I woke up the other morning to the sound of strong winds against my bedroom door. In the winter, that often means rain. It was a pleasant surprise when I stepped outside to instead find a clear sky, because it was souk (market) day and I needed some groceries.

For most people in my village, if you want food you must go to souk. There are no grocers. Some families have farms and will eat a portion of their harvested crops when the time is right. But for the majority of people, souk is a necessary part of the weekly routine.

The weekly souk in my commune is held on Saturdays and Sundays. Sundays are when the most vendors come into town and one can find the best selection of produce and housewares on that day. Every week, I put on my boots, pick up my plastic vegetable bag, and head down to the street that runs through the village to wait for a ride into town. It is usually only a few minutes before a taxi stops to let me in. The whole transport fleet is out on the weekends to accommodate for all the people that want to get to market.

It is about 5 kilometers to town. Generally, the taxis and pickup trucks stop before attempting to penetrate the crowds of people in transit between cafes, vendors and transport hubs.

A view down the street that connects my village to the market town

The market is arranged into groups of vendors, loosely divided into categories: fruits, vegetables, spices, grains, meat, housewares, clothes, barbers, legumes, cleaning products, livestock, plants, seed and cafes.

Here are a few shots from market:

A main entrance to souk

Some shopping in action

My well-stocked spice man

This week, I made the following purchases:

1 kg of peanuts (15 dirhams)1 kg of dates (30 dirhams)0.5 kg of bell peppers (2 dirhams)0.5 kg of lemons (1.5 dirhams)0.25 kg of hot peppers (2.5 dirhams)1 kg of apples (8 dirhams)1 kg of oranges (2 dirhams)1 container of orange juice (10 dirhams)1 package of laundry detergent (8 dirhams)1 kg of white beans (12 dirhams)0.5 kg of popcorn (7.5 dirhams)TOTAL: 98.5 dirhams (about 12.32 USD)

After I got everything on my shopping list, I headed back to the spot where the taxi dropped me off, hopped in the next taxi that was headed towards my village and waited on the driver to be satisfied with the number of passengers he had--today, it was 8--and we took off back home to the village.

Riding 9-deep in the old Benz

I'm sitting in the living room of a friend's house waiting for my clothes to dry in the courtyard. I have finally cashed in on one family's offer to let me use their washing machine. I had refused for a year--they do so much for me as it is, but today I am out of clean clothes and have too much Arabic homework due tomorrow to spend the day at the river. Sometimes, I've decided, it is acceptable to make things easier for yourself.

Clean laundry.

On the subject of things becoming easier, I'm going to tell you a little story. I woke up last week to the sound of hacking and digging outside my front door. The sun had barely risen. My landlord, who usually lives in Casablanca, was in town for the olive harvest and was hard at work. I asked him what he was doing, although it was clear that he was digging some kind of trench alongside my house. He explained that it was for water, which I initially misinterpreted as being an irrigation ditch. He was actually connecting my house to the village's water pump and had surprise plans to install a faucet in my entry hall. That's what I'm talking about. I did a little dance, called a few of my friends, and fantasized about how life will change with daily access to water during my second year of service. Last night, during the 45-minute window that the village's water pump is turned on, I filled up my first water container from my new faucet (picture below). I felt like I had just been drafted to the big leagues.

Real excitement.

At this point in my service, I feel like I have almost completely adjusted to life in Morocco. And I love it here--the work, the people, the village, the volunteers, the food...almost everything. The hardest thing for me is, without a doubt, being away from my friends and family. Major holidays create dangerous opportunities for me to dwell on my separation from some of the most important people in my life. Last year, I had just moved to my site and everything was so new that homesickness wasn't so much a concern--I had a lot of distractions. This year, I think it would have been a little harder spending the holidays away from anybody that I care for. Luckily, I didn't have to. I visited Ceuta (a Spanish exclave in northern Morocco) with some of my best friends in country. It was a lot of fun and, as it is technically Spain, we were able to find some Christmas trees and pork.

Street view outside out hotel in Ceuta on Christmas Eve.

Some of my friends in the holiday spirit.

Delicious tapas.

2011 has come and gone and this year promises to be another interesting one. I will spend it almost entirely in Morocco and will strive to wrap up all of my work before my service concludes in November. I recently got a grant approved to fund the conversion of an unused building in the village into a workshop, as well as to purchase some leather working equipment in order to train the artisans how to make their own leather (and imitation leather) handles and product accessories. This will take the place of purchasing the more expensive inputs from Marrakech. In theory, the project will help improve the product quality, reduce productions costs, and shorten fulfillment time for each order. We shall see...

View of building to be converted into workspace.

In the next year, we also hope to (1) create a new product catalog, (2) create a web presence through the creation of a website and/or Facebook, (3) sustain the exportin business (which will include finding an English-speaking transaction facilitator, forming a cooperative, arranging business education, and resolving certain online payment obstacles), and (4) implement a youth sports and hydration (health) project.

Anyway, I hope to keep you updated with our progress this year. Thanks for keeping up with me and I hope to hear from you soon!

I recently noticed that I hadn't posted any pictures of Essaouira, my nearest city. This is where I go to do any legal paperwork, meet with my tutor, and treat myself to the all-too-frequent restaurant splurge. Here are a few of shots of the city:

I have decided that it is finally time for me to resurface from the digital abyss and assure my friends and family that I am, indeed, still alive and eager to reconnect.

Not knowing where to start, but determined to send an update, I'm going to present some photos from the last couple of months with brief descriptions. Feel free to send questions if you want further explanations:

The last day of Ramadan. Everybody in the village celebrated the end of the fast by feasting on couscous and tajine all day, wearing new clothes, and meeting with neighbors, friends and family. In this picture, Brahim, Hicham, me and Yassine are sitting down having some tea before lunch. I'm sporting my brand new djellaba.

Shortly after we celebrated the end of Ramadan in August, Tyler (another volunteer in Morocco) and I cashed in about a month of unused vacation days to take a mid-service vacation to East Africa. Our flight transferred in Cairo. Here is a photo of a giant billboard that greeted us at the airport, skillfully selecting a provocative portion of our president's speech to the Egyptian citizenry.

We connected with David (the man on my left) before we arrived in Kenya. He agreed to let us crash at his house for the duration of our stay in Nairobi, which was just short of a week. When we arrived, we met four other travelers from Germany who were also staying at David's place. We spent several nights in Nairobi cooking dinners with the crew. In this picture, David and his family had prepared a traditional Kenyan meal, Ugali with soy stew.

A more-strenuous-than-expected bike ride through Hell's Gate National Park. Tyler and I decided to join the Germans that we had met the night before for a self-guided safari.

Also at Hell's Gate. We left out bikes at a rest stop so we could go on a hike through the gorges.

The view of an intersection in Nairobi from the second floor of a downtown pub.

The center of the town in Arusha, Tanzania is a Coca-Cola clock tower. It was here where we booked a 4-day safari and 6-day trek up Mount Kilimanjaro.

Tarangire National Park. We were finishing up for the day and on our way out, when our guide/driver, Solomon, turned the corner to find an elephant charging our car. It turns out that we had startled a mother, who was taking care of her baby. Solomon slammed on the brakes of the Toyota Land Cruiser, immediately turning off the engine, and told his five passengers to be quiet. The elephant stopped about ten yards before reaching the dirt road. We watched in silence as the larger elephant guided her child across the road in front of our car. After they had both crossed, the momma elephant turned around and stepped toward our vehicle again. She thrusted her tusks toward us and let out an intimidating yell/moan/growl. It was pretty intimidating. She was definitely making sure we knew who was in charge. Solomon waited for a few minutes before deciding it was safe, turned on the car, and got out of there.

Serengeti National Park.

Campground at Serengeti National Par. Tyler and I were probably sleeping in the cheapest tent at the campsite, as we had bargained so stubbornly with the tour operator that he tried to recover some of the profits by providing us with the lowest-grade equipment that was acceptable. Solomon had told us where to set up our tent, which was on the frontier of the campground--nothing between us and the animals that call the Serengeti their home. I woke up at 2am in the morning to the sound of movement inches from our tent. It was definitely an animal and it was definitely huge. I listened to it for a few minutes before I decided to wake Tyler. Yes, I woke him up. We had spent the day watching lions eat zebras and spotting gazelle carcasses in trees, where leopards had stored them for an evening meal. It wasn't long before waking him that we both realized that we had no absolutely no control over the situation. We decided to go back to sleep. The next morning, we spotted some tracks right next to our tent. Solomon told us that it had been a water buffalo creeping around our tent. Hyenas had also entered the camp during the night and gone through the dumpster, throwing the campers' garbage all over the place.

The first day of our trek up Mount Kilimanjaro was through the rainforest.

One of the many bizarre, yet breathtaking landscapes that are crossed during a Kilimanjaro ascent via the Machame (or "Whiskey") route.

Early morning on day four of the Kili climb. We summit on this day, although it takes us about 12 hours of hiking.

A picture from the top of the mountain. You can see the glacier on the left, pressed against a sheet of clouds.

After Kilimanjaro, we hopped on another bus to UGanda, where we met my long-time friend from Chattanooga and (at the time) Peace Corps Volunteer, Zach Mayo. We spent two nights at his site in Nakaseke, Uganda. This is a picture of Zach cooking burgers on his rigged grill, sitting on his back stoop.

Boo.

After leaving Zach's site, we decided to end the trip on a relaxing note at the Ssese Islands. This is a picture of the cottage that we stayed in for three nights on Buggala Island, just outside Kalangala Village.

Our view from the porch.

After my trip to East Africa, Zach finished his Peace Corps service in Uganda and visited me in Morocco. Here is a picture of Zach playing with some of the kids in my village.

The day after Zach left for Spain, the most important holiday in Morocco was celebrated. It is called Eid al-Kabir, or "The Big Celebration/Feast." Almost everybody in the country, if they have the means, purchases and sacrifices a sheep. Here is a picture of me pretending to help skin one family's sheep right after the slaughter.

I had heard of Ramadan before moving to Morocco. "It has something to do with Islam and fasting, but that's about all that I know," I would have said. This post is about Ramadan and my experience fasting.

What is Ramadan?Ramadan is the name of the ninth month of the Muslim year, when fasting is observed from "first light" until sunset. First light generally comes about an hour and a half before sunrise, which has been between 4:20 and 4:50 a.m. in my village. This means no eating, drinking, smoking or sex during daylight hours. Muslims are also expected to practice exercising personal discipline by respectfully managing anger, doing good deeds, not participating in harmful gossip, etc.

Because the Muslim calendar is based on the lunar cycle, the fast occurs eleven days earlier each year and, consequently, occurs in every season. This year, Ramadan fell in the month of August.

A little about fastingFasting is one of the five pillars of Islam. Generally speaking, the perceived benefits are (1) increasing one's spiritual strength, (2) getting closer to God and humbling oneself before Him, and (3) gaining a better understanding of the struggles experienced by people without daily access to food and clean water. There is an enormous social pressure in much of Morocco for people to fast.

Because no one can eat or drink during the day, anyone observing the fast must take their meals between sunset and the following morning. Every community and family has different routines during Ramadan; however, families will typically eat a meal called S'hor at around 3:30 in the morning (before the first call to prayer) and then go to sleep for a few hours before they start their day. Moroccans continue going to work and school (when it is in session) during Ramadan, although the hours are usually adjusted. Every day, the fourth call to prayer is at sunset and signals that it is time to break the fast with the meal called L'Ftor, or breakfast. Some families have another meal, L'Esha, that night at around 11 or 12 PM.

When in Rome…Before coming to Morocco, my closest experience to fasting was probably trying to "make weight" during middle school wrestling. For reasons that I have since forgotten, I put pressure on myself to make the 92-pound, B-team weight class every week. I'd starve myself for a day or two, do some jumping jacks in the bathroom with the hot water steaming, and hit the scales. Beyond that, I had never considered abstaining from food by choice. Of course, I've always lived in proximity of a Moe's or Mojo Burrito and I expect fasting is more difficult when you can make a quick stop on your way home to pick up a made-to-order, steaming steak burrito on a spicy chipotle wrap with lettuce, salsa, guacamole, black olives, shredded cheese, onions, sour cream, shredded cheese, black beans and jalapenos with a side of queso dip and a large Mountain Dew. Drool. Sorry, that's all you're going to hear of that.

Anyway, I decided to fast because I figured that, if there were ever a time for me to try it out, it is now--during Ramadan, while I am living in a country where over 99% of the population practices Islam. Everyone's doing it :)

Truth be told, it is probably easier fasting in my village than it would be not fasting. Few interactions are made without the question being asked, Wesh katsam? Are you fasting? Then I'm often (jokingly) asked to open my mouth and stick out my tongue, so the interrogator can examine whether or not I am appropriately dehydrated (i.e., to see if my tongue is white and dry) to check if I'm telling the truth.

Breaking fast with families in the village is a neat experience. The men will usually stand outside, patiently waiting for the first call to prayer from any mosque within earshot, in order to signal to the rest of the family that it is okay to start eating. The food prepared is different during Ramadan, as well. And it's delicious. There are tajines with vegetables and meat, which is typical, but there is also usually a combination of harira (Moroccan soup containing lentils, chickpeas, tomatoes, along with other ingredients depending on the family), dates, fruit, juice, stuffed fat-bread, shebekia (a sweet pastry soaked in honey), Moroccan salad (diced tomatoes, bell peppers and onions), fried potatoes and fish, among other dishes.

This morning, my alarm didn't wake me up, so I missed S'hor and haven't eaten since last night. No biggie, but I'm out of steam…please let me know if you have any questions about Ramadan or about my experience fasting!

I guess now that I've been in country for nearly eight months, it's time to talk a little shop.

I should start by providing some background. Like I mentioned in earlier posts, I live in small village where the majority of its income is derived from the production and sale of baskets. I don't mean to suggest that there is a lot of money coming in--only that there are no relevant income sources beyond that of basket production.

Click here to view more product photos

So, we have a village of about 300 people, whose livelihoods are largely dependent on the profits earned from the sale of these products. Before the arrival of small business development volunteers in 2006, the work routine was as follows:Families produce as many baskets as possible. Designated community member rents a pickup truck and delivers merchandise to a middleman in Marrakech. Middleman buys the products for about $0.18 - 0.38 above cost (per basket). Repeat weekly. The baskets are nice. They are made from water reed and woven every day in the homes of the artisans. However, the arrangement with the middleman in Marrakech allows only for a very low profit per basket. More than half of the profits are set aside each week to pay the $63 transport fee.

The first two volunteers identified a market for these products in the United States and established relationships with clients, who buy the baskets at fairer prices and resell them for reasonable profits. This is where I come in. At this point in my service, my focus is with this group of artisans and how I can help them to eliminate their dependence on a volunteer for exporting.

What are some of the obstacles facing the association?

Language: Despite much of Morocco being multilingual, the only language spoken in my village is Moroccan dialect, called Darija, spoken only in Morocco. Marketing: The community has no online presence; therefore, no way to be known or contacted by clients. Bookkeeping: Although some records are kept, there are no standards used to maintain consistency in order to collect meaningful data. After working with the artisans to identify these weaknesses, we determined a few projects for me to work on that would help us to address these concerns. They include:Teach English to 2-4 people to serve as customer liaisons. Update product catalog. Build a website that is free to maintain and train 1-2 artisans to maintain it. Establish standards and procedures for (1) quality control, (2) bookkeeping, (3) payment collection, and (4) international shipping. While I have secondary projects that I am also working on, these are currently my main areas of focus. Please feel free to email me with suggestions!

8:02pm. My last cup of coffee should have been hours ago, but I’ve got work that needs to be done and coffee that needs to be drunk. I’m sitting on the floor in, what I like to think of as, my living room. The door is open and the sun is long gone, although the fullish moon is giving all of the animals around my house something to talk about. You’d think they would be used to it by now (the moon, that is).

Today was a pretty good one. It started pretty normally, except for that I woke up in my sleeping bag. Since it had been raining for the last week, everything in my house felt damp, so I decided to do as my neighbors suggested and lay my blankets on my roof so that the sun could dry them out. By the time I had finished dinner with Hicham’s family, it was like 9 o’clock and I was tired. Not about to walk upstairs to grab my blankets, just so I could bring them back down and sleep under them. I was far too tired for that kind of project. I could see all of the stars, so I figured it were a safe bet that it wouldn’t rain, so I just hit the light switch and crawled into my sleeping bag. It didn’t rain.

Oh, I should probably explain why I was so tired. Yesterday morning Adam (the closest volunteer to me) and I decided to hop on our bikes and make our first (bike) trip to the beach. It was a beautiful drive. There are evergreen and palm trees in every direction. The paved road is bordered with white sand on either side and it is relatively flat. We got to the beach in about an hour, but it only took that long because we stopped so frequently to take pictures, drink water or double-check with people that we were going the right way. Anyway, it was beautiful and we made it. We had a little picnic—bread, Laughing Cow cheese, hard-boiled eggs, canned tuna, oranges, peanuts—on the rocks, with our feet hanging in the ocean. More importantly, however, when we were finished, we hopped back on our bikes and started riding along the beach. That’s when my right pedal fell (irreparably) off. We tried tying it back on with a plastic bag. A boy who was playing on the beach even lent his hand and found some rope on the beach to try to use. No such luck. So, I pedaled home with my left foot (read: I walked up the hills, and then got on my bike to ride down them). I should give Adam props here, since he lagged behind with me the whole way instead of making his way back to his village before sunset. But, anyway, that’s why I was so tired last night. The left-foot pedaling was killer.

This morning, I woke up, did my coffee and went to market. I felt like I was in the rhythm--things were going good. Got my groceries and back to site with the rest of the day to spare. It's nice that my routine is finally starting to take shape since the new volunteers just arrived and I’m going to be expected to know something about something :)

A few of you have asked the inevitable question, “What, exactly, do you do on a day-to-day basis?” It is a fair question, as well as the topic of this blog post:

Usually, my day begins with the sun peeking through the space between my bedroom door and the ceiling a little after 7 a.m. I’m not sure if it’s the sun that wakes me up, the inevitable chorus from the donkeys and roosters, or just my body’s internal clock.

Immediately, I hop out of bed, start making coffee with my one-cup percolator, and cook two eggs with onions, peppers and tomatoes. It’s more like scrambled eggs than an omelet. Next, depending on whether or not I need drinking water (usually about twice a week), I’ll walk about a mile to the outdoor faucet that I use and fill it up a 25-liter container, along with another 5-liter jug.

Next, I tend to alternate between studying Moroccan Arabic for about an hour and reading The Economist. Not much has changed with my study habits since undergrad. I have waves of motivation, usually tied to particular instances where I experience some sort of communication breakdown with somebody in my village. But my language is improving and the people with whom I communicate the most usually understand what I’m trying to say, so we’re working it out. Linguistically, it is also nice because there is such a significant French influence in the language and, although I cannot remember much of my French from high school, the French and English share so many words that sometimes I get lucky when I’m trying to communicate an idea. Words like “development” or “transport” can be substituted for their Arabic equivalents. If all else fails, I usually try to say the English word with a nasal-sounding suffix, making the “t” silent or turning the “er” into an “ay” sound. It works about 10% of the time.

Generally, on the days that I don’t study, I try to keep “up-to-date” with The Econimist. The weekly magazine is my only source of news and it usually arrives about two weeks after it was issued, so I’m perpetually about a half-month behind any kind of significant news developments, but the delay doesn’t really affect me one way or the other. When I catch wind of something big happening, like the conflicts in Egypt and Libya, or the earthquake in Japan, I go to my counterpart’s (named Hicham) house and ask if I can watch the English Al Jazeera channel.

Anyway, after my reading and/or studies, I usually do whatever housework I need to do. This usually means dishes. The dishes never end. I use the water that my counterpart’s brother, 12-year-old Ayub, brings from the well at the farming area. The locals call it the “lued” (the river). Ayub brings his family’s donkey over to my house and takes two 30-liter water containers that I bought from market to the well, fills them up, and brings them back to my house for 5 Moroccan Dirhams (MAD) a trip. It’s an expensive arrangement, but the best option that’s available, unless I wanted to fork over some major cash to have a faucet installed. I’m still trying to find out more information about this option, but my landlord seems to think that it’s not worth the trouble. The first volunteer that lived in my site had bought a donkey. The second one sold the donkey and relied on Ayub. This issue is pending.

After I do the dishes and drink another cup (or two) of coffee, I sit down at the computer that I’m borrowing from another volunteer (mine has stopped working) and try to hash out what else I need to get finished that day and/or week. This is usually determined by the weekly meetings that I have with Hicham on Sundays, per my request, to discuss what we will both be working on for the following week. It keeps us both focused and helps us to hold each other accountable. Also, it helps me to make sure that there is no question about what I’m up to on a week-to-week basis.

Anyway, on the weekdays, I usually make it up to Hicham’s house at around noon and give and/or receive any updates regarding current projects and pending orders. We usually have lunch at around 1:30 or 2 p.m. and then I leave, either to come back to my house, visit some other people in the community, or head to the nearby market town to check my PO box and go to the cyber café. I usually make it to the market town about twice a week, including when I buy groceries.

One of the other weekly consistencies is my meeting with my tutor, Hanane, in Essaouira. Every Tuesday morning, I head into town to meet with my teacher from 10 a.m. until 12 p.m. She’s great. She teaches English in my market town and is passionate about linguistics. Hanane stays on my back to get me to study and gets onto me when I don’t do my homework. Literally, just what I need. Right now she is trying to teach me to read and write in Arabic. It’s pretty challenging learning a new alphabet that, at first glance, looks hieroglyphic. The whole reading and writing from right-to-left is pretty hard to get used to as well, but I’m making progress. The challenging part about reading Arabic is that all written Arabic is MSA, or “Moroccan Standard Arabic”. Moroccan Arabic, in contrast, is dialect, which means that it is not a written language and only spoken. Therefore, I am learning to read a language that I cannot understand, but my teacher is convinced that it will help me learn the dialect, so I’m letting her take the wheel. I also plan on trying to learn Moroccan Standard Arabic after the first year or so of improving my Moroccan Arabic, known as “Darija”. For the record, MSA is also known to Moroccans as “fussha” and, along with French, is the official language of business in the country.

The other significant item on the weekly calendar is market on Saturdays and Sundays. I don’t really have a routine for my attending market (“souk”), because it really just depends on how much food I eat the week before. I usually make it at least one of the days every week. I’ll take pictures at market one of these days and post them on this blog. It will be a little more time before I’m comfortable asking the vendors if I can take pictures of their produce. (In Moroccan culture it is important to ask permission before taking pictures of anybody, especially women. And especially when they’re with their husbands.)

Okay, back to the daily routine—regardless of whether or not I stay in my community or leave for the early afternoon, I am almost always back in my house by around 6 p.m. because there is no transportation into the rural villages in my area (known as the “bled”) after sundown. The only exceptions are when I am doing something with other families, like having dinner or attending an event, such as a wedding.

Along with the taxi-drivers turning in for the night, there’s not a whole lot that goes on in the village, outside of the homes (on a typical night), after dark. Sure, people will visit each other at their homes, the men will go hang out with each other at one of the three stores (“hanut”) in the village, and so forth, but mostly people are turning in for dinner and calling it a day. Personally, I usually start cooking dinner at around 5:30, eat by around 6:30 or 7, and am in bed by around 8 or 9 p.m. Without a television, the internet, or an external hard drive with movies and TV shows, there’s not a whole lot of temptation to stay up late. I usually chip away at one of the several books that I am currently working on for about an hour and a half or two hours, and am usually asleep at around 10:30 or 11 p.m.

So that’s it. That’s a typical day in my life as a Peace Corps volunteer. Let me know if you have any questions or feedback!

Morocco has proven to be an interesting place to develop the skills necessary to live alone. I had managed to survive through four and a half years of college without really learning how to cook for myself. Fraternity meal plans and late night Taco Bell had proven sufficient. However, after I was removed from the care of my most recent host family, I was quickly struck with the realization that I would be responsible for the preparation of my own food from that point forward.

I had been tipped off by a more seasoned volunteer that fish sandwiches had kept him alive for the first few months of service. Consequently, my first purchases from the store were bread and canned sardines. They were great at first—didn’t even have to deal with propane. It probably goes without saying that it didn’t take long for that to get boring.

I also took a shot at lentils, as well as a Moroccan egg and tomato casserole. Check out these works of art:

The availability of produce has never been the issue. Every weekend, vendors from around the region bring their goods to the largest “souq”, or weekly market, in the province, which is held about 5 km from the village that I live in. Depending on the season, you can find all kinds of different fruits and vegetables. There are meat vendors, which usually stock beef, chicken, sheep, goat and turkey. There are fish vendors that bring fresh catches in from the port. You can find trees, livestock, kitchen appliances, clothes and even haircuts for sale.

Instead, the $1 million question has been: “How do you turn these vegetables into food?” At first, eggs provided a quick answer. I started sautéing vegetables in cooking oil and a combination of the spices and herbs that I own—salt, pepper, garlic, red hot pepper (essential), cinnamon, cumin, paprika, coriander and cilantro. Then I’d throw in an egg or two, stir and eat. It kept me alive.

This week I have gotten more sophisticated. One of my regionmates made some curry for my birthday and I heated some of it up and poured over rice. It was excellent. I have also substituted the scrambled eggs with macaroni noodles, which proved easy to cook in mass quantities and tide me over for a few meals. Last night, however, the boy that brings me water about twice a week showed up at my door while I was preparing my first tajine.

He laughed at me, “No, Omar. Let me show you how to cook this.” In Morocco, the house is usually considered the woman’s domain; hence, she handles almost all of the cooking, cleaning, and caring for the children. Most of the men that I have talked to about cooking, at least, claim not to know how to make anything. I was impressed with how well Ayub knew his way around the kitchen. The tagine turned out to be pretty good—cooking oil, salt and pepper, potatoes, peas, tomatoes, onions, carrots and hot peppers.

Know of any easy recipes? Feel free to send them my way :)

Yesterday, I realized that I haven't really painted much of a picture of my site for anybody that is interested. In this post, I'll try to provide a broad introduction to my new home in Morocco...

From the nearby market town, just hop in a taxi and go about 10 minutes into the countryside until you run into this small store on your right. You've made it to my village!

View of the store, from the roadThe first time that I visited my site, I was dropped off in front of this building. The first thing that I noticed was the vegetation. Argon and olive trees cover the landscape in every direction. Across the street from the local store, there is an irrigation channel that brings water to a collection of small farms, in which almost every family in the village has some ownership. The farms grow a variety of vegetables, from carrots, to turnips, onions, cauliflower, and celery, among others. Apparently in the summer, there are pomegranite trees along the perimeter of the village that bear fruit.

When you leave the main road and explore the area beyond the store, mosque and elementary school, you'll find a small network of walkways connecting different groups of homes. I have been told that there are somewhere between 200-300 people that live in the village, so I usually just go with 250. Most of the homes that I have beeninvited to visit share a similar floorplan: the metal, front door opens into an open courtyard, from which different enclosed rooms are accessible. The kitchen is usually open, although covered, and furnished with a stove, an oven, a propane gas tank, sometime a refrigerator, and the essential dishes, foods and spices. None of the 4 stores in the community sells bread, probably because there is usually at least one person in each household that knows how to make it. I might be adventurous enough to learn one of these days, but now I'm settling for buying bread for 1 Dirham per loaf (about 13 cents) whenever I go through the market town. Sorry- back to the houses...there is usually a door from the courtyard that separates the bathroom (i.e., turkish-style toilet) from the rest of the house. The other roms are usually multipurpose and are used to eat, sleep, work and entertain guests. A significant number of homes owns a satellite dish and a television. There's no monthly charge for television.

I guess this is an appropriate times to show you my house in Morocco. The first month that I was in my community, the Peace Corps arranged for me to live with a local family, as I spent my days becoming acquainted with the area and looking for a place to live for the next two years. On January 1, I moved into my new house to begin the adventure of living on my own for the first time in my life. The volunteer that finished his service in November left me a handful of necessities--a matress, a desk, 2 Moroccan sofas, and a refrigerator--so I haven't had to start from scratch, but I'm slowly acquiring all of the things that I need for a functional and relatively comfortable stay.

View of my house from the backFrom the front

Interior courtyardBathtubToilet

Desk in living room

Table and sofas in living room

My bedroom

My rooftop

View from one side of my roof

View from the other

As for as the accomodations are concerned, I have electricity, which is wonderful. The village also recently had a motorized water pump installed and many of the families had private water faucets installed. My landlord opted not to have the water faucet installed, so I typically get my drinking water from a hose that a foreign couple installed outside the gate of their enormous house, as a nice gesture to the locals whose land they built near. For cleaning/bathing water, I usually pay a boy (about twice each week) to fill up two 30-liter containers with the water from the irrigation channel and to bring them to my house with his family's donkey. The first volunteer that lived in my community actually bought a donkey so that he could be self-sufficient, but the next volnteer said that it was a lot of trouble/maintenance, so he sold it after a few months of living here.

Lastly, as far as accomodations go, it might be a blessing or a curse, but there is no internet signal or phone lines in my village; thererfore no USB modems work. And I decided against buying a TV.

One of the best qualities about the house, in my opinion, is its seclusion. Don't get me wrong, I love the people in my community. They are among some of the most welcoming I have ever met. Within minues of meeting somebody new, I am often invited into their home for the necessary "Moroccan tea" and break or cookies. Furthermore, the community is accustomed to the strange ways of Americans, as I am the third volunteer in a row that has lived here. I really couldn't ask for a friendlier group of people to call neighbors. However, it is particularly nice having the luxery of being able to seclude myself every once in a while, especially to work, study and sleep. It also has a roof with clear views in every direction.

In the homes, an overwhelming majority of the families in the community contribute to the production of handbaskets. There is an abundance of water reed in the area, as well as south of Essaouira, and the artisans in the village dry out, dye, and weave the baskets into wonderful products. The sale of these baskets account for almost all of the income realized by the villagers and, consequently, the manufacturing of these baskets is constant. As a Small Business Development volunteer, my work with these artisans will focus on finding new markets for their products, as well as developing sustainable techniques for connecting potential/interested clients with the community.

This was quite a fiasco. The night of our site announcements, the Peace Corps staff hired a band and a wedding coordinator to organize a mock wedding. The language teachers, all of which are native Moroccans, wanted to share a little bit of their culture with us, as well as have a little fun before they sent us on our way to visit our new homes. My friend, Kelsea, and I were sent off to get suited by the wedding organizer.

While we were getting ready, we heard the music begin:

Our seats were prepared:



We prepared to make the grand entrance, so we assumed a traditional position by holding the tops of our heads together. I couldn't help myself from laughing hysterically because of the unfamiliar pose, so we settled for holding hands as we entered:



Some people brought their traditional wedding/party clothes from home:

I rocked the white Djellaba the whole night. Kelsea switched things up a little bit:

The following pictures are from a Marisa's blog, another volunteer in my stage:



If you want it, then you should have put a ring on it :)

Hey there! Where have you been? It's been a while since we've talked. And I miss you :)

Sorry about the recent holdup with the blog. I also appreciate those of you (a.k.a., mom) that have stayed on my back about posting, because I seriously want to stay connected this way. If you will remember in one of my more recent updates, I made the public commitment to start posting shorter updates more frequently, which was soon followed by a month or so of digital silence, so bear with me through this one as I get the wheels turning again and hopefully I can find a routine in the next month or so.

Let's shoot back to the end of October, during training. It was around Halloween and all of the volunteers left their respective Community Based Training (CBT) sites to meet up at our Hub town. This is the place which is where we would all meet so that the Peace Corps staff could make us sit through presentation after presentation about a variety of exhilarating topics, such as health, safety, business development strategies, etc., etc. So many presentations. Anyway, we all met up at Hub for site announcements (when all of the Trainees are given information about where they will be living for the next two years of service). It was a big event for us, as you can probably imagine.

Despite the fact that over 99% of the Moroccan population is Muslim, there is a lot of variety between different regions in the country, as well as within each region, and volunteers are placed in many of them. The populations can range from 200,000-people metropolises to villages that consist of only a few hundred people. A volunteer can find himself in the high Atlas mountain, where snow is frequent and winters harsh, the eastern deserts that border Algeria, or the particularly "conservative" south, where many of the women remain completely covered, with only their eyes exposed from their veils, despite the 130-degree summer days. Of course, for sensational purposes, I'm listing the extreme possibilities, when most sites fall somewhere in between, but the extremes tend to be on your mind when you're about to be told where you'll be living and what you might be doing for the next two years.

In the weeks leading up to site placements, the Peace Corps staff interviews each volunteer several times, trying to see what his or her preferences are before placing them. I had my first interview and said that I'd go anywhere and do anything. Then I started getting anxious and thinking I was going to be placed in some forgotten desert with the nearest American being a 20-hour camel ride in any direction (there aren't any sites where this is the case). So I went back after the interviews were finished and told them, "Please don't put me anywhere where I can't get to another volunteer within about 5 or 6 hours." I didn't realize that Morocco has the second most volunteers of any county that hosts PCVs, and that there are few places where anyone experiences that degree of isolation. Regardless, I was concerned about being in a town where nobody spoke English, my Darija (Moroccan Arabic dialect) being spotty at best, and not being able to get to another American within a reasonable amount of time. Not sure if I was prepared to handle that kind of isolation, so I wanted to be clear.

By the time of my second interview, I had learned that there were not many sites where I would encounter the degree of separation that concerned me. I had also learned a little more about life in a small city. I asked for a rural site. I wasn't sure, but I expected that there could be something special about a place where everyone knows and cares for each other. I thought it would provide more opportunities to develop relationships with members of the community, as I would inevitably encounter many of them on a daily basis. Additionally, as a small business developer, I felt that I was more comfortable working with a small group of artisans to help them to develop their enterprise, as opposed to a larger organization where my role might already be largely determined.

Anyway, the night of site announcements was one of the most exciting ones that I've had in a while. The PC staff called us up, one by one, to tell us of the name of our site, give us a packet of information, and show us where we were on the map. I didn't know one site from the other, as I'm still lagging in the geographic knowledge of Morocco department. But when they called my name, I paused and watched my program director as he put the marker right next to THE BEACH BABAYYYYYY. Sweet. After I settled down and took the time to read through my information packet, I learned that I would be living in a small village of about 250-300 people on the outskirts of a historic beach town called Essaouira.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3b/Ramparts_of_Essaouira.JPG/800px-Ramparts_of_Essaouira.JPG I would have called it a night after site announcements, but our Language Instructors (all native Moroccans and from different parts of the country) wanted to have a "mock wedding" for all of the Trainees, as a way to expose us to an important cultural, Moroccan event and to have a little fun with us before they sent us on our way. The Trainees selected me and one of my friends, Kelsea, to get married. I'll post the pictures as soon as my friends get them to me....

Last week, I went to visit around 16 of our fellow Small Business Development trainees in a small town that is about a 2 and a half-hour taxi ride from our training site. Cheryl and Justin, two other trainees that are in my site, came with me and we stayed for the night.

On Saturday night, we had enchiladas that were made by a Peace Corps Volunteer that is currently stationed in the village of about 300 residents. The following Sunday, we hiked up a nearby mountain. It was beautiful. Here are some pics from the trip (that were taken by Cheryl and Justin):

A few of us heading off to tackle the mountain

Last Monday, my host family decided to have some people over for dinner. I got home from class and noticed that my room had been cleaned while I was away. It was spotless. I mentioned in an earlier post that my host family had given me the nicest room in the house; therefore, that was the room where they were planning on hosting the guests. As usual, it started out with mint tea. Along with tea, Aisha (my host-mother) served cake, bead, dates, nuts and homemade bread.

Dinner started off with a salad, which was prepared beautifully and separated into sections: bell peppers and tomatoes, beets, cucumbers and onions, and rice with sauce. The second course two baked chickens served on a thick sauce of vegetables and (I think) ground meat. The third course was beef that had been cooked with prunes. Finally, we had fruit for desert: melon, pomegranite, bananas, grapes and apples. It was a delicioius meal.



Ahmed, Cheryl, Buchera, Josh, Heeba, Yusif & Aisha in my room after dinner

I was kind of proud of myself for making it through the whole night without committing any serious cultural fopah. Of course, as has always been the case, it was only a matter of time. The following night, my host family served leftovers for dinner. I was completely satisfied. Actually, let me back up...I don't know if I have mentioned this yet, but all of the meals in Morocco are served on a communal dish. Everybody eats from the same plate and only uses silverware occasionally for some dishes. And I mention this because I want you to understand that, for the month that I've been with my family, whenever my family prepares anything that they want me to eat, they put it in front of me on the plate. Anyway, halfway through the dinner, my host-mother got up to get something from the kitchen. She came back with a spoonful of what I recognized as either fat or intestines and a piece of a larger organ. "Kul, Omar, Kul!" my host-mother said as she placed the food on my side of the plate, "Eat, Omar, Eat!"



 Hussein (host-father), Josh, Big Yusif, Mounir & Little Yusif

 The organ was a little bigger than bitesize, so I picked it up like it was a big piece of popcorn and tossed it in my mouth. "No, Omar!" everybody at the family said at the same time. I'm not sure what the family's intentions was for the organ, which I have since learned was a part of a goat's heart, but I do know that such organs are considered a special treat since (usually) the only time that a family has them is when they slaughter the entire animal, which is obviously very expensive. They were either planning on sharing the organ with the entire family, or they wanted me to eat it slowly so that I could enjoy the delicacy. That being said, I did enjoy the taste of it; however, I literally thought that I was going to cry because I felt so bad for basically swallowing the thing whole, like a insensitive barbarian. The Peace Corps does a really good job preparing the families for Americans that have no idea how to do anything in the new country, so I don't think it surprised them too much. After dinner, my family laughed at me for feeling so bad about it, but I defiintely learned a lesson about sharing at the dinner table!

Justin ("Yasin") and I having tea in my host parents' home

"You are big." I couldn't understand him at first. My 17-year-old host brother had recently started to study English and he was trying out one of his newest phrases. "You are big," he repeated. Dangit.

The eating habits of the Moroccans (at least, the ones that I know) are very unfamiliar to me. Dinner is usually served in my house around 9:30 - 10:30pm, but the family will not eat until everybody is present. (This practice definitely reflects the importance of family to the culture.) Last night, my host mother (named Aisha) wasn't at home when I decided to go to bed at around 10:30. Two hours later, I hear my Moroccan name being called, "Omar....Omar." I woke up from a NyQuil-induced slumber and stepped out of my room, only to find the whole family sitting at the dinner table waiting on me to begin eating. I joined them for a little couscous, told them that I was full, thanked God (a social grace), and returned to bed.

View from the roof at my Language Facilitator's home

This morning, as usual, I woke up around 4:45, right after the lights in the living room were turned on. My host family had woken up to begin the day with formal prayer. It is the law for anybody that is born in Morocco to be Muslim; however, certain practices are only mandated in order to be a True Believers of Islam. Among other necessary beliefs and habits, "True Believers" observe formal prayer 5 times every day, so that they can always be reminded of God, or Allah. The prayers are timed to be (1) before dawn, around 4:40 - 5:30, depending on the time of sunrise, (2) at noon, (3) in the afternoon, (4) at sunset, and (5) in the evening. The entire community is reminded of these daily prayers by the "Call to Prayer," which is a played from the Mosques throughout the city on loudspeakers.

At the top of a mountain in my training site

My training group after a trip to the Souk (weekly market)

Hey everybody! Thanks for your continued interest and I'm sorry that it has been so long since my last post. I appreciate the pressure that some of you have been giving me to send updates.

I am going to start making more frequent, let shorter updates, Inshallah ("God-willing"). Sometimes, I'll probably just post a picture or two. Let me know if you have any questions about anything that I write and feel free to send me requests/feedback. Thank you so much for your interest and support!

Hey everybody- thanks for your patience, as I have not been able to post since I arrived in Morocco on the 15th. My training class of 68 volunteers spent the first four nights in a coastal town right outside of Rabat, where we were booked all day with icebreaking activities, policy seminars, language lessons, vaccinations, and introductions to our programs (I'm volunteering with the Small Business Development Program). At the end of each day, we put on our swimming trunks and fought the waves. A few of the volunteers brought their surfboards. I started referring to these first few days as "Camp Peace Corps"....it reminded me of the first week of college when none of the teachers take attendance and everybody just takes it easy.

During orientation, we had to follow the rules, which really only consisted of being back at the hostel/hotel after sundown. Not too bad. All of the volunteers were also escorted by the local police whenever they left the premises. I don't feel like the protection was necessary at all, but we were all new to the area and neither the Peace Corps, nor the Moroccan officials, wanted to push their luck with a swarm of excited Americans coming into a small village town.

After the first four days, the Small Business Development (SBD) volnteers and the Youth Development (YD) volunteers were separated and went to their respective "hub towns." I was 1 of 6 volunteers that were placed in a small town about 4 hours outside of Rabat (in the Atlas region). Each of the volunteers were assigned to separate host families, where we will be living for the next 2 months during Community Based Training (CBT), until we are assigned our permanent sites at the end of November. During this time, I'll pretty much be a slave to training. Intensive language, cross-cultural, and technical trianing, that will be going on from 8am until 6pm every day, except Sundays.

Now that I've given you the background, let me tell you about life in Morocco, as I know it so far. First of all, I have seriously never been hosted by such generous and hospitable people. My host family consists of the man of the house (a farmer), his wife, 3 sons, and 2 daughters. The oldest son and both of the daughters, if I understand correctly, are attending universities around the country. Mohammed, the oldest son, is studying military functions in a city that is a few hours away; however, I'm not sure what the daughters are up to. The other two sons, Mournir and Yiseph, are 17 and 7 years old, respectively. There literally could not be a thicker language barrier. Both of my parents, I believe, only speak Moroccan Arabic, or darija, and I have only taken 4 days of classes. I'm having trouble remembering the vocabulary, since a lot of Arabic sounds are those that I've never used in conversation, but I'm making progress...and have nailed certain phrases like "I cannot eat any more, praise be to God" and "Where is the toilet?"

Speaking of toilets, I cannot write my first blog post without talking about the differences in the bathrooms. With a few exceptions, almost everybody in Morocco has "Turkish Toilets" in their bathroom. I'll let an expert do the explaining: How to Use a Turkish Toilet

Anyway, the hospitality in Morocco is something like I have never experienced before. I had heard that it was remarkable, but I could have never imagined the generousity and curtosey with which my host family treats me. It is Peace Corps policy for the volunteers to have his/her own room when living with host families, but there is no requirement that they offer the nicest room to the volunteer. When I arrived to the Rrajis' house, they already had my room picked out and prepared for me. All of the members of my family sleep are the carpet, either in the living room or one of the other two bedrooms in the house. My room has a cushioned bench along the perimeter of the room, on which I sleep every night. When I wake up every morning and open the door to my bedroom, my host father (who I cannot speak with) meets me, smiling, at door, points to his flipflops so that I will put them on, directs me to the bathroom, then to the sink for me to wash my hands, gives me a towel, and pulls up a cushion at the table so that I can join him and his wife for an early breakfast. They are usually aready awake, because they are a Muslum familiy and the Qur'an calls for five prayers at certain times each day, one of which is at 4:30 or 5:30 in the morning.

We eat breakfast in the morning, then I go to class. We have "tea break" at around 10:30, which may consist of any combination of the following: water, tea, coffee, bread with olive oil, butter, and jam, fruit, yogurt, cheese, crepes, and a few other things that I haven't quite figured out what they are. But it's all great. After the "tea break," we have lunch at 1ish, another break around 4, a snack when I get him in the evening, and then dinner at around 10 or 10:30pm. Right after dinner, it's bedtime.

Food is a huge part of Moroccan culture. For what I can tell, one of the most important things, along with religion and family. It is almost impossible to escape a Moroccan's hospitality and, if you are a guest at somebody's house, you will almost certainly eat more than you want. I was joking with everybody before I left that I was about to start the "Peace Corps Diet," so I wasn't going to worrying about eating healthy anymore. Well, it looks like that plan backfired.

Anyway, I've gotta run. Thank you for your comments and for staying on me about posting. I'll do my best to do it more frequently, now that I will be stationary for the next couple of months. Please let me know if you're curious about anything in particular to help me focus my journal topics! Blassama!

This is the last pre-service post that I will bore you with, but I feel like it's a necessary one. Especially in the last few weeks leading up to my departure, I have really been so thankful for my friends and family that have made the move an easier and more enjoyable one for me.

I had intended on writing individual "thank you" notes to so many of you, but all of the craziness leading up to my Pre-Service Training (PST) simply hasn't allowed it. Instead, I want to take this opportunity to thank many of you for your time and support.

Just because it's my nature, there is no way that I will remember everybody. If you notice that I have forgotten anybody (even if it's you!), please let me know so I can add you/them to this post.

I want to thank...

Allan Adams (Georgia Small Business Development Center Network) for helping me to become familiar with some best practices in the field of small business development and for your offer to share some of your resources and expertise while I am abroad.

Alysse Whatley, Heather Davis, Mary Kate Hoban & Leah Wadkins for letting me (and special guest shacker, Jonathan Lee) crash at your apartment for nearly a week while I was visiting Athens.

Anne Thomspon for having me to dinner with your family and connecting me to Emily Mettler so she could talk me through the volunteer experience.

Betsy Respess for having me to your home for dinner and giving me the opportunity to meet you, as well as to catch up with the rest of the family.

Brad Weldon, Chandler Amerson, Nick Ragaller & Dyer Kennedy for hosting a fratstar reunion weekend in Atlanta so I could have the opportunity to see everybody one more time before I head off.

Carlyn Voges (Momma) for EVERYTHING. Seriously. I would not have been able to make this happen without you.

Delene Porter (Athens Area Community Foundation) for your constant support, which includes (but is definitely not limited to) the letter of recommendation that you sent to the Peace Corps :)

Donna Williams (Live Urban Ventures) for holding my hand through the outrageous Peace Corps application process, for being a respectful and fun "boss" and coworker throughout the last 9 months, and for the Rock Creek gift card that my mom just handed over.

John, Mufti, Jeb, Anna Carroll & Ellis Phillips for so much that I don't know where to start...for hosting such a fun "going-away" party at your house a couple of weeks ago, for routinely coming up jobs for me to do so you would have a reason to give me some "spending money," for being such loving and unwavering friends, both to my mom and me...you and I both know that I could go on and on.

Emily Mettler (Peace Corps Volunteer - Ethiopia) for being so patient with my anxiety-driven line of questioning about your personal Peace Corps experience, as well as for being so thorough and honest with your answers.

Eric Bonaparte (Georgia Small Business Development Center Network) for hleping me to become familiar with some best practices in the field of small business development and for your offer to share some of your resources and expertise while I am abroad.

Harry & Lucy Powell for being so supportive of me throughout the Peace Corps application process, for offering me advice about the sale of my truck, for letting me borrow your car to take on a road trip to Athens and Charlotte, and for buying me the hiking backpack that I will be using while I volunteer in Morocco.

Jennifer Kilcrease for motivating me to keep a blog! And for taking Kevin, Garrett, and me out to lunch so that we could all get together one last time before I head out to Africa!

Joe McKnight for your willingness to share some of your international traveling experiences and advice with me, for sending me a list of recommended books, and for connecting me with some of your friends that are also volunteering in Africa.

Joseph Staub for giving me a copy of Lonely Planet's Morocco Country Guide. It's been great helping me get a better understanding of the country's history and culture, as well as helped me come up with a list of things I want to be sure and do while I'm living there.

Kaitlyn Dennihy for organizing the amazing "going-away" dinner party at Twist in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago.

Larry Walton (2 Messed Up in Athens) for your continual support and help with everything. 'Nuff said :)

Mark, Priscilla & Larkin McLaughlin for inviting me over to your house for an amaaazzinnnggg "going-away" dinner. Pork tenderloin, asperagus, garlic mashed potatoes, Butter-me-Nots and cookies....I'm going to be missing that kind of cooking while I'm away!

Meg Amstutz for writing one of my letters of recommendation for my Peace Corps application, for connecting me with Mr. Allan Adams and Eric Bonaparte in the Georgia SBDC Network, and, most of all, for your consistent guidance and encouragement.

Morgan Dorsey for helping to organize the "going away dinner" in Atlanta, for writing my peer recommendation for my Peace Corps application and, more than anything, for being such a supportive, real friend.

Rebecca Corey (Rotary Ambassador to East Africa) for convincing me to apply to volunteer with the Peace Corps, for being supportive throughout the process, for teaching me how to blog and for being such a good friend. I love you and I hope you start feeling better soon!

Tom LePage (Chalmers Center for Economic Development at Covenant College) for meeting with me to discuss the challenges of working with small businesses in developing countries, as well as for sharing so many of your materials and resources with me on the topic of micro-finance.

First of all, if you've made it this far, I want to thank you for reading.

I've been playing around with the idea of blogging for a couple of years now and have even given it a few failed attempts, boasting titles like "Josh's Misguided Wanderings" and "Contemplations of a Hurricane," but few of them were ever published for longer than a week because I kept running into the same problems...a lack of content and motivation, no point of focus, and so on.

When I learned that I will be moving to Morocco for the next 27 months, I decided that if there were ever a time for me to maintain some version of an online journal, then this is it. My main goal is to keep in touch with all of my friends and family on the home front. A non-intrusive way to update those of you that are interested, while staying out of your inboxes and Facebook feeds.

Baby Josh checking on the crops...

Stephenson, AL

I also hope that this little exercise provides me with some accountability that will force me to document my experiences while I am in Africa. In every personal goal and resolution list that I have come up with since I graduated high school, I have told myself that I am going to start journaling. To date, this post represents the most progress (by far) that I have made toward realizing this goal. Depending on my access to the internet, I will try to post to this blog at least once every two weeks. Hopefully more often than that. If you haven't heard from me in a while, I encourage you to put your proverbial knee in my back. Sometimes that is all it takes.

Please stay in touch by commenting on these posts with your questions, reactions, suggestions, advice, harassing remarks, embarrassing stories (that won't prevent me from getting a job in 2012), links to new Lil' Wayne singles, and whatever else might tickle your fancy that you think might help me feel somewhat connected and will keep me on my toes. If there is something that I write about that interests you, let me know that you want to hear more about it. If I'm boring you to tears, as a modern poet recently wrote, "cry me a river" (in the comment box).