You can't trust vampires, trust me.

I have a confession, I am addicted to Twilight. Yes, I know. Most of you who know me even remotely well will remember my lack of interest in fiction. Despite the occasional Harry Potter and a class assignment or two, I have never really been into fiction. I think part of it had to do with the fact that I didn't have a lot of time to read, and if I was going to ready, I wanted it to be something I could learn from.

Things changed pretty drastically when I moved to Morocco. I was suddenly presented with a great deal of free time. After finding the first movie in my DVD case and remembering the mania around the sorority house and from my 15 year old sister, I watched it. Then I got hooked.

I found the first two books and went to work. Man, I blew through them in 1 day each. Thankfully (luckily) I was headed up to Rabat and the Peace Corps library just days after finishing the first two to pick up the last two. Turns out the PC library had them both and I got to work.

It took me another day to get through Eclipse and another day and half to get through the 700 page Breaking Dawn.

I can't really explain what it is about them, and like lots of things about me, I have been getting a lot of grief for getting into them, but they were hard to put down. Something about the way Stephanie Meyer does such a great job portraying emotions that are so easy to relate to.

At first I was ashamed of this little minor addiction I had developed, but I guess my self-confidence has taken so many hits since moving to Morocco, this is nothing. No longer am I ashamed. I have watched the first two movies and just finished downloading lucky number 3, so that will be my after-dark activity for the day!

For all you haters, don't hate. Morocco really has been quite a test and I guess reading some good fiction now and then won't hurt me. I promise to be back to non-fiction when I get back to the good ole USA.

Also, I am very strongly and passionately on Team Edward. Sorry Maddy.

Let's have a ball, its my favorite season, FALL!

Yes friends, I love fall. That really is no surprise to those who know me well but its just something about this wonderful season that makes my heart happy. Its probably the changing leaves, the "fall" smell, the football games, tailgating, pumpkin picking, haunted houses and general good feelings that liquid pumpkin pie (aka Pumpkin Spice Latte) from Starbucks brings.

I wanted to use this post as a reminder of just one of the many things I miss about America. Many of my PCV friends speak poorly of my great home state of Missouri, but I think its just because they have never been to a Cardinal's baseball game, spent time in the Ozark mountains or tailgated a Mizzou victory at Reactor Field. Most of all, they haven't witnessed the amazing beauty that is Missouri in the fall, when all of the leaves change from their green color to portray how happy they are that the weather is finally cooling down. I can't even explain the beautiful rainbow like colors I used to see driving down I-70 back to Columbia.

I hope all of you in the great state of Missouri are enjoying this fall season, filled with tailgating, cold beer and HOMECOMING.

I am trying to make my house feel a little more "fall-ish" by putting up some Missouri Conservationist photos and coloring a pumpkin, but its just not doing the trick. I think the lack of trees and the heat is adding to that. After all we are nearing the beginning of October and its still hovering in the 90's.

All-in-all, I have MANY more falls left in America, but only one more in Morocco, I guess I can handle the heat and lack of trees for just a while longer :)

Love you all.


The Missouri River at Eagle Bluff's Conservation area.


My sister and dad playing beerpong at the Mizzou/ Illinois Tailgate.

I don't have Discovery, but I am still watching Animal Planet.

Okay, I am slightly bitter that the Discovery Channel is not included in my 150+ channel satellite dish on top of my rock house in southern Morocco. I LOVE the Discovery Channel and the closest thing I have is an arabic version of National Geographic. While I cannot understand a single thing on it, I watch it because I know they are talking about something nerdy cool. This is my new life :)

Don't worry though, I am still learning a lot about animals and their behavior. My house has turned into Animal Planet.

For some background, my house is made of rocks, stacked on top of each other and the covered in cement. The house I live in was built probably 40 years ago and has developed many cracks as the rocks have settled. Every time a new crack appears, they just throw some more cement on top of it and call it a day. While it does get rid of the apparent crack, it does a terrible job of keeping out the bugs.

My bug issues vary daily based on rainfall, temperature and whether or not I swept the floor or not. Most of the time there are just a stream of tiny bitting ants in my living room and some more gigantic ants searching my floor for food to bring back to their queen. For a while the gigantic ants were collecting random things from my floor and bringing them to a small place behind the door in my bathroom. If I went a way for a few days and came back, they would have made a nice pile and I would wash it away, killing all their hard work. I felt a little bad about it. Then again, the tiny ants did eat an entire box of Good and Plenty that was high up on a shelf in my kitchen. Yep, the whole box. All that was left was tiny crumbs of black licorice.

For a while I had a wasp clan living in my skylight. At first I allowed them to co-exist with me in harmony because, after all, it was hot and they were just looking for shade. When they stung one of my favorite village children, they had to go. I covered the skylight and they were gone.

I only found 2 scorpions in my house, thank God, and they both died. There was no negogiation there.

Recently the giant ants have started to collect bugs and gang up on them. Every once in a while I will notice a group of ants all mauling a poor bug to death.

Since moving to Morocco, I have learned first hand a great deal about bugs, whether I wanted to or not.

The truth is that bugs are just a reality of the place I live and I guess it could be a lot worse. I am just happy they provide me some entertainment :)



Some poor bug getting malled to death by gigantic ants.


This bird that is stuck in my house.....

Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn. -Harriet Beecher Stow

I thought this was a great quote to start out my apology for not having posted on this blog for about a month. It hasn't been from a lack excitement or insanity in my life, but rather a lack of general good feelings on my part.

Just as all things in life, my Peace Corps moods follow pretty dramatic cycles. This past month my mood has not been as strong and resiliant as I would have liked, despite my anger with it. I didn't feel that it was either appropriate or smart to post until I felt fully confident that I was on the up and up. So here we are.

I hope the excessive posts I am making now covers up for your lack of exciting reading into my insane Peace Corps life this past month.

I love you all thanks for your understanding.

For your patience and understanding I will share with you a story.

During the high of Ramadan I 'suited' up, in my long sleeved sweater, long pants and Chacos to head up the hill into the market so I could check my mail. To my suprise my fellow Missouri Tiger and Peace Corps volunteer currently serving in Madagascar sent me a snail mail letter. Ironically enough Madagascar is in Africa, whereas America is not, and yet letters from Madagascar take about a month and letters from America take half that time. I know its crazy. I grabbed my letter, exchanged pleasantries with the post man and security guard and then headed back to my house, leaving the market area as quickly as possible.

On my walk down the hill, I noticed three men in the middle of the rocky hill, just squatting. Trying to convince myself that surely the men in village would not be doing what I thought they were doing, I just listened to my GLEE soundtrack and kept my head down. With one ear bud out of my ear (to listen for the ocassional name call and avoid being rude) I heard a sound I just didn't think I would ever have to hear outside, yes, I heard a fart and then a groan. Turns out the men on the rock hill who were squatting were actually taking a poop.

I can see the shock on your face right now as you read this, because it was the exact same look on my face that fateful August day. I had always been slightly biased against many of the men in my village who spend their days lounging around and harassing women, but this was the final straw. Mind you, my village is not without toilets (like some Moroccan villages), it just appears that these market dwelling men did not want to make the journey back to their respective homes for their bowel movements.

I have become much more comfortable with poop related discussions since joining the Peace Corps and I apologize if those of you back in America are uncomfortable with poop chatter, but I thought the story was worth telling.

In the defense of the men (if this is even possible), Morocco is not well known for its public restrooms and there are absolutely no restrooms in the market area but I really just didn't expect to see the poop squat so out in the open.

This is just another of the many thousands of cultural adjustments Peace Corps volunteers all over the world face every day. I am just glad I could share it with you.



The poop filled rock area next to Souk.

Perspective

So I have been in country for 6 months, today. I just wanted to take this time and thank everyone who has written a card, mailed a package, sent an email, posted on my facebook wall or SKYPE chatted with me, it means more than you know. One of the greatest parts of the Peace Corps is the ability to share a little bit of America, the country I love so much, with the people of Morocco and getting share a little bit of Morocco, the place I am growing to love, with my friends and family in America.

Life over here can be overwhelming, chaotic and its easy to get caught up in this new and sometimes insane Moroccan reality. Getting a letter or reading an email about life at "home" can really bring into perspective my life here. It is quite easy to get wrapped up in this new culture, new language, new religion and entirely new way of life. Having contact with my "American" reality is imperative to my mental sanity and my ability to do good work over here. Frankly, I crave the old reality as a sense of normalcy in a world of chaos. It is very difficult to be the weird kid all of the time, its nice to know that there is a place where my food, dress and behavior make sense (well, sort of) :).

Thanks again for your perspective, it really does mean more than you know.

With great love.
-Cara

Oh Ramadan

So I have been trying to craft a post about Ramadan for a few weeks but I haven't been able to craft something good yet. This photo should hold you over.

This photo was taken at the Rabat McDonalds by Kate Tsunoda.

The sign says Happy Ramadan but I thought it was such a great collision of cultures. The western, capitalist, franchise of McDonalds and the celebration of the most holy month in Islam.

Enjoy.

On being misgene.

So there is a Moroccan Arabic term that will prove necessary for this next blog post, misgene (mesk-g-eene). This term loosley means "you poor pitiful thing". It is used to identify sad and gross looking cats and now I using it to identify myself. I was not the greatest of fashinoistas in America but given the right amount of assistance and some time, I could clean up quite nicely. I didn't realize I would loose this quality so quickly after moving to Morocco.

My shirts are developing holes, my pants are loosing their structure and my jeans are just a little too faded and baggy to be considered nice. When I came to Morocco I brought pretty quality clothing that was certanly free of holes and stains, I am afraid that my dear old clothes just haven't been as resiliant in this Moroccan climate as I would have liked. My FAVORITE JCrew shirt recently developed two holes in the arm and when Jessie pointed it out, I almost started crying because we were at church which is a rare ocassion and this was my "nice" shirt that I had brought to attend.

I believe that hand washing is really hard for clothing. I know that normally you only hand wash delicates but I have been hand washing everything I own for 6 months now and my clothes are not looking "delicate". I am also constantly suprised at how dirty the water is after just washing a few things. I guess that the rocks, dirt and sand of my region just accumulate on my clothing and I just dont even notice until its time to wash them. I could go weeks in American with one pair of jeans and then when I washed them, the water didn't instantly turn brown. I suppose the combination of rough climactic conditions, hand washing and hanging them out to dry has just challenged my clothing to a level most Americans dont ask their clothing to go.

I give you this preface so that you can better understand why I feel misgene most all of the time. When I first got to site I had only been in country 2 months and my clothes were looking fine. 80%. I used to put on coordinated things and only wear newly washing clothes, but those days quickly faded. It is nearly impossible to wear recently washed things all of the time strictly because of the amount of time it takes to wash and dry my clothes. The matching quickly ended when I realized no one else in my village cared if I was wearing black pants and a dark blue sweater. About 3 months into living in my village we had a big festival. Many very beautiful and put together women and men from big cities like Rabat, Casablanca and Marrakech came down to celebrate with us, and that is when I knew I had reached a critical point.

I walked into a room with about 10 or so very put together Moroccan women from the big city since there were rumors that some of them spoke English. Immedately after walking in they began asking me (in English) when I moved to my village. I told them I had lived in country 5 months and in Ait Erkha for only 3. The next statements were what shocked me and cemented my idea that I was quickly becoming misgene. The women asked me if I dressed like this in America then if I would like to go with some of them to Rabat or Casablanca to pick out some nice clothes to wear. The saddest part was that I was wearing my "nicer" outfit since I knew we were having company. Oh man.

I always feared that the day would come when I would turn into a Peace Corps hippie or a "dirty bleed kid" as Jancy so fondly refers to us, but I just didn't think it would happen so soon. After all I am only 1/4 of the way into my service, I still have another year and a half to go.

Fearing that I was the only new volunteer feeling misgene, I chatted with some of my fellow PCVs to get their perspectives. Turns out pretty much everyone is feeling the exact same way. I never envisioned the day would come when I would feel underdressed for Rabat or have trouble sleeping at night thinking about what I brought that I could possibly wear out when I am in Israel.

For the most part, my misgene-ness doesn't affect my job performance and if anything, allows me to stand out less (if that is possible) in my region. I had little issue with it, since my self-confidence has been knocked down so many times already in this country, until we started planning this trip to Israel. I had no idea that my attire would be the thing stressing me out most about Israel. I have this great fear that we will get to a bar/ club in downtown Tel Aviv and the man at the door with see through my facad and identify the "dirty bleed kid" inside of me and not let me in. For now I am pulling out clothes that don't have holes, borrowing clothes from fellow volunteers and just praying that a hot shower and some makeup will be good enough to fool everyone in Israel.

Also I have had my first shirt fatality. I feared this day would come. My dear yellow tee shirt, purchased for $4 at an outlet mall in Charleston has reminants of chocolate ice cream, too many holes to count and has lost all of its structure. I still wear it when I am in my house but it was been taken out of comission for all future trips. I am sad because this shirt was a favorite but after much encouragement from some friends and a harsh look in the mirror, I must retire it. This is certanly saying something if a shirt is TOO misgene to wear outside.

I share this personal story with you, not so that you can feel like you need to send me clothes to make me not misgene, the lack of showers, excessive dirt and the absense of makeup are doing a good enough job of that, even with nice clothes. I just want you to understand and empathize so that when I get off the plane, either for a visit home or at the end of my service, you do not look at me and cringe. You can look at me with empathy and then accompany me to the nearest store where I will slowly begin the long process of learning how to not be misgene again.

Food

Life has really taken me to some crazy places recently, mostly it is my emotions doing the driving, but none the less it has been a roller coaster. As expected, some days I am so in love with this country, with its traditions and culture, other days I cannot bear the thought of going to souk and being harassed just one more day. This roller coaster of emotions was expected for sure, but it caused me to really think introspectively about who I am, why I am doing this and things I need to improve in my own life.

The greatest thing I have learned in the last 6 months has been my body's relationship to food and how food effects my well being, sense of self and mood. For the first 4 months in country, my food was dictated entirely by someone else. Whether it was my host family or the lack of restruant choices, I never really felt like I was eating what I wanted or at a time I deemed approiate. My host family during training was very poor so our diet consisted mostly of heavy starches, rices, pastas and other grains that were easy and cheap to purchase in quantity. At our school we ate mostly sweets and delicious desserts. (As a side note our cook was truly incrediable and cooked us some of the most delicious cakes and other sweets for our snack times). During those first 2 months, we were eating about every 2 hours the entire day.

When I moved into my final village my family was much more affulent and we ate meat nearly exclusively. I have always been werid about meat in teh states, I am not a strict vegitarian but given a non-meat option, I generally choose that. My host sister would cook a meat tajine (comproable to meat stew or a pot roast) for lunch and again for dinner. After 6 weeks I finally had to dictate a less heavy dinner option since we were eating around midnight every night and heavy carbs and proteins do not digest easily while sleeping.

The main thing I noticed during that time was how severly my mood and self-confidence were affected by the food I was eating. Whether it was too much, not enough, too fatty, too sweet, all of these variations caused swings in my mood that I was unable to control.

Living in America I did not spend a great deal of time contemplating my food choices and spent the better part of senior year of college about 8lbs heaver than I wanted to be thanks to the cheap beer, midnight El Rancho and hotdog stand trips nearly every night. I guess I just never realized how eating better could make me feel better.

After I went through my first 4 months in country with little control over my food and loosing control over my mood, I moved into heaven, my own apartment. This is where the real Moroccan adventure of self-discovery happened. I have spent the last two months learning to cook, I mean really learning to cook. Not combining packets of ingredients with water and creating meals, I have begun using the most basic of ingredients to cook delicious and mood saving food.

Food in Morocco is much easier to get ahold of than in a lot of other Peace Corps countries. I have daily access to most seasonal fruits and vegitables and weekly access to a greater variety and quality of those same fruits and vegitables. If I am feeling like making the trip into the "big" city, I can head into Tiznit, and for a price, locate more varietys of imported goodies. We also have a pretty nice "super market" in Tiznit where I have access to things like cheese, ground beef, cereals, canned goods and other imported items. The one thing that Morocco does not have is access to a lot of boxed and bagged items that are easy to cook. There are no Lean Cuisines, TV dinners, mixes that only require water, canned EVERYTHING, ect that we have access to in America. This has been one of the greatest gifts that Morocco has given me.

The reason I love this so much is because I am lazy, like lots of other people. Given an option, I would rather it take 20 minutes to prepare my meal than an hour. This is just a fact. In Morocco I have access to tons of time and no "easy" option, therefore forcing me to learn to cook. I have discovered new veggies (beets), learned to cook things truly from scratch and focused on eating less oils, fats and sugars while indulging on more healthy choices.

As it turns out, all of the doctors, nutritionists and my parents were right. Eating healthier really makes me feel better. I guess I had never realized how good I could feel eating this way, but now that I have felt it, eating junk just isn't as appealing. I know it is crazy that is has taken 23 years of my life to discover what people have known for generations, but I guess I just needed to feel the effects myself.

I will even present to you a prime example of how eating better makes me feel better and visa versa. I had been on a good eating binge for a few weeks, even exercising every day (shocking for those who know me well) and then I got to take a trip to Rabat. The greatest thing about Rabat is that it has access to all of those wonderful foods I miss so much living in my village. I splurged. I was eating Italian with real delcious cheese, hamburgers, french fries, sandwiches and even McDonalds. On my birthday I decided to treat myself and grabbed quite an expensive lunch at McDonalds. After eating it, I felt terrrible. But wait, that is not how McDonalds used to make me feel. I vividly remember the days of McDonalds when Danielle was having a bad day or forcing my sister to drive us through for some chicken nuggets after a night of too much fun. I couldn't believe I was feeling so bad.

I was feeling so bad actually that I had to go back to my hotel and nap for a little while, just to feel good enough to head out to another place for American beers and dinner. I believe that it was the Birthday combination of beer (which I NEVER drink), McDonalds (which I never eat), and the delicious fudge and ice cream birthday browine from TGI Fridays that caused my body, particularly my bowls to revolt the following few days.

The lesson that I have learned here is one that has been preached to me for nearly all of my 22 years but it took me that long to really learn it, embrace it. Eating better really makes me feel better. So the next trip to Rabat I will skip the McDonalds sandwich and opt for something less greasy, even though its going to feel just slightly un-American.

Here are a list of some things I have learned to cook from scratch and am quite proud of:
-Chocolate chip and Peanut butter cookies
-Peach scones
-Tomato and Onion Quiche
-Garlic and Olive Oil Veggie Pizza
-Sweet and Sour Vegitables
-Spaghetti Sauce
-Popcorn (not out of a bag, I didn't realize that you didn't need the bag to make popcorn)
-Bread
-Tomato and Vinagarete Salad (comparable to the Tomato and Motzerealla Salad at Panera)
-Salad dressing
-Guacamole
(I know some of these aren't hard, but I dont care, I am proud regardless of their difficulty.)