty rough, but we're all a little screwed up; he'll just fit in. The good news is that I can bring him over to my neighbors (who have the mom and one pup) as much as possible.

I was originally going to name my puppy 'N3aja,' which means female sheep, but my tutor brought some interesting information to my attention. When we get upset in America and begin hurdling insults that include the person we are angry with, a primate, and that person's mother, people here instead use 'N3aja.' And my pup is a boy, not a female (name would give him some gender issues). So I decided to name him after my favorite philosopher. Because quite frankly, you can't name a canine after a feline. No matter how awesome that tiger is.Hobbes is the bad boy on the right.

Here are some more pictures-http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr

Look under 'Dog' to see pictures of the litter I am getting my dog from, 'Carpets' for some all natural naturally dyed handwoven carpets (if you want to buy one email me at lightmmr at gmail.com), 'The House' for my house is ready party, and 'Assorted' for New Years and shots of town.

Before I write this, let me just say that Morocco is not some dangerous land where everyone is weird. I tend to write about ridiculous situations because they are more fun to do. Most people here are pretty normal, and that is pretty boring to write about. That being said, here goes:

Night One: I got enough furniture in my new apartment to warrant a ‘moving in party.’ So friend from training and a girl who lives near him decided to come meet me in town for the weekend. I met them off the train in Oujda (nearest city to me) and we spent the night at the French house. However, they were having guests so we decided to get dinner and hit the town. The restaurant we went to was amazing-I got a four cheese pizza. Finding one cheese in Morocco is hard enough, but getting four is just a hootenanny in your mouth. After dinner we found a bar in a hotel to visit.

For those of you not aware of Islam, lesson one is that it does not condone drinking. And Morocco is a legally Islamic country. Finding alcohol is very hard to do. Drinking it is even harder (people bathe once a week, and drinking stays on your skin until you bathe). While we can ‘get away with it’ because we are Americans and typically non-Muslim, it is poor taste to even let a local know you are doing it. Often time’s bars are outlawed from main city areas. This means that almost any bar here is by default a ‘seedy bar.’ However, we found one. And there was nothing else to do. And it was close to where we were staying. And it was a bar.

Enter: On your left was an actual bar with a bartender. There was one beer on tap and Heineken and local beer in bottles. All around were tables packed with patrons. There was an upstairs. Every nitch and cranny was wafting with cigarette smoke. We chose to sit at the only open table, which was upstairs near a window. Even sitting next to the window, I could barely breathe without hacking. The place was smoky. But once again, it was a real bar. Open past eight PM. The waiter came over and took our drink order. With the drinks came artichokes. I would have thought peanuts if anything, but not a complimentary healthy veggie. As I thought this, the peanut vendor caught my eye. The peanut vendor was literally a man with a basket of peanuts walking around the bar selling peanuts. It was from watching him that I first saw her. The girl at nine o’clock. Covered in face powder, wearing a slightly skimpy outfit, slamming wine bottles like Skittles, sits a woman who would make Bill Clinton blush. She was like Monica Lewinsky, Starr Jones, John Belushi, and a young calf combined into one perfectly pathetic prostitute. And she was sitting two feet from me.

I glanced around the bar and saw about seven other women just like her. Some were giving the equivalent of a Moroccan lap-dance. This was significantly less sexual than the typical American style of dancing at any party, but still a shock to watch. Almost all were caked in makeup, overweight, and wearing quite revealing outfits. But Mike, how do you know they were prostitutes? Couldn’t they have just been shot-putters winding down after a big match? Well, here is my logical argument as to why they weren’t:

Logical Argument: Any woman caught in Morocco drinking or smoking would be looked down upon much more than a man. And men who drink can find themselves ostracized pretty easily. Seeing a woman at a café is rare. Seeing one at a restaurant is very rare. Seeing a ‘self-respecting’ woman at a bar is completely unheard of. These women were dressed provocatively (for Moroccan standards at least). They were both drinking and smoking-at a copious and reckless rate. Oh and that last thing, they were hanging on every guy that walked through the door. Someone could make a compelling argument that these women weren’t prostitutes, just loose women. However, let me give my intuitive explanation why they were hookers:

Intuitive Argument: These women took money for sex.

Conclusion: So my self esteem was a tad damaged when none of the women came over to us, but I think professionally speaking it was for the better. It says (literally) in one of our policy books that Peace Corps volunteers are not allowed to solicit themselves for money (which is funny, because rules are typically written after incidents happen). I am not totally sure of the policy of sleeping with them, but I would most likely get fired for it. And I would probably have gotten murdered for having laughed hysterically in their faces had they come over. As the night went on men in the bar got drunker, and the women became a lot more forward. It was highly entertaining. In fact, I had a hard time holding any conversation because it was so entertaining.

Rest of the Weekend: Next day we came back to my site, some other volunteers stopped by the house, and I cooked some good dinner. We watched some Office and eventually went to sleep. The exciting part comes the next morning when I met one of my new neighbors across the street. It turns out he (they) have a female dog who just gave birth to six puppies two weeks ago. Long story short, I can have one. This is nice because I can visit the puppies as much as I want while they are maturing, and I know they are being taken care of well. This is rare, as most kids throw rocks and kick puppies. These ones are extremely gentle, play with them and pet them, and even have a shelter created for them. It is a good deal. But more on the puppies later.

In Morocco begging is a lot more accepted than in America. I'll put it this way. Right now I am living comfortably on approximately four dollars a day. Once I am renting my own place and buying my own food, I will be living off approximately ten dollars a day. This is considered upper-middle class. There is an almost non-existent private sector and very few government jobs. The guy who stamped my papers at the municipal building has a doctorate in biology. All volunteers in Morocco are in 'training' positions where we help anyone who wants it, but cannot hold any position that would be a paying job (for instance, no volunteers teach at schools). That being said, a lot of people are on the streets asking for money. It is part of Islam to give alms to the poor. As far as social connotations, it is proper to either ignore people asking for money or give them a little (same in America). However, as an American, people can get in my face about money a bit more than fellow Moroccans. Here is a breakdown of the genres of beggars I have encountered:

Hands Out: This is the Moroccan equal to the homeless in America. This is the person who stands or sits on the street with their hand out. Occasionally they will pray or try and speak to you, but often times their hands are just extended.

The Bold: This one always throws me off guard. I am used to people walking up to me with their hands out, and I generally drop eye contact and continue moving. Generally the person gets the hint and moves on. Occasionally they will stay in my face pestering me for a few minutes. On rare occasions, I have been talking to people at the market and literally mid sentence the person will stop speaking and just hold out their hand. In my experience it has always been an older lady. My jaw has dropped every time. Not a 'please' or 'do you have anything,' but straight change from 'Ohh cool whatever we were talking about' to silence and hand. The other day I walked by a Berber woman (can tell by the tattoos on her face), smiled at her, and in response she thrust her hand out at me. Sorry lady, doesn't work like that.

Kids: This generally only occurs in cities, but kids can come up to you demanding money. They may know just enough English to tell you the exact quantity they want. I had two girls assail me in Oujda a while back, and I was so dumbstruck I literally stopped moving mid stride. They got on both sides of me and started demanding I give them money. I could tell I wasn't getting mugged because they specified the amount I was to give them. Muggers generally want everything. On occasion kids will come up at the café and demand food. Once again, doesn't work like that.

Businessmen: Not really 'beggars' whatsoever, there are people who will overcharge foreigners a ridiculous amount. It is usual to haggle at souq or for taxis, but only over a little. I have been quoted taxi rides would cost me 400dH when they really cost 28dH, been told 200dH heaters were 900dH, and am generally overcharged for most non-food items. Fortunately I am not a total idiot, and generally end up paying a decent price, but generally am still paying more than any Moroccan would. Any of you who have taken a micro-economics class could argue that it is an example of a perfect monopoly, but being as how I don't have a whole lot of money, I am not going to pay a mark-up of seven thousand percent to buy a cooking pot.

The Worst Kind Ever: In order to truly understand how it is that I feel about this genre, let me explain to you an event in my life that has been dubbed 'The Night I Got Accosted.'

The Night I Got Accosted: Two summers ago I had an internship doing sales in Virginia. The company I was working for seemed to have mistaken me as someone who was successful at their job, and I was accidently sent to Charlottesville for a month once my work at JMU was completed. The company put me up in a hotel, and paid for gas and food. While there I spent a lot of time with two good friends from college who lived in the area. On the night of the incident, my buddy Tom and I had just finished work and were waiting for our friend Ben to finish work. We decided to wait at an Irish Pub, McGradys, and kill a few pitchers in the process.

We got in and sat at the bar. On my left is Tom, and on my right is an overweight late-forty something woman caked in makeup, to describe in a flattering euphemism. After ordering a classy drink (Guinness) and beginning to enjoy its savory effects, the aberration on my right asked to borrow my cell phone. I obliged her, if only to keep conversations to a minimum. After three or four failed calls she introduced herself and began to drunkenly explain her predicament. It seemed her boyfriend was out of town on important business, but was worried about her drinking. Despite no prodding on our part, she continued explaining that this guy owned a shopping center, flies airplanes, invests in stuffed animals, and one or two other completely inconsequential things. His business card, however, had 'Get Your Free Business Card Made At www…..com' written on the back. Hmm…He was apparently very good to her and she felt that going out drinking while he is out of town was disrespectful. At this, she asked our advice.

Tom and I split on strategies. I explained that I didn't have a girlfriend and was a bad person to for ask advice. Tom lied and said he had a girlfriend, and actually took a few minutes to console her with the obvious…'then maybe you shouldn't be out at a bar drinking by yourself…' This left me alone with my beverage snickering at how much of a buffoon Tom was for taking the helpful route. Little did I know that five minutes could have saved me evenings of agony.

Tom's conversation with the monster was starting to get a little out of hand. She began telling him how much of a waste she was. She told Tom she killed her dog and then began sobbing into her hands. When he tried to tell her it couldn't have been her fault, she explained she cleaned its bowl with bleach and then forgot to clean the bleach out. At this we both switched from mildly entertained to 'we need to leave-this woman is a spiral of disaster.' We both filled our glasses and explained that we had serious business to take care of at a bar that wasn't that one. The woman began thanking Tom for his help and told him what a beautiful young man he was. She gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

After Tom, she told me how beautiful I was and went in for the hug. I gave her the hug and started turning my cheek for the kiss. Her face was about six inches from mine when I realized she wasn't moving her face to any angle but straight ahead. I was frozen in dumbfounded horror. At the last second I pushed out of her grab and exclaimed something to the effects of 'What the hell do you think you are doing!?' With the most pathetic puppy dog eyes she looked at me and whimpered, '…Why not? Are you gay?'

This was too much for Tom to handle. He ran off to the bathroom to call Ben and explain what was happening. While he did that I stammered that I wasn't gay, I just wasn't really into her. And she had a boyfriend, right? That's it, I can't get in the middle of her and her boyfriend. After explaining this multiple times, her alcohol addled mind seemed to grasp that it wasn't going to happen. But in return she wanted a chance to rectify some of our broken relationship with another hug. I obliged, and this time, two inches from my lips, I realized she wasn't going to turn her head. Again! Seriously, what the hell lady. At this point the entire bar was watching. I poured the rest of the pitcher into my cup, slammed it, and stormed out. My catlike reflexes really saved me on that one.

Tom and Ben describe the rest of the evening much better than I do, but I spent it split between staring into space like a zombie and going up to every girl at every bar apologizing for mankind, stating that 'I know what it's like. And I am so sorry.' A few nights later I met a bouncer who had gone through the exact same experience. Apparently I am not the only victim of the bog-monster cougar. The coup-de-grace came about six months later. Tom called me ecstatic, saying he was watching the news, and there was a special about the homeless shelters in Charlottesville. My former lover was on TV raving about how great the conditions are there dead winter. So this woman who almost had her way with my innocent lips turns out to be homeless. You can probably imagine I do not like this woman (I saw her walking the streets about two weeks after the incident, and Ben reported I saw her and sprinted away for ten minutes. She had looked at me curiously and asked 'Do I know you? You look familiar.').

So The Worst Kind Ever: There is one person in town here who throws chills down my spine. I think she may be suffering from a mental incapacitation. During site visit I was sitting at the café with the guy I replaced, and this woman, who may very well be the Moroccan version of my good friend in Charlottesville, made eye contact with me. This was well before I had learned to avoid eye contact, and I didn't turn away. She took this as an invitation to mutter some type of guttural language (I have blocked the noises from my memory, but my sitemates can both do a spot on impression) and waddle up to me. Her one hand was grabbing my body while the other was cupped and shoved in my face. My grimace and lack of acknowledgement seemed to spur her on, and she continued speaking to me in tongues (it wasn't French or any form of Arabic) prodding me to give her money. This is taboo no matter how you look at it-stranger, beggar, or woman. However, everyone got such a kick out of it nobody moved to save me. Eventually the waiter shoo'ed her away, and she left me alone for the rest of the week. The same thing happened two weeks later when I returned to site, and my sitemates got an incredible kick out of it. I suppose I would have too, if it hadn't been me. The good news is I stuck to my guns and didn't give in to her harassment. Honestly, it was because I was too repulsed and shocked to move, but I'll pretend otherwise. Since then I see her about once every two weeks, and do whatever it takes to get out of her line of site.

On Christmas when the laptop with Skype was getting passed from family member to family member and each one asked how the girl situation in Morocco was (with the exception of my one cousin, who dropped a gay joke on me, which for some reason after eight years I still can't muster a comeback to) and I replied 'It's great, they can't keep their hands off me,' that's actually what I was referring to. Ugh…

The other day in the hemmam, unbeknownst to me, my boxers experienced a seamstress malfunction and I inadvertently exposed myself to a large quantity of men for the first half of my bathing experience.

 Oops.

Here are some pictures of the house I will (hopefully) be living in.

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/TheHouse#

About four or five weeks ago I met with the womens group in town. They do a lot of sewing in the morning, and there is a haircutting school in the afternoon. I may have mentioned visiting a while ago, as I was a tad overwhelmed by 3029 girls giggling at me. I told them I would stop by later with my tutor do discuss in a bit more detail the kind of work they wanted me to do with them. So, four or five weeks later, I finally met with them again today. In case you are wondering, I had been back at least once a week to meet, but something always prohibited a successful meeting. We came to the conclusion that as soon as the artisana got the computers setup I would begin teaching about twenty women computers. When the weather improves I will possibly begin teaching business (marketing, finance, etc). But I met a carpet weaver today who has got a group that makes all natural carpets. And she does custom orders.

So the carpets: The ones I like are thick (half inch maybe) of natural wool naturally died. The designs are a mix of different Berber or really whatever you want. A one meter by two meter carpet costs 600dH (current exchange rate is $1 = 7.5dH). You pick the colors and any design (in case you have something you prefer). A two meter by two and a half meter carpet is 1200dH. This does not include shipping, but I need to look a little more into shipping costs. The carpets take around a week to make. I only have one picture right now, but am possibly meeting her later this week to see other carpets.

If you are interested in thinner carpets that are made of synthetic wool, those can be made custom also. I will post one picture now (the carpet is smaller than one meter by one meter) and if you are interested in buying one, email me at lightmmr at gmail.com with requests (colors, size, etc) and I will get the ball rolling.

Some people call Peace Corps in Morocco the 'Posh Core,' as volunteers here have a lot that other volunteers in other countries don't have. For instance, the majority of us have access to transportation, water, electricity, fresh veggies fruits and meats, places to bathe, lots of vacation opportunities, temperate weather and friendly locals. Each volunteers experience here is different, but almost all of us in SBD have got it easy. My buddy Tim probably has the roughest site of all of us, and that is because he has a donkey to carry water for him (no running water). Living in a (small) city, my life is actually easier than most of the volunteers in Morocco. I have two souqs (open markets where you can buy just about anything), a marche' (essentially a food store, but comprised of food stands), 2390 hair cutters, and even a restaurant or two. There is access to internet and the potential for some good work. Occasionally the power goes out in inclement weather, and about two or three days a week we don't really have any water, but life here is easy. I still find myself saying things like-'Oh…I just bathed three days ago, maybe we should work out in another day or two from now cause I'm still clean,' but I said things like that in college. For those of you who think I am a pansy, I did request a site that was very rural with little to no electricity (I wanted to help install it as a side project) in the Atlas so that I could be a bit 'tuffer,' but the powers above thought better of my talents (or lack of).

For the first two months I live with a host family. The next twenty-two months I rent my own place. There is a 'real estate' guy in town, but he is kind of a jackass. His typical reaction to my asking for a 600dH house (Peace Corps cap on houses) that I can begin renting in Feb is laughing in my face, turning around on his bicycle, and pretending that I am not standing next to him any longer. He claims that there are no houses here for 600, which is funny because one volunteer in town has a house for that much (and 600 is actually really expensive for any house for a Moroccan…). He also says there are no houses for rent at the moment. Mr. Real Estate just feels that as an American I am loaded and worth getting some money from. Well buddy, the surprise is on you since I bypassed your being an idiot and my tutor helped me find something.

Last Friday my tutor and I met and walked up to the less developed neighborhood in town. Despite being a bit further from town, I like this spot because there is a lot of land up here. This is good for two reasons. Number one is that I won't have any problem getting to the mountains for my run, compared to now when I have to deal with 45938052 kids screaming and occasionally throwing rocks. Number two is that I am planning on getting a dog (I will write an entry on this when it actually happens) and it will be easier to train the dog to go outside on a yard than in a Turkish toilet. After an hour of walking around and asking questions, we came across an apartment that had been vacated the previous day. We met the owner and walked around the house.

There is a large yard coming up to the house. Once you open the door and go in, there are two equal sized rooms. There is a small kitchen. The bathroom is really what makes this house stand out. The house has got a western toilet. That means that squatting to poop will now be a thing of the past! There is also a shower in the house (which is setup for a hot water heater), so the chances of coming across someone who wants to scrub me down while I am bathing have been diminished significantly. One last thing-the house is setup for gas heat! There are radiators in every room. I'm not totally sure if they work, but it is worth looking into, as propane heaters just aren't that much fun. There is a small garden growing right now, and my new landlord knows a guy who has an old fence I can string up to keep people out of my yard and stealing things like my bike or clothes (not that I don't trust people, I have just seen the amount that people break into my one sitemate's yard). The landlord is asking 800dH a month for the house. I highly doubt that 800dH will be a problem, as I live in a small city and our rent allowance is a bit higher. Also, my new landlord has given me this month free, so I can begin moving my stuff in and buying furniture as soon as the house is approved.

I guess the moral of the story is that some of the things that are harder in Morocco, like Turkish toilets and scrub-downs at the bathhouse are about to go away. My new house is going to be pretty cool.

If you ever get a chance to visit Morocco, there are a few different foods that you need to try. Olives, Pomegranates, and Spiced Coffee. I would also recommend homemade bread.

Olives: My parents do not like olives, so by default I grew up not liking them. At restaurants they would request any salad without, and I would typically not even order a meal that had olives. I eventually grew up about a year ago and began eating them. They aren't great, but they aren't horrible. A little sour for my taste, but I could see them fitting into a Greek Salad. I came to Morocco with the 'eat everything that gets put in front of you' attitude. People can't hold anything against you if you at least try. So I tried some Moroccan olives months ago when they were put in front of me. They were fantastic! I now try and eat olives every day. The east is known for olives, especially the city an hour away (which I think sends them here). There is a store at the marche' (building with different food stands) that has nothing but olives. I normally get the spicy ones. They are green olives (blow the sour American olives away) with chopped hot peppers on them. Not to mention that olives here are really inexpensive. I can see making some pasta sauces in the future with spicy olives. Then again, I can see eating nothing but olives for various lazy meals once I have my own place.

Pomegranates: I had never heard of pomegranates before I got to Morocco. Apparently they are in America, but I don't think I've ever seen them at a food store. For those of you unfamiliar with this tasty fruit, it is between the size of an apple and a pineapple. You have to break the shell open, and there are hundreds of red seeds inside. Once you see the seeds, you can choose to either eat them as fast as possible or savor each one. Despite having access to hundreds of pomegranates, I choose to take my time savoring each one. Back home I used to buy that all natural cranberry juice for like twenty dollars a bottle. This fruit is so potent you could probably dilute it with its own weight in water and spin it in a blender to create a more potent, tasty, and healthy drink. They also are extraordinarily cheap.

Spiced Coffee: I saved the best for last. I never drank coffee until my semester of all 8 A.M. classes. I struggled, and a third into the semester a friend handed me an extra cup he had brought to class. I have been fighting with addiction since. I tried weaning to tea (which is apparently stronger), but I generally drink the strongest possible coffee black. Milk and sugar is for sissies. I will say that the tea here is scrumptious, but that stuff is literally thrown back like water, so I am predictably tired of it (and the masses of sugar used is keeping me awake at night). I don't remember how I stumbled across spiced coffee, but I am relatively certain the credit can either go to my old host family or my old teacher during training. This is how spiced coffee is made: You go to souq and find a spice stand. The spice stand is generally easy to identify, as it is normally two or three people standing around twenty to thirty potato sacs of spices. You say something along the lines of 'I want [insert amount] of spicy coffee.' They then take some ground coffee and put it on their scale. They take poles with scoopers and pick assorted spices from maybe ten of the bags and mix it with the coffee. By the time they are done, it is typically three quarters coffee one quarter spice. I don't know nor care what spices they use, but the result is fantastic. It is a coffee worth putting sugar into. The best part is that every time you go it is a little different, keeping your taste palette on its heels. If anyone is interested in trying some of this, send me your address and I will try to send it to you.

The Bonus: I think I may have mentioned this in previous posts, but it is a food worth bringing up again. Much to my disdain, my family in New Jersey has this horrible affliction where they seem to think frozen bread is tastier than, well, any other form of bread. Their excuse is that the family of four does not eat bread quick enough to warrant keeping it out. I can attest that I am capable of eating an entire baguette in one meal. That being said, I would like to dispute the frozen bread theory. However, this argument can wait two years. My host family (and generally a lot of families I have seen) cooks fresh bread every day. For instance, I ate half a loaf of still warm wheat bread with dinner last night. I would recommend either coming to Morocco and having some homemade bread, or possibly investing a little bit of time from your day and baking your own. It is worth it.

The Ugly: I came to Morocco pretty accustomed to using a fork and knife with all meals. I have used silverware in Morocco generally only when eating soup. I use either bread as a scooper or my hands for breaking apart meat. Why I am bringing this up? Well, I was eating lunch about an hour ago munching down olives with fresh bread, drinking spiced coffee, and topping it off with some pomegranates. As I sat there trying to understand the conversation between my host family, my mind began to wonder. I thought about eating habits back in America. I thought about some of my friends who told me they had to go to classes to learn how to use silverware correctly. I made it this far into my thoughts when my host sister looked at me and belched. That brought a big grin to my face. I may never be able to fit into a high society dinner party (or anywhere on the Isle of Wight in England) but I will never have any problems eating in Morocco. Let's not kid ourselves here. Given the choice of having to use seven forks or none, what would you choose?

If I were to use one word to describe Christmas in Morocco, it would be 'nonexistent.' The only person who knew anything about it was the cool post office employee who offered his 'Happy Christmas' on Christmas Eve. Don't get me wrong, I am not bitter about this. I am living in a country in which every citizen is born Muslim by law. The idea of other religions (especially non-Christian or non-Jewish) here is like telling a fish that water doesn't exist. I just guess I expected something. When I told my host brother it was Christmas, he said 'Santa Claus,' chuckled, and walked away.

As volunteers, we are expected to only get vacation days for Moroccan holidays. Once again, I have no problem with this, as I do not expect double holidays. This means that we work on Christmas just like every other citizen (…except Peace Corps staff, who celebrate both Moroccan and American holidays). In fact, it is encouraged in our training booklets that this is a great time to teach locals about our holidays and encourage them to celebrate with us. I can picture my explanation of Christmas followed by a theological debate in which I am told to convert to Islam. I can still remember my last intellectual holiday conversation with my family from Eid L'Kbir, in which I was reamed out for saying Suddam Hussein was a 'bad man' followed by a not so friendly opinion of Bush and the current US government. Let's keep the host family in the dark on this one, eh?

On Christmas Eve I went to the post office to see if I had a special Christmas package. I did! It was a fantastic box filled with Velveeta cheese, socks, hand sanitizer, cookies, chocolates, and a card that said 'I hope you get this in time for Thanksgiving!' The good news was that I had the cheese I had been waiting to cook with and a recipe for some fantastic macaroni and cheese for my special Christmas celebration! Other than the package, my Christmas Eve was relatively uneventful. I practically finished my iTunes movie download for Christmas, met with my tutor for a while, and hung at the café (among other things).

On Christmas I woke up and went to the post office to see if I had anything. In what I can only describe as a Christmas Miracle, I had another package! It was my chamois shirt replacement from LL Bean. Site mate and I went to the souq and got some fresh veggies and chicken for cooking. We went back to her house and I cooked macaroni and cheese with Velveeta and lemon chicken with lots of spices. We exchanged some Christmas gifts (although I think she may have forgotten to buy mine…) and watched Step Brothers. I began Skyping my family around five when the other volunteer went to the Dar Shebab. About three minutes into my conversation she returned and told me that all the kids I told I promised to teach English to were at the Dar Shebab waiting for me. When I arrived, the mudir (boss) of the Shebab came up and in a hurt voice asked why I had made these kids wait an hour for their English class. I replied that I was actually two days and an hour late, as the class had been scheduled for Tuesday, which was when I had been on time waiting for any of them to show up. Despite my frustrations with timeliness, the kids were all great and the class was a lot of fun. After class I came back and Skyped my entire family. They were all at my aunt's, so I was passed around via laptop to each family member. My site mate described hearing us similar to the 'Sopranos.' I suppose it is the Jersey accents. Anyway, it was nice seeing everyone, if only briefly.

And that is Christmas in Morocco.

I got my first massage in Morocco yesterday. You may be imagining me laying on the beach with multiple scantily clad girls fighting over who could rug my back next. Or maybe just one scantily clad girl massaging me while I laid on an exquisite Moroccan carpet. Not the case.

Friday: Got up and went for a short run through the mountains. Afterwards I was a little sweaty and nasty. This and my having not bathed in seven days led me to the hemmam after lunch. As I approached I was a little concerned it was closed because I didn't see any smoke coming from the chimney. No worries, the place was packed when I walked in. I forgot a cup (to pour the water from my bucket on myself) so I had to borrow one from the staff. Anyway, walked into the bathing area and was overwhelmed by the amount of steam. I could literally see no further than four feet in front of me. It was hot.

I bathe the way I would imagine any self-respecting man does. With a bar of soap and my hands. I tried the 'loofah' thing, sampled conditioner, and at one point even purchased a bottle of hair gel in America. However, I never really jumped onto the metro sexual bandwagon. With the exception of replacing holy jeans (which were ruined due to my wearing them, not sewn that way) and buying warm clothes for Morocco, the last time I did clothes shopping was the summer going into my junior year of college. And that was only because I had a brief stint working at a clothing store and had to wear their clothes (and I didn't have any). In Morocco I have seen some weird fashion. This may be due to the fact that I do not have a fashion sense. But clothing is for another entry. The point is that practically everyone uses a glove which is a mix of a loofah and brillo pad to help scrub down. And I have yet to invest in one.

Generally when I am at the hemmam I give myself two cleans. I'll soap down, rinse, repeat. I had just finished cleaning one when the insufferable heat hit me. I was contemplating cutting my bath short when a lanky guy in underwear came up and asked if I wanted him to scrub my back. This is a fairly common question, as most people hemmam with a buddy to clean their back. If you go solo, people generally offer to get your back. I told him I had already cleaned but thank you. He insisted, and I thought back to Peace Corps training and the word 'integration' kept repeating itself in my head. I solemnly agreed, and he went off to get his scrubbie.

There were two things that on first glance stood out about my new friend. The first was that he was missing his two front teeth. Missing teeth are relatively common due to a high intake of sugar mixed with a poor education on dental hygiene. This wasn't an issue. What put me a little on edge was that he would occasionally project some saliva through the gap in his teeth during conversation. The second thing I noticed was that he had a relatively unclean smell about him. I can't really say a whole lot about this, as I hadn't bathed in a week. And the guy was in a bath house, so obviously he was there to get clean.

My new friend had me lay down stomach to the ground on the scorching floor. He sat on my legs and began to go to town on my back. For my more sensitive readers and my own sensitive memory, I will hold back describing in detail his thoroughness. I rolled to each side so he could scrub everything. At one point he even cleaned my thighs.

I am not a touchy feely person. I have a tendency to tense up when people touch me. But here I am in a bath house with a guy lifting my underwear like a doctor giving a physical and rubbing his hands up my thighs; and occasionally drooling on the back of my head. I will give you all a moment to picture this, laugh, and make a gay joke. Seriously, I almost hit him multiple times just on instinct. I had to consciously hold back my punches. After what felt like an inappropriate amount of time, I told him I was fine. He told me he works at the hemmam and his job is to scrub people, and I wasn't 'fine' just yet. The first thing that entered my mind was-'oh crap, I only brought enough money to get in.' The second thing that entered my mind was-'I guess they don't give employee discounts here on bathing.' (burn!)

My only break from the massage was when I told him I needed some water, took my borrowed pour cup and filled it with water from the cold fountain, and drank. Ordinarily I may have avoided doing a thing like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Eventually he finished, I rinsed off, and went to the main room to change. As I was drying off he brought me some tea with 'sheeba,' or as more commonly known 'wormwood.' This is the root that Absinthe is made with. 'Absinthe Tea' is a very common drink in the winter, and was very refreshing. I tried tipping my new friend (or paying him for that matter) and he would not accept anything. Maybe he should have paid me…All in all, I can't say that the experience was very enjoyable, but it wasn't the worst thing that has ever happened to me. However, in the future I may consider upping my metro-ality and invest in a body scrubber. That way I can avoid guy on guy massage run ins at the bath house. And maybe I can use that extra time to focus on getting my massages from people of the opposite sex.

Sunday: Woke up at 8:45 and left for the taxi stand to Oujda. After an hour ride to Oujda, met up with Mr. Tourism. Got into his car and we left for Saidiya. Mr. Tourism lived in America for a year, so his English was a much higher caliber than my Darija. On top of that, he had taken many trips to America for international tourism meetings. Mr. Tourism grew up in the east near Saidiya, and had a vast knowledge of everything we drove by. During the hour drive to the Mediterranean Sea, he told me about the history of the east, what it needs, and how he would like to go about doing that. The brief version is that tourism is the first step to increasing money to the area. He felt that Saidiya and the surrounding area is an up and coming gold mine of tourism. He also said that areas like the one I live in and a few others would be ideal day trips for vacationers. In a rather sad note, he told me that he feels the artisana I will be working at is completely useless as of right now. I can grudgingly agree to an extent, as there is no 'Eastern Art' exclusive to the area, and a school for art would probably be a better first step than a store to sell art. He did tell me there is a tourism school in Saidiya and that he wanted me to stop by and teach a few times during my stint in Morocco. Anyway, we arrived in Saidiya.

If my friends were asked to describe me, they would probably say I am more of a 'skeptic' than a 'gun-jumper.' When I met the tourism director of Oujda and he told me about his grand ideas to build a hotel in my area, I was a little hesitant to get excited. Don't get me wrong, I think where I am living is beautiful. I just don't really see people spending money to come to Morocco to spend it in the east, when other parts of the country are specialized for tourism. Not to mention that both Peace Corps staff and locals make fun of the area for being famous for smuggled drugs and gas from Algeria. It just isn't really tourism friendly. Even during the car ride to the Mediterranean Sea when the retired head of all of tourism of Morocco told me this place was going to be big, I was skeptical that this Saidiya town was capable of changing the income of the entire region. Well, I deserve a big kick in the head.

Saidiya is quite possibly the most beautiful place I have ever been. You arrive through rolling pastures of farmland. Look forward and there is deep blue water. Behind you are silhouettes of rolling mountains. The place is not saturated with anything but cows, and the small town of Saidiya has 'modern looking' restaurants and houses (for those of you not interested in renting an old Moroccan cottage). In all honesty, if it wasn't a direct contradiction of my being a Peace Corps volunteer and get me kicked out for doing so, I would invest every penny I had in the area. In the next ten to twenty years it is going to blow up. In lieu of investing, I think I can stay content visiting as many weekends as possible. For those of you interested in coming to Morocco to visit me but not really willing to shell out that much money just to see me, here is your excuse. The pictures I put up do it absolutely no justice. They were also taken a week before Christmas, when it was still warm and beautiful.

So Mr. Tourism and I drove around the area a bit, took some pictures, and drank some espresso. We eventually stopped at a small fishing town for lunch. We went to a seafood restaurant he was particular to. When we sat down a friend of his came over with some 'exotic fruit' which I think was grapefruit, and we ate that and some seafood soup. Eventually our appetizer of shrimp came out. I like shrimp a lot, but have weaned off it over the last few years as my taste for fish has expanded. However, these shrimp were amazing. They required some work with shelling, but each was totally worth any effort. After the shrimp we got a platter of fish that made the previous day's lunch look like a snack. We ate some serious fish. In one of the pictures you can see about fifteen fish skeletons on my plate. They were all fantastic.

After lunch we drove around the area a bit more and discussed some work I can do in the area. As a Peace Corps volunteer I am obligated to do my work primarily in my site. However, I can on occasion request out of site work related leave. I think I may try to use this in Saidiya working with the tourism school. Seriously, the place is fantastic. I am lucky to be living two hours from the most amazing vacation spot for the next two years.

I have some pictures of the farm and of Saidiya. This is probably my favorite set of pictures thus far, so I would check them out. http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/FarmAndSaidiya

And for the record, the pictures give this Mediterranean Sea town absolutely no credit. This is possibly the most beautiful place I have ever been.

Before I begin, I should probably tell you about the sheep head. I didn't eat it. After lobbing it off on Eid, the family threw on it on a charcoal grill. It then sat on the patio for four days. Not that I would prefer to see a severed sheep head in the fridge, but just sitting on the patio? It just kind of marinated in its own juices. So when my family told me on night four it was time to eat the head, I cringed. I built myself up all day for it. I thought about how I would swallow the meat whole and not taste it. And then suddenly it was dinner, and there was no head. Maybe the fam was playing a joke on me and people don't really eat the head. The thing was kind of nasty by now, right? No, turns out the one brother was out of town so we were going to eat it on night five. Well, I had used all my 'build up' on day four, so come day five I told them I was going out for schwarma (tasty chicken sandwich) for dinner. Turn out every restaurant in town was closed (they were all probably eating the head too), so I bought a baguette and two slices of Laughing Cow cheese and ate that for dinner. When I got home I could smell the blood curdling from the kitchen, and locked myself in my room until the next morning. I hope they enjoyed it.

Saturday: So I woke up at 7:00 on my weekend. Hit the taxi stand and got to Oujda. I called The Uncle's friend/inner city cab driver/guy who watched his house when he is out of town 'Slim' (basically his nickname translated) who picked me up and brought me to The Uncle's house. Ate some bread and oil, drank some tea, and watched some Pokemon in Arabic. Eventually we left. Before getting to our destination, we drove by some new sites in Oujda. There was the university, which houses twenty-five thou students. We also drove up to the border of Algeria.

Picture 'South of the Border' if it were closed. There is a strip of buildings that look like they were once loaded with lots of activity. Playgrounds for kids, restaurants, hotels, you name it. Driving by I could make out more tumbleweeds than visitors. Not really, I haven't seen any tumbleweeds in Morocco. But it was empty. The strip of buildings led to a nice border station with armed guards and a closed gate. There were also driving checkpoints with metal spikes on the road. We needed to navigate the spikes and get waved through by the police to get by. As we drove back I remember feeling a little sorry for the kids who would never get to play on those nice playgrounds. I even wondered if you could buy fireworks at one of the buildings. I eventually decided no, as fireworks can be mistaken as gunfire, which can lead to bad things at a closed border with armed guards.

After the tour of the area, we stopped at an exquisite house back in Oujda. Got in, and met an older gentleman. Drank some coffee and ate some dates. Eventually a few more folks came in. So, in what I gathered, I was sitting with this: A retired colonial, a retired brigadier general, a retired mudir (boss) of at least three schools throughout Morocco, and the retired head of tourism of all of Morocco. Fortunately the latter spoke English. We spoke for a bit, and then Fatima got on the line and told me they were going to show me around the area so I could get a better idea of the 'East' and contribute some ideas for expanding tourism. I took another look around the room. If these guys actually thought I was capable of coming up with ideas they couldn't, they were in for some major disappointments. The combined experience in the room was staggering. I am merely a twenty-two year old recent college grad. They are, well, I already wrote what they are. Anyway, we talked for a bit, and eventually things wrapped up and the retired tourism head and I planned on meeting Sunday to take a road trip up to the Mediterranean Sea to see the pride of the East.

The Uncle, The Driver and I drove back to South of the Border. Turns out there is a fantastic restaurant there. We parked and walked up to one of four food kiosks in the restaurant compound. There was a fish locker loaded with every fish you could imagine. The waiter didn't bother measuring, but just heaved slabs of every fish onto a tray. We sat down under a tent (picture picnic tent) and had some salad and fries while waiting for the fish. We also enjoyed the view. It was sunny enough to potentially wear a t-shirt, but the mountains surrounding us had snow on their tips. I forgot I had my camera until later in the day, so no pictures. Eventually the food came, and we ate. I think the best way to describe how much we ate is to describe how much we didn't eat. There was a small portion of calamari that we couldn't bear to eat (as we were each stuffed). A very small portion of the meal that we fed to the cats scattered around the table. This small amount of calamari may be two or three orders of appetizer at an upscale restaurant in America. It may be two full meals at a seafood restaurant on the beach in America. But this very small portion of what we ate was given to seven or eight cats, who each ate very well.

After lunch we went out to a farm about thirty kilometers from my site. We met a friend of The Uncle, drank some tea, and hung out looking at the desert. I asked if we were actually in the desert, and was told it was 'half.' Regardless, it was beautiful, and I can foresee some bicycle trips out there in the future. Also some (hopefully) business with The Friend buying some wool for the new artisana. Eventually I got back home, went to the Dar Shebab, and taught English. It was probably the most successful English class I have been a part of. I did some other stuff but it wasn't as interesting so I'll spare you.

To be continued…

Side Note: I would just like to write a thanks in here for everyone involved in this story. I know that each one of them is very busy (most of them were only visiting Oujda), but they still took time to meet with me and invest a lot of effort into my well being. I also know they are not just doing it for my contribution to the East, whatever that may be. They are mainly doing it as a favor to Fatima, so I would like to thank her too.

Ok, I have a lot to talk about, and will do it in three posts. In this one I will discuss my trip to Fez from Tuesday to Thursday. The next entry will be about my meeting the Moroccan brain trust on Saturday, and the final entry will be about my trip to Saidiya with the retired head of Tourism of Morocco on Sunday. As I have a lot to say, I will probably skimp on the details and just try to write about what happened. But I may not; I haven't really thought this through.

Prelude to Everything: About two weeks into living at site, I met the tourism delegate of Oujda (closest city) at a hemmam. He told me he wanted to put up a hotel at my site on a mountain, and we met the next day to talk about details. It turns out there weren't a whole lot of details, just a 'go ahead' from his bosses. Not any business plan or real set idea on what was going to happen. However, he was ready to start construction in a week. I wasn't really sure how to deal with the situation so I called a friend of mine from training (Fatima-language teacher), who is kind of my expert on everything. She told me that there is a push for tourism in this area, and her uncle who lives in Oujda just so happens to know some stuff about tourism. She would put me in touch with him later and we could discuss some ideas about the new hotel. In the meantime, she was going to be working a honey tasting in Fez with some volunteers in two weeks. As I had worked and plan on working with beekeepers, I was invited to check it out.

Fast Forward to 'Now:' Got on the train, met with volunteer friend (Steven), and headed to Fez. We met Fatima and one of her friends at the train station. I was famished, so we stopped at a pizzeria and got lunch. Fatima gave us a tour of the new city which eventually led into the old city. She went to college in Fez, and said it could easily take a month to see everything. Having spent twenty-four hours there it is hard to dispute that. We barely had our feet wet when four o'clock rolled around and the honey tasting started. It was at a hole in the wall tea shop run by a British guy and staffed by English speaking hippie Moroccans. It was easily one of the coolest spots I visited in Morocco. We watched a presentation about different flowers used for the honey, and got to try three different types. They were all fantastic, but the best was pollinated by a plant known only to Morocco called 'Zantaz.' Most importantly, I got the presenter's information and he said he would come to give a presentation at my site to the honey association.

Time Out Story About Honey Guy At Site: So the environment sitemate has been in touch with a honey association in town. The evening after Eid L'Kbir (remember, testicals) I was lounging in the other sitemate's house about to watch a new movie when we got a call from environment guy telling us we were invited to dinner at the association president's house. So picture this: It is raining, freezing, windy and late. Both of us at the house had eaten a ton of food for lunch and were still full at eight. This guy's house is a half hour walk from where we were. And I was quite possibly the most stressed I had been since arriving in Morocco (for reasons irrelevant to this story). Neither of us wanted to go, but every single member of this family got on the phone (and remember, somebody calling you here is a big deal) to tell us we had to come they had a big feast prepared. So we trudged up (hired a taxi) to this guy's house for dinner.

The way I see it, there are two types of people here: The first are those who are sympathetic to my speaking in their language. These are the people who go out of their way to speak slowly and try to interact. And there are the unsympathetic people. These are the ones who speak as quickly as possible and don't bother to try to understand what I say. This president fell into category two.

So here is the situation: The three of us are sitting in this guy's house with his family, trying to explain what the Peace Corps is. I am (possibly) making the most headway, but that still has this guy looking at me with a head twist a dog uses when you tell it to do something it is already doing. The son is throwing out words like 'spy' and 'CIA,' which is getting me a tad frustrated. And the other two volunteers are pausing their Peace Corps explanations to make fun of this guy not understanding me (and I had never been not understood to this degree, all of the vocab I was using was correct and pronounced correctly!). For those of you not aware of how I deal with situations in which something pisses me off, I generally shut down. I ignore all people, and if somebody prods me too much I bite. Not literally, but find somebody who has pissed me off and they can explain. Luckily that didn't happen, but contrary to what the sitemates think, I am relatively certain the president and I left with a mutual dislike of each other. So now I am going to knock on his door and tell him I met a guy who will train his crew for free. Assuming he doesn't tilt his head to the side a little and stare blankly at me, we may still get this relationship off the ground.

Time In: After the honey tasting us volunteers went out to dinner. One of the guys knew a really great place nearby. It was closed, and the group was split on whether to do classy/expensive or cheap. Since the guy who knew the area wanted cheap, we went for that. Unfortunately we were all very hungry and had to settle for one of the restaurants where a heckler was outside throwing menus into our faces. One thing to note about cities in Morocco: DO NOT EVER ACCEPT 'ADVICE' OR 'HELP' FROM SOMEBODY WHO COMES TO YOU ON THE STREET SAYING 'HELLO' IN FOUR DIFFERENT LANGUAGES! These people typically offer the worst quality at the highest price. Case in point: we waited half an hour for sandwiches, and they ended up messing mine up. While the crew began eating their food, I went to a street vendor/cook and ordered an amazing sandwich for cheaper and brought it back to the bad restaurant. I got some dirty looks from the staff, but didn't really care since they had their chance to make my food right the first time.

After dinner we went back to the café and hung out for a while. Eventually we went to one of the hotels and hung on the roof for a bit. We met a British guy visiting Morocco for two weeks, and gave him some advice on where to check out. Around 12:30 we finally decided to get some sleep.

Thursday: Woke up at the butt crack of dawn. We got a tour from one of the volunteers around the old city (you can distinctly tell which is which in my pictures). At 9:30 Steven and I broke off and met with Fatima, who wanted to give us a tour of the city. Unfortunately we couldn't, since we both had to catch the 11:00 train. As she was escorting us to the train station, she hopped on the phone and announced that her uncle was in town and would give us a ride home. This is a big deal, as I live seven hours from Fez. But we could hang out for a bit. We met her uncle and his driver at a smoothie stand (which had oodles of fresh fruit, like a smoothie stand should have).

I won't go into too much detail about Fatima's uncle, other than to say he was both intimidating and friendly. I was under the impression he was a retired entrepreneur. It turns out he was a retired colonial. The kind of guy who is used to getting what he wants when we wants it. I would compare my linguistic ability to that of a computer you have owned for a year. I can get the job done, but it typically takes me a minute to comprehend the situation before I get going. And the more you want me to do and the more advanced it is, the worse I do. So, whenever we hit a barrier in the conversation, he would just call Fatima who would translate for us. It was funny because by the time he got Fatima on the phone I could typically figure out what he has said to me. Anyway, we dropped Steven off after hour two, got to The Uncle's house in Oujda, drank some tea and planned on meeting Saturday so I could meet his friend who is the retired head of tourism of Morocco.

To be continued…

So I have a lot of really wonderful stories to talk about right now, ranging from a trip to Fez, getting out of eating a sheep head, and meeting the retired department head of tourism of Morocco. However, all of that is going to get put on hold because something has pissed me off to no end and I would like to rant about it. Maroc Telecom.

I am not that proficient in French, but I am relatively certain that 'Maroc Telecom' translated is 'Fat Cats Who Anally Rape Everyone They Possibly Can.' It is a monopolistic telephone company in Morocco. Not surprisingly it is one of the most profitable companies in all of Africa. Here is why:

Maroc Telecom does not use 'phone plans.' Instead you are forced to pay as you go. For me to call with my cell phone another person who has Maroc Telecom on their cell phone, it will cost me 4dh a minute. This is translated to about 65 cents a minute. One text message costs about 13 cents. This is the cheapest it gets. Maroc Telecom is nice enough to randomly give 'Double Recharge' days. I am pretty certain that 'Double Recharge' is French for 'Anal Cavity Plundering.' Any cards you buy, ranging from 5dh to 200dh, give you double the value. This would be nice, except that during double recharge you have to pay double for everything. That means you suddenly can afford half of what you thought you could. And they don't tell you it is going on, you have to actively look for it at stores. They try to be nice with it and offer a bonus for buying cards greater than 50dh (as in giving you an extra 20 to 40 dh), but I have yet to find a store that sells cards in increments greater than 50, making that 'bonus' completely bogus. You are supposed to be able to text in the code to get credit on your phone, but it is often not working and you have to call it in. And Maroc Telecom is not English compatible, so that makes calling even harder.

Today I got a text telling me if I bought 29dh worth of credit I would get an hour of free talk time. So I went out and bought 60dh worth of cards. Thirteen minutes into my phone call my phone beeps and the call gets cut off. It turns out I actually needed to literally buy 29dh worth of credit to use the offer. Which is nice, since the smallest increment you can buy is 5dh. When I went to buy another card, the service was down and I couldn't put more credit on my phone (which means I couldn't receive calls). Well played Maroc Telecom, well played.

One nice thing about Maroc Telecom is that it is compatible with Nokia phones. That means that when the tower is down, which it so often is, I can at least still use my cell phone as a flashlight. Or when service is still down, I can still use my phone as an alarm clock (since I somehow managed to bring two watches with broken alarms). I hope that somebody who works at a cell phone company in America reads this, and they decide to invest in the cell phone industry in Morocco. Because seriously, an inbred Siamese twin monkey with Alzheimer's could run Maroc Telecom out of business with three carrier pigeons. Their price extortioning would even put execs at Abercrombie and Fitch to shame.

Here are some pictures from my trip to Fez (Tuesday and returned Wednesday). I was there for a honey tasting/beekeeping info session. Also, I have a few different things to write about, but if anyone has a preference let me know and I can start with that:

End of Eid and Sheep Head

Trip to Fez and Honey Tasting

Some Work Ideas I Am Thinking of Doing

Foods That I Really Like

You may notice that I look Amish now. This be because I had a shaving malfunction followed by a case of apathy. http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/FezTakeOne

Here are the pictures to Eid L'Kbir.

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/EidLKbir#

These are just pictures of souq before the holiday. If you are actually interested in seeing the sheep death and skinning shots, let me know. I may consider posting them.

Today was the biggest (to my knowledge) Muslim holiday, Eid L'Kbir. It is the Christian equivalent of Christmas. The history behind the holiday entails a dad, a son, a knife, a sheep, and God. I'll spare you the details, but every year on this day Muslim families buy male sheep and eat it over five days. I was introduced to our sheep a few days back, when I walked into the courtyard of the house at 9:15 PM and he was sauntering uncannily at the door, munching down some greens. He paused briefly and eyed me down, pondering if I had actually soiled myself in shock of seeing him. When he concluded I hadn't dinner became his priority, and he didn't offer me another look.

Fast forwarding to today, I woke up at 8:30 and popped into the living room to eat breakfast. Literally as I swallowed my last bite of eggs, my host bro announced it was time to walk outside and see something new and exciting. I walked out, and a gentleman I had never met branding an excessively large butchers knife reached his right hand out in introduction. I took it and shook, despite my misgivings for what he had in his left hand. My host brother laid the sheep down, held its legs, and the gentleman (who is the local Iman) slit its throat. For my squeamish readers, I am going to withhold details. However, while the sheep was twitching in a puddle of its blood, I could only mull over the foresight of laying the sheep down before killing it. That had never occurred to me. However, due to the length it took for the partially decapitated animal to die, I decided that a twitching sheep on the ground was a much better alternative to a thrashing sheep on its legs.

Blood has a very distinctive smell. The first word that comes to mind is 'pungent.' In fact, that is the only word that comes to mind. Moving on.

Once the animal passed, my family carried it upstairs. This was when the de-skinning, de-organing, and grilling began. It was a long process to watch. Once the skin was off (which is used to make a very comfortable seat cushion) the animal was hung from the wall. My host brothers seemed to have a hard time getting the animal to stay on the wall, and during this all I could think about were the knots they were using to tie the rope. I wanted to interject 'Oh no, you should be using a half hitch,' or 'a square knot would work well on that.' However, any comment on my part would end with me clambering around a bloody animal that no longer had any head to speak of. Watching was fine.

Things began to settle down, the crowd of family dissipated, and cooking began. I figured that I could utilize this time by hanging laundry that I had been foolish enough to leave wet overnight. I started down the stairs. Maneuvered down the stairs is a more accurate term, as each granite block was immersed in a puddle concocted of blood and water. Yeah, laundry can wait a little. Having seen enough, I pulled out a book and popped on the couch with my host brother to watch/listen to MTV hits.

I don't know if there are still families that believe TV is mind-numbing enough to build 'violence immunities' in children. I am a twenty-two year old child who typically does not like a movie or TV show unless it is overloaded with violence. And sex. And fast cars crashing. I have been to a butcher once, but the animals had already been skinned and were just hanging out (no pun intended). The smell of blood alone today was enough to make me a vegetarian. Witnessing everything else; I could have joined PETA. That was until my host sister walked over and handed me a liver kebab with seven pieces of meat still dripping grease. I loaded them into a piece of bread and went to town. It was fantastic! Becoming a vegetarian can wait until I finish this sandwich.

I did parooze the kitchen, and to my utmost horror saw what was on the skillet (kebab action upstairs, lunch action in the kitchen). There was a combination of heart, intestines, and wait for it…testicles getting sautéed. My heart dropped. I became light headed. I had to walk out before retching everywhere. In one of my smarter moves, I asked my host mom to brew me some spiced coffee (loaded with very powerful flavors). I had a plan for getting through lunch, and spiced coffee was only my backup.

Lunch came out. To my horror and immediate failure of 'plan A,' it was just meat. No veggies. No fruit. Nothing to dip bread in. There was no way I was going to 'pick around the meat and just eat everything else.' There was no 'everything else.' What I would have given for a glop of cous cous at that moment. My family grinned and passed me some bread. I smiled meekly and broke off a gargantuan piece of bread. I took some spiced coffee and swirled it around my mouth. I looked at the TV show. I checked my phone for text messages. I pulled out my notebook and began asking for new Arabic words. I did anything I possibly could to prolong the inevitable. Eventually my family caught on. Mike, you are going to eat those sheep testacles. And you are going to do it right now.

I took the largest hunk of bread possible and found the smallest piece of meat ever cut in Morocco. I scooped it. I looked at it, it looked at me. We made a mutual agreement that both of us would do our best to block this moment from our memories. I brought to my mouth, the same as a I imagine a humpback whale may only let in one or two microorganisms at a time. I chewed it. I grimaced. I processed. This bite wasn't so bad actually, let's try for a bigger one. At this point my host mother had put half the animal's heart on my side of the plate. Better that than inadvertently grabbing more testies. I tentatively tried the heart. And then I devoured it. Freshly killed and cooked sheep is fantastically delicious. However, as a Born Again Vegetarian, I was still having a hard time eating without picturing. I ate what I could without getting sick, despite every bite being zesty and exploding with deliciousness. Lunch finished by the time I had worked the courage to eat just a few morsels of meat. My family had no problem reminding me that I had barely eaten anything. I suppose they imagined I forgot everything I had just gone through.

Don't worry family, we have five more days to try different sheep parts. And I saw the head grilling upstairs when I finally hung up my wet clothes.

 

This week went by quickly. Drank a lot of coffee and even more tea. Spent time at the café with volunteers, tutors, and basically anyone willing to sit around and drink coffee tea orange juice or, my favorite, aseer lavoka. Unfortunately I am having a mental retardation moment and cannot remember what lavoka means in English. Deal with it. On Tuesday I got my first care package. It was from my parents (thank you). It was fantastic, and I encourage all of you to follow suit and send me stuff. Watched No Country For Old Men on Tuesday. I can honestly tell you I have no clue what that movie is about. Finished Life of Pie, Term Limit, a Men's Health, and am halfway through The Sex Lives of Cannibals. All are fantastic, and I would push any of you planning on reading three books and a magazine next week to push them to the top of your list. Otherwise things have been slow. I spend about an hour a day memorizing more vocabulary, which I promptly forget the next day when I look at my next list.

Today (Friday) was different. I actually didn't sleep in for starters. After breakfast I went to the high school to teach English to one of my tutor's 'better classes.' The high school ranks high on my 'places I am scared to go to' list. The only other spot on that list is the women's center. Both make me uncomfortable; as I am not quite accustomed to having twenty-something year old girls staring at me and giggling for extended amounts of time. But, Peace Corps is all about sucking it up and doing what you have to do. Volunteers in Gambia don't have access to fresh vegetables, or electricity for that matter. I can envision the incredulous blank stares I'll get back home when I tell people the hardest part of Peace Corps giggling girls.

So I went through the lesson plan my tutor had, and afterward had students come up and write questions in English on the blackboard for me to answer. As can be expected, most of them were controversial. The best one was 'what is something you don't like about Morocco?' I gave the class a blank stare, and then went ahead and did my best Moroccan impression of 'kul kul kul!' (eat eat eat!). It was a hit. I would like to create some sort of visual of what I am talking about, but you really have to eat dinner with a Moroccan family to understand. It was fun though, and I would like to think that they left knowing maybe a little more about English and Americans. I did my first hemmam visit after (as I was rank). It was fantastic! The hemmam here is great, with a hot room (which I almost passed out in when I stood up quickly after bathing), a cooler yet hot sitting room, a shaving room, and the entrance. It was totally worth the eight dH (one US dollar) entrance fee (that's right, only one US dollar). Weirdly enough, I met the mudir (boss) of Tourism while scrubbing myself down, and we are going to meet tomorrow to come up with some projects to work on. After the hemmam was lunch: and today, like all Fridays in Morocco, was cous cous Friday.

I am going to go ahead and throw this controversial bit out there. Moroccans and Americans alike can just deal with it. I do not like cous cous. Simple as that. Seriously, what is so fantastic about cous cous? Is it the grainy minced rice texture? Or maybe its complete lack of flavor. It is just a stomach filler. In Morocco, the land renowned for having any spice you could ever imagine, how is such a bland meal accepted? Every other dish in Morocco has succulent, exploding flavor in every bite. People use saffron here like it was salt. Yet somehow a meal that makes plain rice taste like a Thanksgiving banquet is popular. People are going to argue 'But Mike, you add the spices to the cous cous to make it exactly how you want it. You just have no imagination.' Not true! You shouldn't need to pour spices onto every spoonful to make the meal better. And trust me, dipping freshly made bread into a tajine is a much better alternative to spooning play dough with veggies on top. Six days of the week Morocco has got the best cuisine out there. I would like to imagine they use Fridays to give the rest of the world a day to compete.

Rant said and done, my host mom made my host bro and me a separate meal (as he doesn't like it either) for lunch. At 4:30 I hit the Dar Shebab, and around 5:00 started English lessons (that's right, two in one day!). The volunteer who works at the Dar Shebab was out of town and asked me to cover. Of course the entire class was girls, and when they heard that I was teaching one looked at me in disgust and proclaimed, 'Where's Kareema!?' Good start, right? The other volunteer (remember, there are three of us in town) showed up and it was actually a very successful class. We spent the first half of the class teaching 'past perfect' (and the first half of that trying to figure out what 'past perfect' was) and the second fielding questions. This is always the fun part, mainly because I don't need to explain grammatical rules. The fun controversial question this time revolved around my thoughts on racism. Clearly I am a big fan of it, and told her so. No, that is a boldfaced lie. I explained that racism is bad and the best way to fight it is 'education' (in quotes because I wrote it on the board). If only my drinking buddies could see me now. The rest of the questions focused on Eid L'Kbir (BIG DEAL HOLIDAY THIS TUESDAY) celebration plans.

 P.S.-After writing the entry, I walked out of my room for dinner. After eating my eggs and tomato (they were delicious, thank you) my host mom pulled out a pile (I will refuse to dignify the terminology with anything classier than 'pile') of cous cous and asked me if I wanted any. And here was my response: 'Mafahmch cous cous. Fehmt schnu cous cous, wallekin marchfts elash cous cous. Kul nhar kanakul mekla zeena. Tajine b mateesha, potata, tuma, u kulshi bnina. Stta nhar f semena mekla eindha leitoor u kayn har u tree. Kansteimlu xhobs tree bizzef mlli kanakulu elequash tajine eindha lema zeena. Wallekin deema jmiea, kanakulu cous cous. U cous cous meshi har ulla eindu leitoor, u mlli klit swia cous cous kurshi shbet bizzef. Cous cous eindu walu. Gheer moomeel. Elash kanakulu?

(I do not understand cous cous. I understand what cous cous is, but I don't know why cous cous. Every day I eat delicious food. Tajines with tomatoes, potatoes, garlic, and everything tasty. Six days a week the food has spices and is spicy (hot) and fresh. We use fresh bread to eat (use the bread to eat everything in the tajine) because the tajine has delicious water (aujew). But every Friday we eat cous cous. And cous cous is not spicy (hot) or have spices, and when I eat cous cous my stomach always fills quickly. Cous cous has nothing. It is just boring. Why do we eat it?)

While I don't think my little soliloquy made much of an impact on a family that had been devouring the same meal every Friday for at minimum the last twenty years, it did provide them with an incredible amount of entertainment. And to my slightest delight, I saw some wheels going in the back of their eyes, thinking 'why do we eat this bland meal?' Maybe this crazy American has got it right.

In this entry, I would like to talk about two things that currently have a strong influence in my life. Once I am finished, I will combine those two topics into a drab and colorless story about my day. These two things are: weather and women's culture in Morocco.

Easy one first: Weather. It is bitterly cold in the Northeast. I know fellow volunteers in the High Atlas have it worse, but this is my blog, so we will hear about me. Those of you back home can probably conjure an image of me rocking US winters in sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. Occasionally I might wear a hat and gloves. Even during training in Morocco in the Middle Atlas I would rock a t-shirt while everyone else was wearing three layers. It isn't that I am 'tuff,' I just don't get cold that easily. First noticeable differnece in Morocco is that I DON'T HAVE ANY HEAT IN MY HOUSE. So the only thing nice about being inside is less wind. Of course, being outside has the benefit of the sun warming you up. Right now there is snow on the mountains, and on occasion we get some flurries (or a lot of snow yesterday), but it has been overall wet and nasty out for the last week (so that 'sun outside' bit isn't really applicable). For the last week I have been wearing heavy hiking boots, sock liners, socks, long underwear, pants, under-armor type long sleeved shirt, button up, monkey man fleece, rain jacket as windbreaker, glove liners, gloves, and my winter hat more or less nonstop (seriously, I even sleep in it). With the notable exceptions of the heated post office and visiting the French folks in the city last weekend, I have spent a lot of time looking at my breath floating up whenever I breathe. My time in my house is split between layering up or cocooning in my 15 degree rated sleeping bag (to those of you PC nominees and invitees reading my blog-BRING A SLEEPING BAG). Morocco is cold, I am cold, and winter hasn't even come full force yet.

Women in Morocco: This isn't an easy topic to write about, so lets preface it with one of those 'obviously I don't know a lot about this, since I have only lived here a short time. This isn't meant to be a judgment. I do not have the intent of insulting anyone with this. The culture is changing, and there are obvious exceptions to what I say. There are lots of things I haven't seen blah blah blah you all get what I'm saying.' Women in Morocco are not always treated as fairly as men. For starters they aren't welcome at most cafes or common public spots. They are often expected to hide their hair (this is religious), spend their time cooking and be submissive to men. There is no dating in Morocco, so if a woman is caught dating a man she isn't marrying, her family is shamed. As I encountered in training, a girl caught dating got beaten by her brother. The irony is that often times men are seeing prostitutes yet don't have to worry about any stigma behind promiscuity. Sometimes women aren't even trusted with money or jobs, and may have to hide money from their husband to buy books for their children to go to school. Despite all of this, Moroccan women are just as fun and personable as any women I know in the US (often times more). It can just take longer to get to meet the real 'them' (PC nominees and invitees who are women: don't let this scare you-often times foreign women are treated differently, but still expect different treatment than men. However, PC training in Morocco is great for preparation. Then again, if you want some real women's insight into this I would suggest reading a girl's blog. But I haven't met any PC girls who have had any serious problems.). Where is this leading? Most women in my site are relatively impassive or 'stone faced' out in public, even ones I know or have met. Even Moroccan women who I am close to and would consider close friends wouldn't act loud in public when greeting me.

Story: So I slept in today, and when I looked outside I saw to my delight that it wasn't snowing. The weather had in fact turned mostly for the better. The sun was out, and it appeared to be relatively warm. As I was beginning to feel a little grimy wearing the same clothes every day, I decided to switch it up to something a little lighter. Kept the sock and boot combo going, that can never get old. I threw on a pair of dark Old Navy jeans that were big on me back home, but after fasting for Ramadan sag on my hips even with a belt (gotta work with what you have, they're still awesome pants). Kept the under armor and button up going (green), but switched it up when I threw on a new chamois shirt (also green) I recently got from my folks. Great shirt, but apparently 'large' in LL Bean means parachute. I wear it like as a jacket, not a shirt. Kept the hat, and rocked the glasses because I am pretty certain my contact solution has frozen along with my contacts. There is no proper way to truly describe it, but try and picture a Vietnam Vet trying to take on Corporate America. More on the vet side though.

My first hint that something was off today was when I was walking downtown and a young lady looked at me. Instead of looking away, she gave me one of those half second size-ups (commonly referred to as 'undressing with the eyes'), shot me a sly smile, and walked off. For the record, I am 99% certain she was not a prostitute. I got another two or three of these throughout my walk before I checked my zipper. Nope, it was closed. Something weird was happening.

After lunch I went to the cyber to write an email to LL Bean asking them to exchange my shirt with a smaller one directly to Morocco (fingers are crossed). I was walking to the Dar Shebab (youth center) around 4:15 when a group of high school girls caught me. One in particular was asking me lots of questions while a few others walking by and introduced themselves. I'll skip the boring questions and jump to when the first one went ahead and demanded I marry her and bring her back to America.

'First of all, I am emotionally incapable of holding a serious relationship for any amount of time longer than a week. Second, I have this whole Peace Corps thing that would probably interfere with a marriage. I think people who want marriage before thirty are crazy, have no money, live with a family, and can barely speak your language. I literally just met you, know nothing about you, and if you want to seriously consider marriage we would need to go on at least few dates first. Oh yea, there's that last thing. YOU ARE FIFTEEN YEARS OLD! What are you, crazy? Did you seriously expect me to say yes to you? If I wanted to prey on underage girls I would have gone about it in a completely different manner, starting with…No, I'm not even getting into this. Wow. Marriage? Really? Speechless.'

After hearing no response, it dawned on me that I had thought all of that, because I am completely incapable of even beginning to articulate any one of those thoughts. Instead I had been gaping at the four girls with a look of perplexion that you could imagine a deer wears two seconds before it is hit by a car. This off course egged them on, and the one girl continued to request my hand in marriage while the others pantomimed my putting a ring on her finger. I gave the Moroccan answer to everything (Inshah Allah-God Willing) and was given 'No, now!'

I would like to end this story by telling you I said something witty and continued on with my life. However, I didn't. I was swarmed with confusion. It didn't make any sense. How could one less shirt lead to all the extra attention? I was still wearing three. Four layers and nobody notices you. But drop the fleece and rain jacket, throw on a chamois, and suddenly you are a big deal. Women you don't know approach you on the street, break cultural norms, and demand your hand in matrimony. Summer in Morocco is going to be wild.

 P.S.-I got stopped one more time on the way to the Dar Shebab by a group of women, this time asking for my phone number.

New pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/Thanksgiving#

Also, you all need to send me some packages. Email me at lightmmr@gmail.com for my address, and then send me stuff! Or just email me about what is happening back in the states.

Monday: I started my week by meeting with the counterpart. We went to the police station to get my cart de se jour. PC Morocco doesn't issue visas, and the cart de se jour is my equivalent of a 'work pass.' There was an issue with my family's mandat (check for money that comes in the mail), so we went to the post office to clear that up. Unfortunately they would not give us their money, so I gave them money from my mandat for next month. This may prove to be a problem, as I now have next to no money, but we will see as the month goes on. I got a call from the higher ups in PC telling me my shipped package had arrived in the nearby city (the PC paid for us to send one bag to our sites) and that I had to get it either Monday or Tuesday. I didn't feel like traveling Monday, so I chose to put it off till Tuesday. I eventually met with the two volunteers in town at a café, and we hung out for a bit. Earlier in the day I had gotten a call from the Gendarme (another police) checking on how I was doing and asking me to stop by Tuesday. When I returned home we watched a zombie movie and I eventually went to bed.

Tuesday: Got up and it was raining. Miserable outside. But I decided to head to the city to get my stuff anyway. Piled into a taxi filled with six passengers (as all taxis in Morocco do) and took off. It was possibly the scariest ride of my life. I was sitting middle front, sharing half a seat with a teenager who didn't want to relinquish even an inch of his majority seat. The taxi driver had a glazed look in his eyes, the windows were fogged past visibility, it was still raining, and we were passing cars on windy mountain roads only to pull off the last second before smacking into one of many trucks driving on the other side of the road. I finally got to the city, and quickly got my package. I made sure everything was waterproofed and walked over to the French Institute to meet two friends for lunch (I made some French friends who speak English in the city, two of them teach at the French Institute). While I was waiting I talked to a few Moroccan students who were cool. Anyway, we went to a restaurant on the main strip, and went into the basement to eat. It was a really fancy looking place, with all seats replaced by fancy couches and flat panel TVs on the walls. I ordered a cheese burger (exciting!) and tried to learn a little French. At the end of the meal, the staff realized I spoke some Darija, and I ended up meeting a cook who lives in the same town as me and getting some of my meal comped. It was pretty cool. I got back into town and headed over to the Dar Shebab. A Dar Shebab is essentially a government sponsored youth center. One of the volunteers in my site works there teaching English and doing lots of other activities. The three of us (I met up with the two volunteers in town) went in and hung out with the kids. We played some ping pong, chess, watched a drama rehearsal, and eventually left around eight (when it closes). Pretty much end of day.

Wednesday: Got up and went to meet with counterpart. Turns out he was in the city for the day, so I walked up to the Gendarme's office (which is a half hour walk from my house), but he was very busy and I sat in his office awkwardly until I felt enough time had gone by to excuse myself politely. He asked me to come by Thursday, but I didn't get the impression he really needed me to come by for any specific reason. Afterwards I went for a run with one of the volunteers. We ran out from the city and into the mountains on some trails. It was really beautiful and peaceful, with the exception of trash piles on the side of the road and mud from the previous day's rain. After the run I came back, ate lunch, and didn't shower. Later I did the cafe with the two volunteers in town, and two of us went to the Dar Shebab after. The Dar Shebab in town doesn't have a whole lot in it. There is a ping pong table, small library, desks chairs and classrooms, chess game, and a few other things, but otherwise it is bare. The walls are all white with some dirt stains. Every time I was there, two kids played ping pong while seven or eight watch, two played chess, and some practiced drama. It is relatively slow paced. Problem: no money. Wednesday night solution: drawing with old paper and markers and hanging pictures on the walls. It was fantastic. Almost everyone got really into it, and now one wall has got some excitement on it. Anyway, after that I went home, ate, and went to bed.

Thursday: I explained to my host family that today was 'Eid Eta-Shukran,' or 'Holiday of Giving Thanks.' I also tried to explain (unsuccessfully) that eating a lot before dinner was bad, because there is a big feast in the evening. Anyway, called the counterpart to finish cart de se jour stuff, but he said we would finish next week. As I walked into the house, Gendarmes called and asked me to walk up and visit. After the half hour trek I was enthusiastically greeted by four smiling Gendarmes, all of whom were excited to practice English. We hung out for a bit and went through some basic information (DOB, address, etc) so they could input stuff to their system. This probably sounds redundant, but it is their job to make sure I am safe. But seriously, as an American living in Morocco under the request of the king, they bust their asses to see to my safety. I was missing some paperwork (I didn't realize I needed it) so they asked me to return Friday with it. Walking back I ran into one of the volunteers, and he asked me to pick up some food for the evening's festivities. I picked it up and went back home for lunch. After lunch I dropped the food off with the other volunteer and traveled up to the high school to meet my potential Darija tutor. After my host brother introduced us, I followed him to his class. He introduced me as a guest and asked me to sit in the back. There were thirty nine high school kids in the class, and most of them spent the majority of the class watching me. The only open seat was in the back, with a group of five or six girls. As embarrassing as that may be in America, it was infinitely more in Morocco because of 'gender interaction' reasons that I will discuss in another entry. I hung out in the teachers' lounge for a bit after class and sang 'Smoke on the Water' with one of the other English teachers (he started it, not me). They were all super enthusiastic about my learning, especially since I showed them I could read and write in script. So far so good-I will be meeting with my potential tutor Sunday (more on that then). Eventually I went up to a volunteer's house for Thanksgiving dinner. We had stuffing (amazing!), mashed potatoes, green beans, two chickens (we bought cooked), cous cous dessert, apple pie (amazing!), pumpkin pie, a cake, and some other stuff I am sure I am forgetting. It was a fantastic meal. They were starting the new Indiana Jones movie when I decided to walk back. My family was expecting me back and it was already late, it was raining, I had a half hour walk, and the new Indiana Jones was such a disappointment I think it would have crushed my Thanksgiving jollies had I watched it again.

Friday:

Slept in until 9:45 AM, as I have been doing. After my regular breakfast of eggs, fresh baguette, one wedge of artificial cheese, and green tea loaded with sugar, I started the trek to the Gendarme station. I stopped at a copy machine hanut and took some shots of my passport, new ID card, and two Peace Corps papers. I finished the half hour walk, talked to the Gendarmes about the snow accumulating on the mountains surrounding town, gave them my papers, and took off. On the way back home, I ran into one of the volunteers (who I was supposed to meet with at 9:30 to watch a diabetes awareness event, but had slept through) who told me to come back to his house later and help eat leftovers. I also ran into my potential new tutor, who was impressed that I was planning on teaching in Darija, not English. Before getting home I stopped at the coiffure and chopped off my hair. The family all liked it, and even made fun of my brother who has longer hair (who they called a bnt-girl-). After reading at home for a while, I took off to the Dar Shebab (but not before getting a koren sandwich: baguette, hummus, and some spice for only one dirham!). I sat through the volunteer's English class and eventually fielded questions from students. Pretty much all the questions were really hard to answer, because they were open ended and focused on something controversial. One example: What is something you don't like about Moroccan culture? That is hard enough to answer to someone who speaks English fluently, but for beginners..? Anyway, lost and tied in chess afterwards (these kids are GOOD), got another sandwich, and headed home around nine PM. My host sis made me some eggs, tomato, and garlic (which was tasty) before I called it a night. End of week one.

Conclusion:

I need to get better at language. Now. Talking about 'where I am from, what I do, and how cold it is' is not going to cut it anymore. I still haven't even met the people I will be working with (although I may not until the Artisana opens in two months), but the kids at the Dar Shebab are a fun group. That will be a cool spot to hang out for the next two years (I say this one week in…). Oh, I read two and a half books this week. Three Cups of Tea: One thumb up. Vince Flynn's Third Option: Might be better than Robert Ludlum, two thumbs up. Life of Pi: retarded, I award it no thumbs (but seriously, it isn't bad, just a longggggggggggg read). More on my life when I get around to it.

Once homestay was over I went back to the training site. We had a week to prepare for our language tests, and included with were sessions on technical information. Same stuff we had been doing for the last eight weeks. It was nice to see everyone again. We had our language tests on a Saturday, and got the rest of the day and Sunday off. I was a little unhappy with my score (Intermediate Low), but in my defense I did horrible on the test and had forgotten a lot in the week of only speaking English (I was shooting for Intermediate High, which I was close to when I returned from homestay). Regardless, I was past the required proficiency to swear into the Peace Corps. Let me back up a tick:

For the first ten weeks and three days I was living in Morocco, I was not actually a Peace Corps volunteer. I was a Peace Corps trainee (PCT). Once a PCT is considered qualified in technical, linguistic, safety knowledge, and is considered to have a ‘good attitude still,’ they are allowed to swear in to officially begin their work as a volunteer. The application process is actually incredibly long. I sent my application in August a year before, and am finally a volunteer as of November 20th. Don’t let this discourage you from applying; just make sure you have patience. I’ll write another entry about ‘becoming a volunteer’ later.

Wednesday night we had the trainee talent show. There were fourteen groups with talented people. There was dancing, singing, some funny monologues. Staff even got up and did some stuff. However, I will modestly proclaim that the best act was number fourteen, when three gentlemen got in front of the trainees, training staff, and senior staff, stripped to gym shorts, wearing wife beaters like bras, and danced to ‘Spice Up Your Life’ by the Spice Girls. That was the second time my bosses saw me wearing next to nothing (first was when I went bobbing for apples in my purple and white checkered Speedo on Halloween). I have pictures, but they are for Peace Corps eyes only.

So swear in was on a Thursday, and we got together with Youth Development trainees from the Monday through Wednesday to do joint trainings (we had been split since Rabat). Classes were more of the same thing, just with a bigger class. Eventually Thursday rolled up, we put on our nicest outfits (or jellabas) and got into a bus for Fez. Funny enough, a van carrying a group of people broke down, and we had to all squeeze together for the hour and a half ride. It wouldn’t have been an issue if the YD kids hadn’t sang the ENTIRE time, but they did. So I tried unsuccessfully to sleep them away. We got to the hotel and looked off the patio at an incredible view of the old medina. However, we were all ushered to the third floor reception area, and began swearing in. Our CBT families each got to bring two guests, and my host pops and bro were there. My host brother was better dressed than me (by a lot, which isn’t surprising). To start us off, we had a few speakers in Darija. I didn’t recognize the first two speakers (I don’t really think anyone did) nor did I understand what they were saying, but I just sat and smiled. Afterwards our training coordinator spoke briefly in English about the work we will be doing, the new Country Director got up and got to give his first swearing speech, the valedictorians from both languages gave amazing speeches, and finally Mr. Ambassador swore us in. However, first he read a poem he wrote for us. It was called ‘The Twelve Days Before Swear In,’ or something to those effects. It was a play on the old Christmas poem, and he included all our names or home cities in the speech. It was really cool. Anyway, we all raised our right hands and became Peace Corps Volunteers. Whoo-hoo!

We all got a fancy lunch with our families and friends, and then rushed back to training site. We were all leaving for our new sites the next day, and we needed to pack and trade music from computers. I went out to eat with two friends (one of whom will be living about as far across Morocco as possible from me) and lounged around that night. Next morning got up at the butt crack of dawn, got dinner, and climbed into a taxi with an LCF friend and the person from training who will be living closest to me (or as I like to call him, my new BFF). We parted ways with the LCF at the taxi stand, and went to the train station. I slept for most of the train ride (didn’t get much sleep the night before), and eventually saw my BFF off at his site. Train kept on going another three hours. This is when I hit my ‘Oh Shit’ moment.

One of the first days in Morocco, in Rabat, one of the trainees who interned at the Peace Corps office was explaining to me what the ‘Oh Shit’ moment is. He was explaining what it was because he said he wanted to be around to see mine. The ‘Oh Shit’ moment is when you finish training and leave for site. It can take place any time in country, but normally happens when you first leave to be on your own. The typical one may go something like this: ‘Hmm…I just finished training. Now I am going to a town I am unfamiliar with, to live with a family I don’t know, work with people who expect the world from me, but I can barely speak the language and will be isolated from the comforts of home. Not only did I volunteer to do this, but I insisted upon doing it for two years…OH SHIT.’ While that moment is settling in, the volunteer may feel very small and insignificant. That is when they may catch a glance of their reflection in the mirror and their thoughts may follow this template: ‘But I do know the language enough, and whatever I do is more than what would have been done if I hadn’t come. Lets jump into this full force. Ohhhhhhhhhhh Shit!’

I made it into my new home by six or seven that evening, having gotten disoriented from the taxi stand and walked in the wrong direction in the rain for fifteen minutes before finding the right road. Chomped down on the popcorn my new host mom had out for me, and went out shortly to see off the volunteer I was replacing. I met him, the two other volunteers in my site. The next day I met the two volunteers within half an hour of my new home. All very cool people. I also saw my new counterpart at the artisana I will be working at. Looks like I have a lot to do over the next two years.

I would say that I plan on writing an entry about my first week home, but chances are I won’t even post this entry online until after that week has gone by. We’ll see what happens.

PS-I would also like to give a shout out to my folks (real ones, back home). Throughout everything they have been very enthusiastic and behind me with everything. I am continuously sending them emails asking them to either send me something or do something for me, and they never hesitate to do any of it. If I were them I probably would have stopped responding by now, cause it’s a lot. But they are still going strong. So if you read this and happen to see them, give them a pat on the shoulder or something. They deserve it.

Here are pictures from swear in. I wrote a new blog entry but Microsoft Office is being completely unreliable. I'll post up it later when I get it to work.

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/SwearIn#

Why I haven't written in a while…For PCV safety, we are not allowed to actually write where we are. I wasn't exactly sure of the policy, and I wanted to wait until I knew what is ok and what isn't before I wrote it. But here is some stuff that I have been doing:

So CBT ended and we all went back to training site for two days. The first night back (Thursday) we got out final site placements. Mine was to a city in the North East of Morocco. At first I wasn't too happy, because my new city is literally the exact opposite of everything I asked for. I am the furthest SBD volunteer in the north east (and furthest east by three hours train to the next closest SBD). However, after reading the current PCVs report of my city (there are three volunteers at the site), I dropped any negative thoughts. There are lots of developed businesses, so not only do I get my choice of who to work with, I can focus on more advanced business practices instead of being forced to only product development or co-op production (which is not where my skills are). There are three Environment volunteers within half an hour (one living in site with me), so that means lots of opportunities to hike and do environment side projects. And my last worry was not being able to ever see any other volunteers (being very far from about 95% of them), but I have easy access to both the train and the airport, which are the two fastest AND safest ways to travel in Morocco.

Saturday at seven the six of us traveling on trains left for Meknes. My train ended up showing up late by a solid fifty minutes due to rain, so I was forced to spend the night in Oujda (last train stop East-after that stop I take a cab to get to site). PC folks are not allowed to travel after dark, and my site is just far enough that there is no grace time for missing transportation. The current SBD volunteer at my site (who I am replacing) met me at the train station, and we went to his friends house to crash. He is a swanky French fella who has the most American looking place I have seen in Morocco (see pictures). Despite nasty weather in Oujda, we went out to get dinner with some of his friends and went to another's house to hang out. We eventually got back to his place and watched some South Park before bed. It was a great time. I met some new people to hang with whenever I go to the city (who speak English!) and got to learn about scuba diving opportunities nearby when I can start taking vacation.

Sunday morning we hopped in a cab and went to the city. After forty five minutes we arrived and walked to my new home. My new host brother was waiting when we walked up, and walked over with a big grin and introduced himself in English. Double sided blade-my family loves America and English, so communicating with them isn't all that hard, but I am always forcing them to speak in Darija. I have three new brothers and a new sister. Two brothers go to school for English (one in Oujda), the sister works at a dentist office in town, and the last brother does security somewhere nearby. We got some lunch, walked around town in the rain, and came back to hang out. I'll write an entry later more on town once I get a better feel for it. Right now I'll just say it's between 30 and 50 thousand people, beautiful, and has everything (so far at least). Eventually came back and got a bath at my house. That's right, I have a hemmam IN MY HOUSE! I also have a washing machine. If someone told me I was going to have that two weeks ago I would have laughed at them. Of course, now I am laughing at them because I have them and they don't. But yeah, got dinner while my host brothers played Unreal Tournament on my laptop, and now I am going to get some sleep. More on my new city over the next two years.

I haven't talked about my site assignment, what I have been doing, or any of that. Mainly cause I'm not sure what I am legally allowed to talk about yet. But here are some pictures.

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/NewArtisana

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/HomestayVisit

So I find out where I am spending the next two years on Thursday. I had an interview and requested high atlas and rural, but in less than a week I'll know.

In this entry, I am going to tell you about my SDL day as one of the gals, and then talk a little bit about food. Yesterday a lot of my extended host family came to visit, so we had a grand dinner and I got to show off my new speaking talents. Oh-last week we had our mid training language assessments and the good news is that I am currently at the 'end training proficiency level.' The bad news is that my LCF told me it's about time to start studying and applying myself, because I am still FAR from being 'good' at speaking (I am in between 'beginner' and 'intermediate' right now, and in order to get to the 'intermediate' speaking level I need to learn some nouns). Anyway, last night a big storm rumbled through town, so I took advantage of the crummy weather and slept a lot…till 10ish this morning. Today I took my time getting up, went downstairs and got some breakfast with the ladies (of the men in the family, one is out of town at a soccer game, one was working in the nearby town, and the last was out hanging with his sheep). I asked my extended family (sister) if she would show me how to cook some delicious Moroccan food. She was happy to oblige and after eating breakfast we got to work on some chicken. We (she mostly) prettied up the chicken (we cooked it whole), chopped up some parsley type stuff and garlic and coated it on the heart, and then stuffed it back into the chicken. Once that bad boy was in the pressure cooker, we sliced and diced some green pepper and tomatoes and sautéed them. This whole process took between one and two hours (I think, my hands were dirty and I didn't check the time). Right after cooking we threw my dirty clothes in the laundry. 'In' being the relative term for the bucket of water with tide. More on scrubbing in a bit. We ran to the sister-in-laws (who is also the cook for us Americans at the LCF's house for breakfast and lunch) and had a snack (which was enough to be lunch). It was me and about four or five ladies, and we sat around drinking tea and gossiping. I'm not really sure what I was gossiping about. I did however catch my sister-in-law's new favorite story. I only knew what she was talking about because I was in it:

Two days ago in class I asked her what time the hammam closed (remember-bathhouse) because I wanted to go after class. Apparently I was pronouncing 'hammam' with a slight 'e,' and she thought I was asking what time I could 'fly' until. At the end of the story I caught the word 'hammuck,' which means crazy. Eh, I've gone by worse.

After fake lunch we came back to finish laundry. My host pops was kind enough to find me and declare that he was hungry and wanted to eat NOW (it was 1ish). Don't get any misconceptions about Moroccans being demanding, he was messing with me. I told him that hunger is the best cook, and that he should just go to sleep and dream about eating until I finish my laundry. Washing was quite a chore. I had to scrub all of my stuff on a wash board and then rinse it old school style. The hard part was persuading all the ladies to get out of the way I could do the laundry myself. They kept telling me that men don't do wash, and I shouldn't do it. It wasn't until I threatened to push my 'sister' out of the way and finally did push her that she let me start scrubbing my own stuff. Everyone was eventually satisfied with the idea of me doing laundry when I told them I wouldn't have any women at my house to do wash and needed practice. Eventually the chicken was ready (around 3) and we ate lunch. I ate part of the chicken heart, thus getting the spirit of the chicken. It was delicious. Lets talk more about food.

Foods you see during Ramadan: Because there is no eating and drinking during the day, most of the foods and drinks are composed of lots of sugar. At dinner (called 'breakfast,' get it?) we have lots of breads, cookies, coffee cake type stuff, dates, hard boiled eggs, soup, and meat. Lots of tea (which is green tea loaded with lots of fresh mint and sugar).

Basic Etiquette-Shared platters, no individual plates, seldom silverware, reach with the right hand only (left one wipes if there is no TP), grab the meat with your hand, and only eat from your 'triangle' of the platter (no reaching across)

Behaviors Encountered-'kul kul kul' (eat eat eat). Everyone I have met here is insistent upon not only eating a lot, but eating a lot after you eat a lot. Once you have gone through the entire 'I am full, thank you for dinner, etc' routine, someone else will jump in and go 'kul swia' (eat a little more). It almost feels like a game sometimes. Someone will break more food off and put it in front of me, and I will always need to find new excuses for why I am full. Tea is always encouraged, although there is little regard for the effects of caffeine in the evenings. I learned that lessons at a 3:30 A.M. meal when I didn't get back to sleep until two hours before class started.

Bread (homemade bread, baguette, bread stuffed with gristle (which is tasty but when you don't eat much fat and switch over…well), and a very thin greasy bread called miloee (going phonetic here)

Cookies and coffee cake stuff

Tajines-A clay tray and lid where meat and veggies are cooked together. Typically very tender meat and lots of juices that the bread gets dipped into. Often the veggies will be on the outside and above the meat. After eating about a third of the tajine someone will break apart the meat and put it into everybody's corner. My family here is really big on making meatball type stuff (usually beef but sometimes seafood!) which has a tomato type broth.

Soup-The soup during Ramadan is a big deal. I haven't encountered much soup outside of Ramadan, but it is a guaranteed dish every meal during. The 'Ramadan' soup is called harrera (which is also the word for soup) and is always the same ingredients but every family has different quantities. I tasted tomatoes, veggies, chickpea beans, and other stuff.

Hard boiled eggs are great for protein, and are always fresh. Dates are also a big deal during Ramadan.

Rest of the year foods:

Breakfast: When I actually make it to breakfast at my house (we are encouraged not to eat breakfast or lunch at our host houses, as they are not given any reimbursement these meals) there is the coffee cake stuff (called slilu or zmita), a small plate with eggs scrambled, tea, occasionally cookies and always lots of bread. My hosts are VERY insistent upon me coming to breakfast, and once even began following me on a hike to have me come back and eat before I continued. Fortunately they have backed off recently due to my being sick (everything is always delicious, I just normally don't like eating five minutes after I wake up). When I get breakfast at class, we often have bread, jam, hard boiled eggs, and olive oil. Dipping bread in olive oil is very popular in the morning (but not night).

Lunch: The big meal. Lots of tajines. Lots of eggs. Lots of bread. Enough said.

Dinner: Tajine and bread normally.

This probably isn't enough detail, so let me say a little more. We eat a lot of chicken, beef, and seafood. Occasionally we will have lamb (had some last night with gristle, tasted just like a nice greasy home grilled burger). There is ALWAYS lots of juice with the meat for dipping. Changed my mind, that's enough detail for now.

So it's been a while since I have written a real entry. I will start with what is new in my life, and then I will give an average schedule on the given PST day. My next entry will be all about food. In the last two or three weeks a lot has happened. Ramadan ended. My host took me to the end of the religious celebration at the Mosque, which was a big honor for me to take part in (even though I just stood at attention). I finished my time at CBT 1 (community based training part one) and went back to the big city to meet up with the rest of SBD folk and get some more technical lessons. They were all interesting, but not enough to talk about here. One thing to note, my birthday is 6/10/86, and on 10/6 the hotel owner came up to me during dinner and asked if it was my birthday. He had a list of everyone's info with him, but I explained that my birthday day and month were switched on the paper (Moroccans read the date 'backwards' from Americans). He regretfully brought me into the kitchen, where there was a GIANT cake that said 'Mihael R Lightman.' That's right, the hotel owner thought it was my birthday and made me a giant cake with my name (typo included) on it. Check out the pictures if you don't believe me. I told him that we could still celebrate my birthday as long as everybody sang; and we ate delicious fresh cake on the 6th.

Lets see, not a whole lot else happened during group training. Just a lot of hanging out and trying to get back into shape. I got back to CBT 2 and went on a nice hike (see pictures) and started work with my artisan group. Well, my artisan group was supposed to be carpet weavers, but a group of women beekeepers showed up and were a lot more enthusiastic to work with us so I did my project with them. We created labels for their jars of honey (which is incredibly delicious). I will post the pictures of the labels created online. They were exciting to make, as I have begun learning how to write and read in script and got to practice with this (although I have been making all my note cards in script now). The rest of the group is still working with the weavers. As of today (Friday the 17th) I am done almost everything for the project and the rest of the group hasn't even gotten a chance to meet with their group yet (the weavers). One last thing to note, I am recovering from some serious stomach issues. I would use that as my excuse as to why I haven't written, but the truth is that I am lazy. So here is the typical training day (which is from Monday till Saturday)

CBT 1 Day

Wake up at 8:50, class starts at 9:00. Two language classes each lasting an hour and a half. Lunch at 12:30 (since I was fasting for Ramadan, I would nap). One more language lesson at 1:30 until 3:00. From 3:30 until 5:00 or 5:30 we would learn culture, go over technical skills, or learn Arabic Script. After that I would come home and wait until sundown, which is when we would go to town on some food. After food maybe a hike in the mountains or a movie on the laptop, and eventual sleep at 12:00. My family was kind enough to wake me at 3:30 every morning to join them in eating and drinking before the sun came up (remember, no drinking or eating during the day on Ramadan), and I would start the day again.

CBT 2 Day

Wake up at 8:26, class starts at 8:30. Two language classes until lunch at 12:20ish (all classes are now two hours). Class starts again at 2:00, but now we have independent time. Technically we should be practicing implementing all kinds of technical work for four hours, but that is WAY too much time. I got the majority of my three week project done in four days (one of which I went into town to a cyber and another I met with the beekeepers). However, now we get a lot of homework, and we can use the time to memorize or get homework done. After class, which ends at 6:00, I will try to get some hiking in or run or work out, then (sometimes) bathe. Dinner is normally whenever I get home. I'll hang out with the host fam then pop upstairs around 9:00. In bed by 11:00 (remember, I've been pretty sick all week).

Sunday

Sunday is our Self Directed Learning Day. In theory we are supposed to study and practice speaking all day. In reality it is time to relax with whoever, go hiking, get laundry done, or take advantage of not having to be in class for any amount of time. I never seem to get everything I want done in SDL day (and laundry is typically that last thing that never gets done).

Ending Note: I went American on Morocco last night. The host and I made some cedar planked chicken. Any of you who have cooked with me can know how delicious it turned out. My host went into town and got a bunch of cedar strips. We soaked them then cut up an entire chicken and threw it on the planks with lemon, kiwi, melon, and three tasty American spices (including Joe's Hot Stuff). We made baguettes with butter cheese and tomato (cheese is not used in cooking often in Morocco). Finally, we steamed some veggies with lemon and spices. My host and guests said it was tasty (I hope they are telling the truth). Maybe it is my lack of American food for the last month, but it was some of the tastiest chicken I have ever had. Maybe one day one of you blog readers will come and visit and I'll make it for you.

So I still haven't written the part on food or my average day...or what I have been doing in the last three weeks. But I did take more pictures, and here is the link to the page. http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/CBT2#

This is a combination of a sweet hike we did Sunday, me working with beekeepers in town on branding their product (making labels, which I am at a cyber doing right now), and the cow and calf that try to walk into my house every day after class. Enjoy.

If anyone has a topic they would like me to talk about, either email me or write it on the comment thing. There all all kinds of parts of Morocco I could begin talking about, but if anyone has a preference I will try to do that.

Here is the link to some CBT pictures. They are all awesome. Look at them.

http://picasaweb.google.com/lightmmr/CBTPt1#