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.