Recently, I looked through a diary of mine, and it made me realize that at least part of the reason I do not like to blog is because of my own uncertainty with its definition. Blog posts are supposed to be neither personal, nor public, but end up being both. In my mere understanding of this phenomenon, a blog is supposed to be a recount of your personal daily thoughts and experiences. In this manner it is supposed to serve like a diary. However, the expectation of a virtual audience prevents you from dishing out your deepest and extreme feelings, which are (lets face it) the best part of a diary! In trying to keep record of all the daily activities through a public blog, one might perhaps expect to remember the feelings that were coursing through them within the time described. However, this (as I realized while reading the diary) is not the case. You can be absolutely shocked by some of the things that were once in your head, whether it be some naive ideas, or twisted dirty dreams (eeehhm). In trying to keep a public-private account of your experiences you are robbing yourself of either time (if keeping a personal diary as well), or of the record of your juiciest moments and thoughts. And for what? An assumed audience? (which in itself is at least somewhat pompous). 

Having made the previous conclusion, I no longer feel bad for not up-keeping this blog. 

That all said, here is the "for the public" segment:

I would like to extend our thanks to USAID, Domestic Construction and Calvin Klein Jeans for their assistance in realizing the previously posted grant proposal. It just occurred to me that we are half way done with our schedule! In fact, I think the figure might be something closer to 2/3rds, if you discount the final catalog creation segment... Due to some delays I decided to combine the final two product generation activities. Most participants now  are creating canvas bags, with some exceptions of some boys, whose sewing skills and lack of interest made it more logical for them to screen-print some more soccer jerseys as their final products (thank you Peace Corps!). I will again try to upload some pictures of our activities. Hope it works!

Color Theory

Natural Dye Tye-dye

Printing on Dyed Shirts

I am not good at this blogging thing... I admit it. I mean in general, I have been fighting with myself about how much time I spend at this portable device day in and day out. It's like a drug. A ravenous addiction. I sit down, log in and start to browse. So much information! I fantasize about all of the wonderful books I would read and the yoga I would do, if I did not have this home connection, and yet I pay the monthly bill and spend loads of hours reading news, email, crap...

Anyway, for long now I have said I was going to put up some information on the stuff I was currently doing. I want to say just recently (though it was in October) I began working with a wonderful association named Rihan. I am trying to fund the following project for them. Please forgive me for literally copying and pasting sections from the proposal... Like I said, I am not good at this blogging thing.. 

Background: (My town), Morocco is a relatively large town of 40,000 people. The town center is developed by Moroccan standards, though some of the most outlying homes have no electricity and reside without power. In one of the distant neighborhoods – Majidi stands association Rihan. Rihan was founded in 2005 in order to help fight child labor, prostitution and to serve as a learning center for women and children in the surrounding neighborhoods. The association provides potential work skills and education to women and children whom are illiterate, unschooled, or did not complete their studies. Women and children whom do not hold a high school diploma equivalent are considered to be the high-risk group for child labor and prostitution. Unfortunately, Majidi and the surrounding areas have a higher rate of such individuals. The association is very active in community engagement. Rihan leaders often go door to door, encouraging any unschooled candidates to join the program. Effort is made to insure that parents are aware of the association goals and will be involved in their children’s education. The program is well known, with new members arriving almost weekly. The members of Rihan, 25 teenage children and 30 women, attend free classes of Standard Arabic, Mathematics and various crafts such as machine sewing, crocheting and embroidery. The association contains a classroom and a studio. The classroom is equipped for academic studies, and the studio contains sewing and knitting equipment. Students are separated into 2 age groups and alternate between the rooms mornings and afternoons, 4 days a week. Starting in October 2008, Peace Corps Volunteer - Olga Shvayetskaya began to work with association Rihan. In collaboration with the leaders of the association, she began introducing new artistic methods and processes to a group of 19 children and another of 15 women. Using her background degree and work experience as an artist and fashion designer she works with the students in building product development skills by introducing them to various techniques. The central goal of these activities is to encourage the students’ creativity, empowerment and to further create a personalized and marketable product in order to generate an income.  Our Need: The association has an amazing drive, structure and intention, however it is hindered by its lack of funds and running water. Although the association is able to gather the interested individuals to help them avoid unfortunate life paths, the association has trouble providing the members with truly income generating skills. The product making skills taught within the association, such as sewing and crocheting are taught within a common Moroccan curriculum and do not sufficiently foster creativity and experimentation with products. Without the option of creating a unique product item, the students face a saturated market for their work skills.  Lack of sufficient funds limits the quality and quantity of the materials available to the students. The teachers at Rihan try to work with the existing materials and funds by limiting their curriculum. Currently, the students construct only miniature garments out of a thin polyester muslin, without pervading an understanding of proper-scaled garments and how the garments must fit. Lack of appropriate fabric makes smaller marketable textile items, such as bags or wallets impossible to instruct and produce. Likewise, large classes are forced to use one pattern making ruler and one pair of fabric scissors. The implementation of new techniques beyond sewing is also stumped by the association’s inability to afford new materials and equipment. The curriculum is stagnant, and unable to achieve the result the association leaders desire. Although there is a budget that is allocated for the members’ supplies, it is insufficient and cannot provide all the materials the association needs in order to start an expanded curriculum. Adding even a few of the lacking supplies would exponentially increase work efficiency in the classroom. Providing initial equipment for new technical processes will encourage creativity, foster empowerment and educate the students in ways of generating their own income. Rihan faces another obstacle in its lack of running water installation. There is an incurring health hazard in the lack of a working faucet in the bathroom facility. As use of toilet paper is not customary, the water container in the facility creates a significant sanitation concern. Lack of running water within the facility also increases the chances for dehydration among students, especially during the hotter months. Besides only the hygienic issues, the absence of water takes away much product building capacity and effects productivity. Working with fabric requires water, whether it would be to fill an iron, wash off the chalk on the fabric or rinse the garment. As most artistic processes require water, this deficiency limits Rihan to teaching, either by foregoing important steps and sacrificing product quality, or skipping techniques all together. The intended screen-printing method and tie-dying, both require water.  Project Design: The project will be comprised of three sections: sustainably equipping the association for product generation by providing running water, initial equipment and learning materials, training the members and association leaders in new techniques and creating a catalog documenting new techniques learned and products made. Water Installation and Materials: Running water will be installed by a local plumber, fulfilling Rihan’s hygiene need and expanding their product possibilities. Irons and ironing boards will be purchased in town in order to insure adequate sewing quality, product finishing and in order to complete the final step of the screen-printing process. The completion of this segment will insure the association members with a sufficient production environment and a working studio. As the majority of the materials provided will be reusable, and therefore semi-permanent (60% of the SPA financed budget), the association will be able to continue incorporating the new techniques learned into their curriculum.  Materials will be obtained for multiple new methods and currently short supplies will be supplemented in order to increase learning efficiency. The materials will serve for both of the classes of the Moroccan sewing instructor, as well as the new curriculum courses, as many of the projects will be a collaboration between the both. The majority of the supplies will be bought locally. The exception are the screen printing fabric, paints and squeegees that are only available in Casablanca, located 3 hours away. Some of the sewing materials for the machines and irons will likewise need to be purchased in Beni Mellal, a city an hour away.  A large variety of fabric will be donated by multiple fashion companies and will be shipped from the United States. Education In New Materials and Techniques Using their past educations and work experiences, the current textile teacher Laila Soltani and the Peace Corps Volunteer will be instructing the participants in how to make various patterns, properly sew and finish products, fit garments, screen-print and tie-dye. Focus of the core class with the PCV will be given to production of simple bags and wallets. More complex pieces, such as shirts and pants, will be created in Laila’s class and will vary with each learner’s sewing abilities. By providing the members with adequate skills, they will be encouraged and equipped for their own item production. The exorbitant and interchangeable use of all these skills will foster creativity development and serve as a guide for developing a personal product through a 4-month curriculum. Regional Peace Corps Volunteers experienced in Color Theory and natural dye workshops will participate in initial introduction workshops of their subjects. The option of creating product for sale will be emphasized throughout the curriculum by final techniques, which will discuss each item’s quality and marketability. The screen-printing process is emphasized within this curriculum. This process is ideal for new product development within this community. The method creates a non-labor-intensive product, which is inexpensive and can therefore target the local market within Morocco. As many economists point out, a stimulation within the local economy, based on the local market is much more sustainable and beneficial then exportation, or marketing to tourists and economy outsiders. The omnipresence of the graphic image and logo in today’s fashion also gives screen-printed items a significant prospect for success. The lack of experience in this method amongst many Moroccan artists, gives association members a chance to come up with a truly unique product within the market. Besides giving each individual member the skills to create their own marketable product, the materials and skills given to the association as a whole create the capacity for the association to market its own product and generate its own revenue. Utilizing any of the methods learned, the association would be able to create product for the local Moroccan market and sustain or supplement their financial and material needs. The collaborative learning will encourage the participants to collectively buy new materials of any learned processes if they run short. Refill supplies for the curriculum taught can be affordable to students when bought in bulk by dividing the cost amongst small groups. The following project curriculum has been developed by collaboration of the volunteer and the Moroccan staff. The core 1.5 hour class will be taught four times a week, alternating between two separate groups by the volunteer. Many project items will be completed in both the core class with Olga Shvayetskaya and the sewing class with Laila Soltani. Laila Soltani will observe many classes and familiarize herself with all the processes in order to complete the Arabic sections of the final catalog. By learning all of the techniques she will be able to make the curriculum sustainable in the future.     Introduction to Screen-Printing Duration: 2-4 weeks The students will create an individualized stencil derived by modifying an existing image. The new developed image will be transferred onto textile and clothing items through the screen-printing method. The objective of this beginning will be to familiarize the students with the stenciling and printing techniques.   Color Theory Duration: 2 weeks Students will be introduced to the basics of color. Primary, secondary and tertiary colors will be discussed and demonstrated in the beginning weeks. Complimentary, analogous and monotone color palettes will be discussed in the second week sessions.   Tie-Dying and Natural Dying Duration: 2 weeks   With Screen-Printing Duration: 2 weeks An introduction to methods of natural dying along with the tie-dying technique will be taught by demonstration. Each student will then participate in creating their own tie-dyed shirt.   Once dyed, the students will be given an option to use a past made stencil, or create a new stencil in order to further personalize their garment.   Wallet Design Duration: 4-6 weeks Participants will render finished designs of 4-6 wallets, incorporating the available fabric supplies. They will select one design, which will be then physically produced by pattern creation, cutting and sewing. Students will be given the option in further personalizing their wallets through screen-printing.   Shoulder Bag Duration: 6-8 weeks Participants will render finished designs of simple bags, or other garments (based on their sewing/patternmaking proficiency). They will then make the pattern, cut, sew, and finish the item. The participants will be encouraged to utilize as many learned methods as possible for these final designs.   Catalog As a final step the Peace Corps Volunteer in (My town) will digitally create a project catalog. One color hard copy will be printed for physical record and the digital file will stay with both Rihan and its sponsor BDD. The book will serve as a library and guide to products made and techniques used as part of this project. The catalog will be bilingual in Arabic and English in order to serve as a guide within the association, as well as a showcase for potential students and sponsors. The instructors of the association will be responsible for writing the Arabic sections of the booklet in order to insure their comprehension in the techniques taught. The catalog will be worked on and completed in the months of July and August during the association’s recess period.

OK! If you made it this far, you are probably my mom.. (I love you too mom!) and since you have done all this reading, I figured I would throw in some photos of the kiddies for ya.

ok looks like this is all i can load today. oh well! ha.

Not sure if many of you are aware, but Morocco is having one of the coldest and rainiest fall seasons this year since most can remember. There have been severe floods in much of the country, most intense being around the Nador and Oujda regions, which are reporting deaths and people loosing their homes. These most extreme cases are far away from me (about a 10 hour bus ride), but the rains did not forget to make their presence felt here too. For over 3 weeks now it has been raining, heavily at times, occasionally stopping for a day, or two at a time. This has caused many inconveniences for my town and I, not the least of which for me being an indoor rain (or a steady leak) from a substantial area in my living room and kitchen. (As I recently frequented another volunteer's home in my region who was having a similar problem, I have concluded that this problem is either a common fault in the architecture here, or is otherwise brought on as a form of torture to Peace Corps Volunteers by the local jins.) Besides the issues with homes, a flooded cobble stone medina and a souq organized around puddles and mud, the most difficult issue in this weather has been travel. Moroccan transport is in itself is an unpredictable phenomenon, but add the rain and flooding and you get a downright adventure. An account of one of these adventures you will find below. Before I go on with the problematic travel that this rain has presented, let me not forget to mention that the rains are actually very welcomed in this country. The majority of Morocco is arid and dry, and needs all the water it can get for its vegetation (not to mention the oncoming fresh water shortage that threatens much of the globe). No Moroccan has yet failed to praise the rain for its agricultural benefit anytime I try to complain, therefore quickly shutting me up. WHY PEACE CORPS SHOULD GIVE OUT HOVER CRAFTS This year Peace Corps has been kind enough to make the flu shots optional. Each volunteer now gets to decide whether to get injected with a weakened flu virus, while getting a paid travel day to a nearby town and a chance to hang out with other volunteers, or forego the procedure and stay in site. To make our decisions, everyone carefully weighs each scenario, considering the side effect chances, their fear of needles, what work they will miss, or can escape from and whether the other people attending are worth seeing, or are just going to complain the entire time. My careful scenario weighing left me with a conclusion that I was not going to miss another brownie baking at Miss Lindsey's house (a nearby sweet-toothed volunteer and friend who happens to live in the consolidation point for the shots). Lindsey's site is about a 2.5hrs away from mine. A trip to her consists of an hour drive through the plains, and another hour and a half up a mountain. I have made this trip many times and in my mind, it was equivalent to taking the New York City L train to work (as I had done for the few prior years). The shots were scheduled for early Tuesday morning, requiring me to arrive the Monday night prior. Luckily, Monday happened to be an off day for the rains. The arrival to Lindsey's, the brownie baking and consumption, as well as the shot administration were all a success. Everything, except for the upper arm soreness, went as planned. Because of my proximity to Lindsey's town, I was not worried about the timing. I stayed for lunch and even gave a haircut. It began raining again during lunchtime, a fact that I hardly noticed.  The interchangeable periods of pouring rain and drizzle were something that I grew accustomed to in the preceding weeks. I got to the taxi stand at around 3:30pm, giving myself plenty of time to make it home before nightfall. The rain at that time had picked up and was ruthlessly pounding away at the mud of the taxi lot. Looking around at the few people present at the stand, it occurred to me that weather impacts Moroccan travel plans much more then it does for us Americans. Considering the fact that I still needed to find 4 more people to fill the taxi, my wait was going to be longer then I had expected. I decided to set a deadline for my latest possible departure in order to make sure I was not going to miss the last bus to my site from Beni Mellal, my transfer point. Since it took about and hour and a half to get to the destination point, I allotted a full two hours. As the clock reached my deadline time and the rain slowed and the taxi "boss" (a translation of the Moroccan term) signaled that our taxi was full and we were ready to leave. As luck had it, two women with a baby bought out an extra seat, and the three and a half of us got to share the entire back (the half sat on one of the women for the entire ride, therefore subtracting a whole person from this typically tight squeezing equation). At the beginning of the drive I watched with unease as the driver was speeding through the curvy mountainous road, but after some time passed I comforted myself that at least I would make the bus and got lost in my daydreaming. I half watched as we passed Afourer, which marked our decent from the hills onto the plains. I also half watched as our once aggressive driver slowed down and pulled up behind what looked like a stopped truck. Our lack of movement spun my curiosity and awoke me out of my daze. I looked out the window, but could see very little due to fogged windows and dark clouds. It was still raining, and for a while it seemed to me that we were just following either a really slow moving truck, or there was a checkpoint up ahead causing some traffic. Pretty soon though, the truck pulled ahead, and our driver stopped in what looked like the middle of the road. Other cars began to honk and slowly move around us. The two young men passengers sitting in the front seat and the driver now began to frantically argue about something, the speed of which was preventing me from understanding much of what they were talking about. I took my sleeve and wiped off the fogged window. From just the looks of it, I would have guessed that we were parked in the middle of a river. There was no ground, or edge of the water in sight.  Different objects such as branches and empty plastic bottles were floating right passed us, carried by the rushing current. After another couple of minutes of arguing and heavy gesturing, one of the male passengers opened the door and guided the driver as he joined the rest of the traffic on the right side of the over-flooded road. Once back in traffic (though still in a river) the atmosphere in the car lightened up. The driver's panic episode now became a source of laughter and amusement. The men in the front and the women in the back did not miss their chance to jeer at the driver. Slightly embarrassed, the driver tried to defend himself with the fact that this was not his typical route. The passengers tried to engage me in their jolly mocking session, but my amazement in the surroundings made it very difficult for me to engage in this conversation. Especially because by this point there were not only water driving cars, but also people riding passed us on bicycles, and even random people walking by in their rubber boots through this newly formed body of water. The water was probably only about 10" deep, but with the gushing current, I could not imagine what would inspire someone to go for a stroll in this. I am still not sure whether it was people walking, because their cars just could not make it, or whether they had a dire need to get from point A to point B. After about 20 minutes on this road we were stopped by a couple of cars. A man standing ankle deep in water, holding a pink plaid umbrella informed us that the rest of the road was not drivable. Instead, he directed us onto a "safer" detour to our left. The man was obviously a civilian, not a policeman, nor any other city worker that had donated his time in order to direct people to safety. We passed many more of these volunteers on the way, which made me wonder if people in America would do the same in a similar situation. I am scared to imagine the state of the road that we were detoured from, as the "safer" road contained more of the same river flooding. The driver still shaken up from the earlier fiasco, honked down at least four different cars on our way in order to confirm that we were in fact headed to Beni Mellal, and if the road ahead was in fact drivable. Slowly, but eventually we arrived at the Beni Mellal taxi station, way passed the time of the scheduled departure of my last bus. Upon arrival, I hurried to the bus station, hoping that the rain had perhaps also delayed some of the busses from leaving. I ran into the station. As is common in all Moroccan buss stations, I was quickly accosted by the ticket attendants. I asked about my bus, but of course there were no more for the night. I tried for other routes. After substantial arguing with a couple attendants on why it was not a good idea for me to go to Oued Zem through Fqui Ben Sale and then track back home (which would have added an extra 3 hours to my trip) the buss attendants agreed to show me a bus going to Kaspa Tadla. Out of there I hoped to catch a 20-minute taxi up to my site. My new found bus turned out to be full, and had I not caught the curiosity of one of the attendants with either my Darija speaking, or arguing skills, I wouldn't have gotten on. The man lead me to several different attendants in order to find the one that would let me get on this buss. Even though I rode on the back door steps of the bus, I eluded nothing but gratitude for moving closer to my home and warm socks. Although I could not see out the window, I heard that we had to take another detour to get to Kaspa Tadla. In Kaspa Tadla, I again arrived beyond my time expectations, and once I got to the taxi stand found no one waiting to go to any destinations. The taxi "boss" informed me that although the taxis were still in the lot, they would not leave unless they were filled with six people, which at this point looked unlikely. I asked him for the price of the whole car. As it turned out, the price at night was higher (of course). Although my scenario weighing abilities were now limited due to my exhaustion, I utilized what I could to consider whether it was worth to spend the night in a hotel and leave in the morning, or pay the money equivalent to the cost of the 10 hour bus ride mentioned earlier and get to my warm socks and bed. I decided on the latter. The taxi "boss" found me a willing taxi driver, and after a 20 minute ride/discussion on God, why I was not yet married, and why I will not be marrying a Moroccan here, I finally made it all the way home. I was ecstatic to be home, I could have kissed the floor! And I would have, if only it was not all wet from my "indoor rain"…

While traveling in Marrakech a couple months ago with my visiting friend Carol I embarked on a mission. It was absolutely imperative that I found art supplies. And not just the dried up watercolors and synthetic brushes that are available in any mktuba, but a real, specialized art store with quality paper and fancy paint. We were only in Marrakech for the day, so time could not be wasted. My motive to find this store was work related, which gave me an added sense of determination and empowerment. Even though the directions I received routed me to the entire new Marrakech, I was going to find the store. I could feel it!

The trip could not have started smoother. Once getting into a cab at its appropriated stop (which already is difficult if you aren’t Moroccan) the driver turned on the meter! And for all you who have never set foot in Marrakech, let me just tell you what an ecstatic feeling that is. The typical Marrakech taxi ride begins with obnoxious bargaining, which sometimes starts at an insultingly high price. A lot of the times extreme bargaining tactics have to be used (when your “I’m not a tourist…” line does not work) sneers and arguing can commence and at times angry slamming of doors and even making the driver pull over and walking out is not that uncommon. That said, Carol and I thought we were on a smooth sail. I of course seated myself in the passenger seat not to insult the driver and Carol got in the back. After telling the driver to go to the needed part of the city, typical conversation ensued…

“How are you? Everything is good?”

“Everything’s good. Thanks be to God. You learned Arabic?”

“A little.”

“No, no. You speak very good!”

“No, no. A little. Not a lot.”

“You learned it good! Where did you learn it?... You live here?.. What do you do in Morocco?... Do you have children?.. Are you married?... Why not?“

It still impresses me that I am able to speak a form of Arabic. A language that I’d never guessed I could learn. Since most foreigners visiting Morocco know not a smidgeon of the language, everything I say is in comparison absolute mastery of the dialect. Because of this at times I can become somewhat flaunting with my new skills. I therefore had no intention of quieting down and just watching the scenery as we drove. I persisted to inquire about the store, even though I realized “specialized art store” was not in my vocabulary. This is how I thought the conversation was going:

“I want to draw! I need a place where I can get things to draw!”

“You want to what?”

“I want to draw! I heard there is a place in Gueliz where you can get things to draw.”

“You want to draw?”

“Yes! Do you know where the store is?”

“Yeah! Yeah, there is a place in Gueliz! I know. I know where it is.”

“Can you drive us there, please?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know where it is.”

At this point I tried to translate the conversation to Carol, as we were entering new Marrakech a.k.a. Gueliz. All of a sudden, we started pulling into a different part of Gueliz. The colorful store displays had disappeared and we were now on a road with more official looking buildings. The driver parked. He got out of the car and Carol and I warily followed. He headed straight for what I took to be as a school, though it had some kind of a formality around it, that I quite couldn’t put my finger on. “Maybe this is an art school and he will ask the teachers where the store is...” I guessed.

We entered a gate, came through a wide hallway and ended up in an office filled with several officials at their desks. The driver approached the man who looked most important. At this point I became a bit uneasy and chose to stay a couple yards away from the men. Carol must have been experiencing similar emotions as she failed to even enter the room and only observed from the hallway. The men exchanged a few sentences and the official then glanced at me with an annoyed expression. He quickly looked me over and then asked me something in French.

“I don’t speak French” I replied.

“Do you speak English?” it seemed he was even more annoyed.

“Yes.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

I think I totally froze at this question, because the man continued…

“You want to get married?” he asked.

“No, no…” At this point I gave out a nervous laugh and my face began to flush.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No, I do not.”

“This is a court!”

I glanced over at the driver. Somehow, he had failed to observe the tension that was going on in front of him. He was watching our conversation with a sincere smile, while nodding his head as if in agreement. I began to hear Carol chuckling in the hallway.

“I’m sorry. I did not know.” I started to come to my senses.

“What do you want?” the man repeated.

“ I wanted to find an art store. I need paint. That’s what I tried to explain.”

“What did you say in Arabic?” the man prodded, as the whole office watched on. Everyone in there was now smart enough to put down everything they were doing and watch the free entertainment.

“Gult bghit nrsm. Bhit hwayej bas nrsm bhum.” I now had to practice my skills in an office full of fluent Darija spectators. Tough crowd this time...

“What?

“I need to find paint. A special paint. You know paint, like to draw?” at this point I resorted to full out hand gestures and demonstrations.

“Oh! Paint!”

The man’s annoyance seemed to now shift from me to the driver, whom still seemed absolutely clueless about what was going on and was surely awaiting someone’s wedding to take place. The men exchanged several sentences in very rapid Arabic that was difficult to understand. The official scolded the poor driver and eventually told him to just take me to any damn mktuba to which at this point, I was not going to object.

We walked out of the building with our tails between our legs, followed by some evident snickering from all of the observers present. The poor driver was scarred and embarrassed. I was laughing hysterically, yet nonetheless mortified. We got back in the car as if to continue our search for a mktuba. After one had not appeared after several blocks, I begged the driver to let us out wherever, assuring him that there are a lot of them and we would find one eventually. He did not object for long.

As the driver later explained to me “rsm” is a verb that means to sign a contract, the verb to draw is “rasm”. Omitting a vowel had caused me quite a bit of confusion, embarrassment and one bruised ego. Needless to say, I won’t forget this language lesson. However, if I ever do need the equivalent of a Vegas wedding chapel here, I know where to go, or at least what to say.

As far as the art store quest, our embarrassment and effort did eventually bear its fruit. We found a live practicing painter, all the art stores in Marrakech as well as a night at a Western style art opening (including the hours devours and the wine). However the remainder of this trip is an another story all together…The Jakaranda tree is now in bloom in most of Morocco. Truly the most beautiful tree I've seen to date. This picture is in Marrakech, about a month and a half after the described trip.

I’ve been warned long before I ever stepped foot in Rabat. It was presumed in all of my conversations about departure and service. I was told to expect it by former volunteers and all people who have just heard of Peace Corps. No, it is not malnutrition, malaria, HIV, or diarrhea. I am talking about culture shock. I even read a book prior to my departure entitled “Culture Shock: Morocco”. After all this forewarning, you cannot blame me for have anticipated this feeling in every minute I spent in Morocco. The degree of “shock” I planned to experience was also relentlessly high. I cannot describe to you my exact vision of what culture shock was to be, but my perception involved some frantic calls home on my part and a debilitating and overwhelming feeling.

After six months I have yet to feel shocked. The absence of culture shock is now what is making me feel uneasy. I mean, what is wrong with me that I am unable to experience this important hardship of my Peace Corps service? Perhaps by sneaking around and expecting this feeling to emerge at every minute I somehow have managed to scare the shock away. Perhaps it wanted to drop by unexpected and I have failed to give it this opportunity. Don’t get me wrong, I am not without heavy impressions. I am absolutely, overwhelmingly brimming with emotion. However none of it is quite similar to what I would describe as shock.

Sure, this country is very different then what I am used to. Even more so then what I realized when I first arrived. “You just take away the jellabas, dub English and give everybody a fork and it’s America!” was my initial opinion. Now I see that this is anything but. True, in bigger cities it does look like parts of Philadelphia, London and Paris. And with due time these world cultures will probably globalize to form one massive and monotonous civilization. But today, I’m living in a world quite different from the one I came from. Besides the jellabas and forks there goes an entire religion and way of life that I myself am entirely unfamiliar with. I don’t think I will ever entirely learn the etiquette here and will always worry that yet again, I have said something inappropriate either due to my lack of cultural knowledge or my mispronunciation. I will probably always feel foreign here. There will be many instances like today, when the internet service guys knocked on my door, but waited 5 feet away, in caution and later tiptoed in as if my floors were covered in broken glass. But as these are the things that I expected when arriving here, I do not feel shocked. My expectations were met and I feel reassured. I am not crazy! Hooray!

I guess the most significant part of culture shock by definition is its withdrawal aspect. When simple, habitual things you’ve grown to rely on disappear, you become uncomfortable, anxious and confused and therefor "culture shocked". By rule, you never quite realize what of your daily life is truly habitual and what is circumstantial, until you are forced to part with it. Therefore, I expected to learn a whole new way to deal with life, especially considering the fact that I am a creature of habit. However, from what I can tell, most of my “habits” are well supported here, or at least within minor modifications. I have access to running water, electricity, showers, internet and a plethora of nutritious fruits, grains, meats and vegetables. I do miss some things, such as museums, nightlife, soymilk, mangoes, dirty martinis, and most of all my friends and family, but I feel, as all of these are just not that far out of reach. The internet and the ubiquitous phone coverage have made it easy to keep up contact and friendships across seas. And if I really do want to access the Western style of living I could go to one of the major cities in Morocco, all of which are excessively accommodating to tourists and their lifestyles. Albeit without these few things I take comfort in their proximity and spare myself the withdrawal.

Perhaps the one feeling that does overwhelm me from time to time is nostalgia. But I myself choose to dwell in it. I like it, it’s soft and warm, like a midnight swim in a southern ocean. It envelops me and I sink in without resistance. Far from shock, this feeling brings me comfort and rest. I think sometimes, I myself am responsible for bringing it about and it was perhaps, one of my subconscious reasons to come here in the first place.

I’m fully aware that I have yet to reach a quarter of my service, and I do think, that it is entirely too early for me to tell you that “culture shock” is not something associated with my service abroad. Just because I have not encountered it thus far, does not mean that it is not awaiting me around the bend, or is not hiding in my pocket inconspicuously, while I delusionaly think it is not there. Whatever the case, and whether it will eventually affect me or not, I will remain vigilantly awaiting its arrival, hoping to dodge it at every prayer call and invitation to couscous.

I love the Jetiya, or at least my Moroccan friends assure me in awe. And I think I do. But the event brings about a surge of impressions that I cannot simply decipher as love or hate.

“It’s a flea market!” my English fluent counterpart informs me. But I disagree. I cannot call the jetiya a flea market, because a flea market which I have known in the past was not … this. There was no overcrowded fields patched with a disarray of tarps, each with a crouched Berber woman selling neatly folded takshitas, 50’s shoes and decade old pots. Neither were there many 30 foot tables with enormous mounds of used clothing, shoes and bedding each categorized by its own table accompanied by loud Moroccan men with speakerphones indiscernibly shouting prices. No, there are organized stands at a flea market put together with the intent of directing traffic. At a jetiya there are only “sits” on the ground with indefinite passageways, forcing one to always be cautious when placing their next step. And once you’ve discovered that item here that has been missing from your life all these years, prepare to fight. For Moroccans are tough bargainers. You must be prepared to offend your beloved item by finding all its potential flaws and maybe even a few angry walkaways in order to get a reasonable price.

No friends, this is not a flea market, this is my town’s jetiya, where I must go every week to get my dose of chaos, excitement and immensely vintage things!

In Moroccan culture whomever you are speaking is your relative. Depending on the age of the person spoken to they are either a sister, brother, uncle or aunt. I find this custom very endearing, even though the thing said before the family member name may be the nicest or the meanest thing ever said. It feels good, especially as an obvious outsider to be called “sister” by the lady at the cyber, or my grocer. What still really throws me off though, is this same term used by men as they are hitting on women. “You look very good, sister!” or “Oh sister, God did good creating you!” imply to me “I would like to have sex with you, sister!” and that’s a downright request for incest! Apparently I am the only one who notices this.

Oh and here's another reminder of how beautiful this country is. Here are the Cascades d'Ouzued.

Ok, so that donkey thing… I was just kidding. I just do not feel like I have the energy or the time for compositions. It takes too much thinking. So I’m sorry for setting false hopes, but I promise to try and do something like that once I am settled in a bit better and my head has stopped spinning. For now I will just stick to personal updates, since they tend to be much quicker to write. And if they do not entertain you, try another blog. I hear there are millions of them.

So, as of now, I am at my FINAL site with my host family. I will remain here for the next 2 months. Then I will move to my own house for the remainder of the two years. I cannot tell you how relieved I feel to know that I am at a stationary point and will not be temporarily relocating again to yet another place. As much as I love to travel around Morocco, the frequent travel in the past three months has been exhausting. It feels refreshing to be able to start working out some sort of a daily schedule and routine. As a part of it, I’ve started taking aerobic classes with my host-mom and doing yoga classes on my own. L-hamdullah!

I am also happy to announce that I (I mean my counterpart) have started looking for apartments and I (I mean he) found out that there are plenty available, although slightly over the price range given to me by the PC. There has been many budget cuts for PC, as in many other sectors of the government because of our ongoing involvement in the “you know what”, therefore our housing allowance is now half of what the volunteers in the previous years received. I am staying positive and hoping that I will be able to receive sufficient compensation since I am at a larger site. Right now I am seriously considering a nice one bedroom apartment with potential wireless internet (for which I will split the bill). It’s slightly over budget, but I have not been able to find any houses for less then that within the “safe” area. I will also probably be getting a cat! After a huge moral struggle, I’ve decided that my mental stability is more important then the unknown future of the cat after the completion of my service. A tad selfish, I know, but honestly… Bite me! Yesterday was a huge Moroccan holiday called l-AEid l-Kbir (The Big Feast). The magnitude of this holiday in the Moroccan calendar is pretty much that of Christmas in the U.S. This holiday is celebrated in the remembrance of Abraham almost sacrificing his son to God. In honor of Abraham, everyone who is able to, slaughters a sheep at their home. Now, I know all you non-Muslims are picturing a crazy murdering scene with the dad attacking the sheep with a carving knife, where the sheep is a live oversize Thanksgiving turkey, but in actuality, only trained butchers do the killing. The butcher must kill the sheep with one slice at the neck. After the sheep is bled, it is skinned and gutted. If you have never seen this performed, I highly recommend it. This is where you can discover whether you really do like meat (I do). Once the butcher is finished, the family is free to barbeque, usually starting with the liver, heart and lungs. This day is the busiest day for butchers out of the whole year. From early morning they go from home to home (starting with their own) butchering sheep after sheep and probably don’t return till after lunchtime. Did I mention that all of the sheep are free range and grass fed? And just for reading through this to the very end, here’s a picture of the bleeding out.

Ok, so I have not yet finished any blog entry to put in here. But I am taking the time today to upload some visual accounts of the past few weeks. Hope you enjoy!

Goats in Agdz.

My CBT Group.

On the road from Erachidia to Fez.

More from Erachidia to Fez

I love Fez!!!

Fez!! My favorite boy (and host brother) in the whole world!!!

CBT is shortly coming to a close. We have a language proficiency test tomorrow, and the day after we will head off to Fez where we will meet up with fellow trainees in the Youth Development sector. Thursday, we are to improvise a Thanksgiving dinner and enjoy an entire day off, because of our holiday (iyeaah!). After Thanksgiving Day we will have two remaining days of presentations in Fez, which will include some serious presentations and one not so serious talent show. Pictures to come, enchallah. If all goes well during the talent show and no one endures the fate of the poor silks girl in Vegas, we will all be sworn into the PC on Monday, November 26th.

If you have not yet heard, I’ve been placed…! My site is a city of about 40,000 people. It is much larger then I had expected, or would have initially preferred. Most of us when joining with the Peace Corps have a very particular image of what the service will be like. In the future vision abroad we picture small villages, possibly no running water or electricity, scarce/difficult transportation, women staying at home with many children and men sometimes working. Although some of us are placed in sites relatively close to that description (although most have running water and electricity), others are experiencing what we like to call the “Posh Corps”. In my example, besides the size and the readily available internet, water, electricity, phone and government services in the town, my new host family also has a washer, a microwave, satellite TV, and a toaster oven in their home. This is of course not to say that all or the majority of the residents in my site live like this, which is not true. Nonetheless, I am provided with privileges here that I did not have in the States (i.e. washer, and satellite TV)!

Although they are far from what I expected coming out of Agdz, I really like my new site and host family. My new host parents are young teachers in their early 30’s with one smart and energetic son of six years old. They have been very kind to host me and I am looking forward to spending more time with them in the upcoming months. The site is pretty, has greenery and seems very laid back. The white walled, short buildings and the relaxed vibe remind me of a southern town in the States. Although large, it has little international tourism (except the expatriates in the summer). The town has a rich history and is the center of pilgrimage for some Moroccans in the month of August. Most importantly the community has many artisans in many sectors. There are weavers, tailors, a Neddi (women’s craft center), silversmiths, carpenters and an Artisana (which has no electricity as of now, but is close to regaining it, enchallah).

For the next entries I think I will address specific topics in Morocco and my experiences with them, i.e. food, customer service, donkeys. You are most welcome to post/send me any particular topics that you would like me to discuss. If I have no requests, I will pick at random. Next entries topic as of now: Moroccan Donkeys.

And now as promised the Halloween photo of me as a Moroccan Donkey with entirely too long ears:

Ramadan has finally come to an end. And I say “finally” not because I did not enjoy it, or am overly glad that it is over (although the hrira soup for l-ftor was beginning to get a bit repetitive), but rather because this is the impression I get from the Moroccans around me exhausted from the fast. Besides my most encountered friends though, a lot of people fast past the holy month for an extra six days to gain some extra credit with the All Knowing. They even have one word for a six day time period because of this: it is not a week, but “sttamayn”. And while I am on the one word subject, Darija is one of the most concise languages I’ve ever encountered. You get to say sentences such as “We saw her”, “There isn’t any”, or “More in mine” with just one word!

The end of Ramadan is celebrated with a holiday called L-Aaid L-Sgir, which literally translates to “The Small Feast”. A day prior to this celebration every household bakes an immense amount of cookies (I practiced my “Never have I ever…” Darija phrase while pointing to a household bucket and a couple of giant soup pots overflowing with cookies). The entire next day is dedicated to visiting as many homes as you can, while feasting on these freshly prepared sweets and drinking gallons of tea. Typically the women do henna on their hands and dress up to the max in order to show celebration and make the rounds. Since we, the volunteers, are not too familiar with the traditional Moroccan holiday gear, we were dressed by our families. My family did not do any henna to show mourning, as there was a death in the family the previous week (but Erin and I got a surprise round of henna to make up for it this week). Besides the bright glittery costumes, the constant sugar high, and the heat, I found the merry atmosphere and my detachment in it to be very much like Christmas Day in the States. It was fun, but I’m glad it’s over.

I know I haven’t yet mentioned this, and please forgive me, but while in CBT we’ve been working with a group of female rug weavers. We are working on a small-scale project to complete before departure in mid November. The women have been wonderful and their work rich and heart warming. I was actually caught off guard to find this activity a tremendous challenge not through the language, or cross-culture barriers, but because of dysfunctional dynamics within my CBT group. As I prefer to not give you a bias account on the inner workings of the group, I will just say that all of us are not complementary players in a group scheme. This stands for both technical and language learning activities. Nonetheless, progress has been made and the final project has been decided today (hamdullah). I am relieved to begin the action plans tomorrow, which should alleviate much further discussion and argument in-group meetings.

I am excessively excited for the coming week! For besides the Halloween bash entitled “Animal, Vegetable or Mineral” in Ouarzazate with all the mutatawaein, we are scheduled to obtain and GO to our final 2 year sites for a one week period!!! Since I have been learning Darija, my placement is not limited to any sections of the country, I could literally be anywhere in the country (with some minor exceptions in disputed territories)! Friends and family look out for a mass email, as we are encouraged not to post our final locations online!

And while Im at it, here is yet another photo of my intergration. Please notice the babys reaction to me in the lower right;

The time has finally started to pass at what seems like a more realistic pace. I’m not sure that I prefer it this way, but it nonetheless feels a bit more familiar to what I’m used to. Days and visits are starting to run together, and CBT is almost through the second stage.

Currently all of us are back at our hotel in Ouarzazate for a couple of days. We continually move back and forth from our CBT sites to this consolidation point. Here we receive lectures, vaccines, and occasionally hot showers (hamdullah). For a lot of us this is also the time to wash our more personal laundry items. Above you will see that this is in fact what my roommie Karen and I decided to do this time around. The shot is taken in our room. Materials used: extension cords, duct tape and various undergarments.

The lecture subjects vary. The sessions are given by Peace Corps staff, and sometimes by, or in conjunction with current Volunteers. We receive a good amount of information on field work, project goals and objectives, Moroccan economy, Moroccan government, creating an artist co-op/association, and etc. A lot of integration and acclimation topics include Islam, food preparation, the public bath, medical/mental health, program logistics, dealing with harassment and diarrhea (last one was a title of a lecture and a corresponding Power Point presentation).

Harassment of women is not an uncommon thing in Morocco. Men make cat calls, yell out and approach women on the street asking names, numbers and etc. (not very different then in some parts of Brooklyn, but perhaps a bit more frequent). I should mention that their methods are very interesting, most of the time they begin the dialogue before they even come into eye contact and continue once by your side. Their initial language for speaking with all tourists is French (as is everywhere down to the smallest douar in Morocco), then, if there is no response they sometimes switch to English and then Darija. Most recently, I’ve developed a new tactic in order to discourage unwanted followers. Just today a friend and I were approached by a couple of guys.

“Hello. How are you?....” the guy beside me went on as he walked up.

I stopped and looked up at the fellow with a blank stare.

“Ruskii?” I said.

“Putin?” he asked.

“Vladimir Putin. Ruskii” I said and smiled.

“You don’t speak English? France? Arabia?” he persisted.

I shook my head and repeated with the blank smile “Ruskii”.

The guys shortly exchanged a few surprised words with the word for Russia somewhere in there. Then one of them made a gesture similar to that of ours during “Screw this!” and they were on their way.

All in all much more efficient and much less painful then having to explain that you are not in the least bit interested. Success!

It’s always a surprise to me to calculate the amount of time which I have so far spent in this country. To think that I have been here for less then a month is difficult to fathom. Even more so, is the fact that it has only been 2 weeks!

I have begun my first “homestay”. The family which I am staying with is absolutely wonderful. There are ten people in the house, along with sheep, goats and a donkey (the animals are kept in gated areas and only come out shortly for feeding). I have four host sisters and four host brothers. Everybody in the family seems very sincere and genuine. I spend a lot of the time hanging out with my host sisters, which mainly consists of eating, watching tv and being laughed at for my Darija.

Sorry, but I must cut this entry short so that I can uphold my Moroccan “habitual eating and sleeping a lot” routine. The pic is of me finding a kilo of chocolate. oh yeah, i said a kilo..

Please forgive the short entry. Today is a day of “self directed study” and all I have studied so far (and it is 4pm now) are a Kasbah and some local stores. The benefits of the day have gained me a cell-phone, yet the losses have deprived me of some very valuable and needed Darija studying. But all is not yet lost, for in the midst of my shopping I have obtained some graph board to cut up for note cards, which I will then utilize in my studying, hopefully tonight… It totally makes sense to me, alright?!

I know I’ve said that I will not be learning Darija, but as we now found out a minority of us will in fact be placed within Darija speaking communities and therefore be learning Moroccan Arabic. We will not find out which language we will be learning until the end of this week. They love to keep us on our toes, there is never a dull moment!

Right now all of the SBD trainees and I are in Quarzazate, which is located in the South of Morocco and is about an 8-9hr drive from Rabat. I know the drive sounds long and miserable, but having experienced it just this past week I can tell you that it is nothing less then spectacular, the highlight of the drive being the last 4 hrs after passing Marrakech. Once the mountains after Marrakech begin the scenery is astonishing. The mountains start out being covered entirely in various greenery, intermixing pines and palms. Later, the relentlessly winding road runs through steep ochre mountains of clay adorned with sporadic oases. All throughout the drive we encounter local homes and villages that camouflage seamlessly into the scenery. Once in a while there is a market, or some cafes by the road which are frequently accented with bright, saturated colors.

I have no time to go on about anything else. I will however mention that although beauty of Quazazarte is uncanny, the people here are even more so incredible! The sincerity and warmth in these people is not expected or common in any Western community I’ve ever seen.

*The picture is the Kasbah I was studying this morning

Staging has come to an end. I have finally begun to learn about our destination, training site and also, language. It turns out that all Small Business Development volunteers will be placed in Berber locations. Which means that we will be:

1. Living somewhere in one of the mountain ranges.

2. Learning one of the two Berber dialects (which are non-written).

3. Training close to the city which is called “The Gateway to Sahara” and is approximately 8hrs from Rabat, over some serious mountains.

Holy crappolli! I guess I did have some expectations! And they were the opposite of what I have just mentioned. Well, I am glad that I at least packed a good amount of sweaters and my Russian, wool, babushka scarf (yey!).

Ok, just want to make sure that I don't have to figure all the features out on this while somewhere in an internet cafe with slow internet and 10 minutes of free time.

Taking off in a couple days to Philly for Staging for some icebreakers and shots with my fellow trainees (I would assume not all at once). From there we will be bussed to JFK and then off we go! I will commence as a trainee and hopefully become an official Peace Corps Volunteer after 3 months of in-country training. I have no distinct emotions to report yet. Trying to maintain a no expectations outlook. I'm sure I'll be overwhelmed once in the country.

*Oh, and the dog is here just for posting practice.