Protesting.

In an attempt to join the rest of the Arab-speaking world in protest, my town hosted one of their own.

There were about 100 people around at any give time, waving Moroccan flags and chanting something in Arabic I didn't understand. I am guessing that at any point there were 40 people protesting (mostly young guys) and about 60 people standing around, just seeing what was going on.

I was one of the 60.

Updates.

Here are some life updates, for any and all interested.

-Since getting back from America, life has been very up and down. The transition back was rough. I was out of Morocco, in both London and the US, for the better part of February, and coming back was more difficult than I imagined. It's difficult to readjust to life so different and difficult. On the bright side I did pick up some new skills to help with the transition back in June!

-It was cold and now its hot. We had about a solid week of rain (even some flurries) where my house was leaking relentlessly through every wall/ crack and now its in the mid 80's outside and the high 70's inside. I turned my fan on for the first time since October.

-Party-central should be the new name of my village. We have had at least 3 "functions" aka parties since the beginning of March. They are always a good time with skits, dancing and some snacks. I especially love the cookies. I even made brownies for one of the parties and the women loved them. Moroccan women in my village love brownies but hate cookies. I can't figure it out.



-I saw my first wild boars. They are rumored to be everywhere and supposedly a "safety" risk for being out at night, but yet I had never seen one. I saw a pack of them, about 8 or 9, walking the mountains while I was on the bus the other day. They are quite large and quite scary looking, I am glad I haven't come across one until now.

-I was asked to take pictures of another "party" a few days back where the men of the village dressed up and performed a skit like Berber women. The ladies of my village got the biggest kick out of seeing these full grown Moroccan men dressed like women, dancing around in their big white scarves.

-Spring camp is coming up in just a few days. They are English-intensive week long spring break camps organized by Peace Corps volunteers all over the country. The one I am working is in Taroudant and I am really looking forward to it. It is also a camp in my region so I will be able to speak the local language, something I am looking forward too! (The problem being if I leave my region, my language becomes useless and I have to resort to English, French and some Arabic to get around).

-The weather has been amazing which has made life that much sweeter. It's finally nice enough to walk around again, outside, at least until the fire heat of summer comes back around again.

-Only 5 weeks until I am back in America again to see Claire graduate!!! I can't wait.

-April 13th is my Grandma Pat's 75th birthday so I wanted to wish her a happy birthday from Morocco (in case my internet isn't so good from now until then).

-I gave up soda for Lent and it's going great so far. I haven't had a soda since Fat Tuesday. Pretty good for me, especially for those who know my Big Soda addiction all too well!

-I have spent the last few days hanging out in Tafroute with Sami and Dave, Alex and Alex's parents recapping their cool trip to Portugal, drinking Port wine and cooking some delicious meals. If any of you ever take a Moroccan trip, Tafroute should be on your must-do list. It's a little off the beaten path but definitely worth it!

Thanks for reading!

A Creepy Creepy Man and His Epic-Fail

Harassment in Morocco is single handily the most difficult thing I face as a volunteer. It's rough, to put it lightly. It's all relentless. It seems like it is all men, everywhere (it's not) but it sure feels that way.

I have been through counseling, spent too many hours to count writing down (and sometimes yelling) my frustrations and even joined a working group to help other volunteers overcome the challenges associated with this harassment. I think the greatest tool I have learned (and possibly perfected) is humor. Humor is the best medicine. I can't change the way people treat me, I can only change my reactions, so that's what I do.

This story is by far the most entertaining story of "harassment" I have encountered.

It all started while I was waiting for the city bus in Tiznit. I finished my computing, picked up some groceries and went to the bus parking lot in plenty of time to make the 5 p.m. bus. Around 4:15, I sat down on a bench, opened my book and began the challenging process of tuning out and ignoring every comment, person staring at me and "boujour" yelled by tweens around me.

I have mastered this process, one of my many accomplishments that will never make it to my resume.

About 10 minutes after I sat down, in my peripheral, I noticed a man, leaning against his bicycle. Normally, I would just acknowledge he was there and then ignore him, but something about this guy was different. Maybe it was his stature, or his too tight tee-shirt or the extra-cool look he had on his face while leaning against his mountain bike. This guy looked like he belonged in a magazine, a creepy- Moroccan dude magazine, but a magazine none the less. He stood against his bike like it was a hot rod, flexed his arm like he was on a boardwalk trying to pick up chicks and kept creepily flexing random parts of his body in my direction.

After trying to ignore him for quite some time, I couldn't help but look. On accident, we made eye-contact and I immediately looked away, afraid to look back. When I did look back, I couldn't believe my eyes.

As a note, normally, men just stare, wink or yell something at me in French. They will come over, sit next to me, ask me silly questions and when I ignore them for long enough, they go away. This guy couldn't catch a hint.

The creepy guy started flexing his arm, in his tight tee shirt, back and forth, like he was at a gym. I was still under the presumption this this wasn't particularly for me. About 10 minutes later he started winking. A few minutes after that, he started blowing kisses. Yes, blowing kisses at me from 30 feet away, for all the world to see.

At this point, I was extremely creeped out and the man just wouldn't catch a hint. I kept giving him the "stink" eye, ignoring him when he yelled things at me and even moved spots. This guys was relentless.

Luckily, shortly after the kissing faces started, my bus showed up. I immediately ran to get on, after all of the Moroccans had bum-rushed the bus I grabbed one of the last few open seats near the door. After I got my bags settled and talked to the boy next to me, I looked out the door, and there he was, Mr. Creepster himself. At this point, there was no denying he was after me. 

Leaning against the door, he finally boarded the bus. Fearful that he would end up riding the bus too, I struck up a conversation with the woman in front of me, telling her all about how creepy men are to me and how much I wish people would stop staring. She was extremely empathetic and had some great comments herself. I was hoping my loud and obvious statements would give him the hint, but nope.

About 20 minutes after I got on the bus, we were ready to pull off the lot and all the sudden I felt something poking my arm. I ignored it, knowing full well who it was. After about 5-6 tries, he throws a tiny piece of rolled paper into my lap. I immediately grabbed it, threw it back at his winking, creepy face and said (in English) "not a chance in hell, buddy".

At this point the men on the bus started to catch on to the fact that he wouldn't leave me alone and started yelling at him.

Since I ride the bus a lot and I am the only white-girl on the bus, paired with the fact that my counterpart's husband is the bus company manager, the men on the bus are good to me. One of the guys from my village even got up out of his seat and confronted the guy, saying that I wasn't interested and to leave me alone. After a few minutes of this, the guy finally caught on and got off the bus, but not for good.

He then came around to the other side of the bus and started making "call me" gestures in the window. The boy next to me even put up a piece of cardboard to block him out.

A good hour after this whole endeavor started, the bus finally pulled away and I was free.

The greatest part of this endeavor was how extraordinary and ordinary this encounter was. Usually men are not that committed, but the contact is normal. I wasn't surprised when it escalated.

This is a more extreme version of what normally happens and did make for a great story. The ladies of my village loved hearing the story and were spreading it around like wildfire. I guess in some sense I feel bad for the guy that he worked so hard with so little chance to succeed but I just can't handle the creepiness.

I guess the moral is, all is well that ends well.

Kids Love Candy (and Sprinkles)

I ran out of candy to give the kiddos when they came by, but this little one wasn't satisfied so she asked to eat my sprinkles. Of course I let her and of course she made a mess. It made a cute photo though.

Safety First, Sort-of.

These are the kiddos I talked about in a previous post who helped me with my buta. Yes, they are rolling it down the hill.

The Sun is Out.

About as fast as I can post about the weather, it changes. Unfortunate as my seemingly sporadic posts are, the weather did change, again. From grey and cold to sunny and hot in a matter of hours. Today, I am sitting in an outdoor cafe, Chaco's on, jeans rolled up, sincerely regretting the sweater I put on this morning, packed yesterday, when the weather was still cold.

I have spent the past days working on my resume, preparing to send off my requests for transcripts and attempting to do all of this, worlds away from the land where 99% of the applicants are doing it. To some, this may seem early in the game, especially considering law school applications won't be submitted until October, but if I have learned anything in Morocco, it's that you must plan on things taking a lot longer than originally thought. Doing this from Morocco, without reliable internet and lacking access to my peers and resources most Americans have, presents its own set of challenges and I just want to be prepared. Only time will tell if my plan actually works out, but for now I will just take these things one step at a time.

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day and also my volunteer friend Nicole's 25 th birthday. One year ago yesterday, I was scared to death and still attempting to get my feet planted in Morocco, with a new language and an entirely new set of rules. Two years ago yesterday, I was sitting on the roof of Big 12 with Danielle Hohmeier and some fellow classmates, drinking green beer and debating whether or not our afternoon lectures were worth attending, considering the beautiful weather and plethora of green beer at our disposal. Yesterday, I went to lunch with three fellow volunteers and a Fullbright scholar in the most "American" of cafe's in Tiznit then checked my email and spent the evening cooking pasta, watching Glee and eating a homemade apple cake.

Landmark days like these are what really bring my life into perspective. It is astonishing to me how fast life can change, so completely, in just a matter of a few years. I could go from beers on a roof, to being scared out of my pants in a new country, to completely comfortable in my surroundings, without green beer.

I feel lucky, very lucky actually, to get to live my life this way and I fear the day when all of my St. Patrick's Days start to look the same, year after year.


Nicole and her birthday apple cake. I realize there is only a #2 candle, Jess couldn't find the #5.

Rain, rain it's time to go away.

The rain has been intense these past couple of days. It's so loud at night on my roof (and the plastic coverings) that I can't sleep. I woke up one night convinced that the plastic on my roof had broken and a stream of water was rushing in my house, it sounded like a tidal wave, thankfully, that wasn't the case. The sound of the rain is relentless.

Of course, my buta gaz ran out, meaning no coffee or hot soup so despite the rain, I carried the heavy container to market to get it changed out. After a series of misfortunes, involving people not being so good at keeping their word, I employed three kids to help me get the buta gaz home. When they decided it was too heavy, they rolled it down the hill. While this is a slight explosion risk, I didn't have a lot of other options. When it finally made it to my house, it was covered in mud, but full. I paid the kids in candy, M&M's to be exact and then I could finally drink my coffee. The lesson learned was the kids are much more helpful and reliable than adults. As an added bonus, you can pay them in candy instead of money!

Yesterday, I was planning on heading to a nearby volunteer's site to help with her English club but it was raining so hard, I couldn't traverse the muddy paths, and wait in the rain for a bus that might not show. I was also not all that comfortable with riding our "busses" in adverse conditions considering the difficult time they have in "normal" conditions. When I went next door to the co-op to see what was going on, it started snowing. Yes, snow. It didn't stick and melted nearly before hitting the ground but it was proof of how much the temperature has dropped in the last week.

Last week, it was 80 degrees and sunny, this week its in the low 30's with freezing rain/ snow. I am starting to feel like I am in Missouri again, with this variable weather.

I brought a thermometer back from America and while it is a blessing, it's also a pain. It got down to 40 degrees in my house last night. It's hard to get motivated during the day when it's so cold inside and raining outside.

The good news it that season 1-4 of Mad Men is complete and I finished a 600 page book, the bright spot in an otherwise dreary set of surroundings.

Here are some entertaining photos for you.


My friend Aisha and the SNOW. You can't really see it but it was flurrying in my village.


My soon-to-be drinking water, being collected from the roof. I couldn't believe how much water was coming off a small roof.


This transit (van) got stuck and they used a dump truck to get it out, but the dump truck hit the gas a little too hard and almost tore off the rear axel. Entertaining to say the least.

A View.

This photo is a view from Sami and Dave's site up in the Anti-Atlas mountains. I think it is quite beautiful.

Going Home and Coming Back.

When I left off I was finishing up my vacation to London and heading back to Morocco, relieved to be finished with the LSAT and optimistic about the start of some new projects I had on tap for the spring.

Unfortunately my plans were quickly derailed.

After one of the longest travel days ever, getting back from London, I spent the following day (Thursday) recovering.

On Friday I had planned to make a visit to see Sami and Dave out near Tafroute to deliver them the curry paste I got them in London and to just catch up before life got too hectic again. As it turns out, visiting them was both a blessing and a hassle.

On Friday afternoon, before catching the bus to Sami and Dave's I got some frantic and not-so-hopeful emails and phone calls from my family telling me my sick grandfather was probably not going to live much longer. My Dad advised me to start pricing flights and to be prepared for the worst.

Unfortunately, the worst came that night. I got a broken and sad phone call from my sister saying my grandfather had finally passed onto a better place. After many years of battling liver problems and a somewhat rapid decline in the previous weeks, I was extremely sad to loose someone I loved and respected like a father, yet grateful that God finally took him and ended his bodily suffering here on earth. I have not really experienced death of close relatives until the past few years and I can tell you, the grieving process is difficult but I find a lot of comfort in knowing that God has a plan and after the suffering comes the reward.

I am grateful that Sami and Dave were there with me when I got the call. Their compansionship forced me to keep my composure. The thought of being alone in my rock house, so far away from everyone when getting that news is frightening.

On Saturday morning I woke up very early, after not having really slept, and attempted to get transportation out of Sami and Dave's site, which can prove quite difficult on short notice. Someone was certanly on my side Saturday though, because I had by far the luckiest travel day I have ever had.

I wanted to catch the 7:30am souk bus from Sami and Dave's site but after only about 1 minute of waiting, a car pulled over and asked if I needed a ride. Lucky. When I asked him to drop me off in the next town so I could catch a cab, he told me he was going all the way to Tiznit and I could just ride with him. (As a note, I don't hitchhike often but this was not a "usual" day and he also had another passenger in the car, it wasn't just me and this Moroccan man). The guy turned out to be really nice and we chatted most of the way back to Tiznit. When he dropped me off, I tried to pay him 30dh (the same cost as the bus) but he only accepted 10dh. Awesome.

From there I headed to a little men's cafe around the corner from my taxi stand where I could connect to internet and book my flights home. Thankfully, all of the flights, connections and trains I needed were still active and priced right. I got a direct flight from Madrid, Spain to Chicago, Illinois for only $503. I have never seen this flight so cheap and frankly, I still don't believe it was a real price, it must have been a typo.

After I booked the flights, I caught a cab back to my site with little to no waiting, which is extremely uncommon.

Once in my site, I ran to my house and attempted to get my life in order. Living on my own presents its own set of challenges with preparing to leave but I also have a bug problem meaning food has to be thrown out, things have to be wiped down and the trash has to be taken out or else I would have been welcomed back by 10,000 ants eating everything in my house. I cleaned up and packed in about 45 minutes.

From there I headed to my counterpart's house, half crying, half out of breath to tell her that I was flying home that day. Her whole family was there, trying to talk to me in Tashlheet and I was too scatter brained to even understand. After throwing out some words to get the point across that my grandfather died, she only had one question, how was I going to get to America that day? It was too much to explain I had to spend a night in Kech, then Madrid so I just told her I was flying out that day. All of the women were flabbergasted. They wished me luck and I was off.

Only an hour after arriving in my site, I miraculously caught another cab out of town and was headed back to Tiznit.

From there I was lucky in my transport catching another cab from Tiznit to Inezgan then the bus was basically waiting for me from Inezgan to Marrakech. Normally the bus stops in Agadir, adding about 1 hour to the travel time, this bus did not. Again, somebody was looking out for me, I am sure of it.

In Marrakech I caught the city bus to the place where the hotel was. When I got to the "Peace Corps volunteers" hotel (aka all of the volunteers stay there) they didn't have a single room available but thankfully there where two newer volunteers willing to let me throw a mattress on their floor and sleep with them. One of them was even a Mizzou fan, much like myself.

On Saturday morning I woke up early and headed to the airport to catch my 11 am flight to Madrid. I exchanged out some money and caught my flight.

I spent the better part of my afternoon/ evening in Madrid showering, drinking beers and talking to my family. My roommate at the hostel was an 80's returned Peace Corps volunteer from Niger who worked for Doctor's Without Borders. She was great accompanyment since I was feeling particularly lonley since the last time I was in Madrid, it was with Claire.

In Claire's honor, I ate pizza, a ham sandwich, drank a Magner's Pear and finished my evening with some chocolate churros.

Sunday morning, I caught the Metro to the airport, only to get lost for a while and eventually find my way through security and onto the flight. The flight from Madrid is not too bad, only about 9 1/2 hours except they played the same crocodile movie three times in a row and I was too wired about getting to Chicago to sleep.

It's hard to describe the feeling of exuberance I felt when landing in Chicago. I was so smiley that I am sure my fellow Americans thought I was on drugs. Customs was quite interesting when I had to list all of the places I visited since I was last in America (i.e. Israel, France, Spain, England, Morocco). Most interestingly of all, I got an entrance stamp into America which I thought was pretty funny. After all, I am a U.S. citizen and I wasn't aware the government cared when I entered the U.S. but apparently they do.

In Chicago, I caught the "L" into downtown and after nearly freezing to death leaving the subway station, I found Sabrina's building and was reunited with my long lost friend. I can only imagine what her take on me was after having been in America for about an hour, freezing to death in my "springtime" coat and struggling to compose fluent English sentences. I am sorry to her and Vince for having to see me in that state, next time I promise to be less flustered and more composed.

We grabbed some delicious food and then I caught a cab to Union Station for my 5:15 p.m. train. Ironically enough, my cab driver was Moroccan and Berber. We spoke Tashlheet all the way to Union Station.

This is the point in my story when "coming home" really started to set in. At this point I hadn't seen my parents, siblings or the rest of my family (excluding Claire) in a year. I was anxious to say the least.

Despite my excitement, Amtrak failed me, miserably. Amtrak in Chicago has a reputation of being notoriously late and that day was no exception. My fellow passengers and I stood in a line for over an hour and a half waiting for that silly train. Mind you, I was only 5 short hours away from being reunited with my family and I had been traveling for what seemed like two solid weeks at that point. I was probably unfairly harsh to the Amtrak customer service women and if for some reason she reads this, I am sincerely sorry, but my patience had reached its limit.

After begging the Amtrak police to let me use their phone, since I was the only person in America without a cell phone, I called my parents and warned them of the delay.

Around 7 p.m. we finally boarded the train and were off. Most of the seats were full since they had combined the 5:15 p.m. and 7 p.m. trains (which I was not happy about considering I paid extra money to leave earlier). I finally found a seat next to a seemingly cute 5 year old girl. What I didn't realize at the time was that she was quite possibly the most interested and curious 5 year old on the train. I spent all 5 hours answering her questions, talking about her school, her friends, her family and my life. I was exhausted.

When we finally pulled into St. Louis, my parents were waiting to greet me at the station. My mom ran across the line and started crying, much like I expected. I have never felt more loved in my entire life. Coming home was so satisfying for my soul it is hard to even place into words.

My parents had purchased me some chicken fingers and sauce from Syberg's downtown for my arrival. (As a note, when my train was supposed to get in at 10 p.m., we were going to grab some food there). Then we went home and for the first time in a year, I stepped foot into my home. Things hadn't changed a bit.

My parent's and I drank diet sodas and ate our chicken fingers around the dinner table, just like old times.

A lot of Peace Corps volunteers had shared with me their stories of "going home" and how disappointed they were with the life they left. Many commented on how things just weren't the same, others on how different things were, much to their displeasure. I am not sure if I just left America with different expectations or reasons for joining the Peace Corps but unlike many of my fellow volunteers, I didn't come to Morocco to "escape". I love America. I love my life in America and this was not meant as an escape but rather another stepping stone on my path in life.

What I can say is that I felt no disappointment at all going home. I cannot even explain how satisfying and happy I was while I was there. All of the amazing things I loved about "home" were still there and many more awesome things awaited me (like DVR). The America I had built up in my mind was essentially the same that I came back to. What a relieving feeling.

America is awesome, period.

I spent the next 8 days in America trying to soak up as much as possibly. I spent many hours shopping with my mom, walking around Wal-Mart, grabbing meals with friends and family and even making a short visit to Columbia, Missouri to see my siblings and friends.

In Columbia, a bunch of my friends, and my brother and sister came to Addison's with me to enjoy some nachos and good company. That was certainly a hi-light of my trip.

I am so grateful that I got to spend time with my family, see my friends and enjoy some of my favorite past times.

On Friday, my mother and her siblings put on a beautiful memorial service at our church, Mary Mother of the Church, for my grandfather since he donated his body to the St. Louis University Medical School for research. While the mass was incredibly sad, there was a positive tone about it. The people who came, came to celebrate the incredible life that my grandfather had and shared with his family. My mom gave the eulogy and did a wonderful and touching job encompassing what her father meant to her and the rest of his family.

The mass ended with a reception in the hall of the church. We ate delicious food, reminisced about Grandpa and enjoyed each other's company. It was bittersweet that my Grandfather's death was the reason for the mass and my trip to America but also a great chance to see everyone, catch up and be surrounded by my family and friends.

After the mass, my Aunt Carol, Uncle Mike, my three cousins and my family headed back to my house, sitting around and reminiscing around the kitchen table. These days are the days I miss the most. I was an amazing feeling to sit around with my family (including the other half of my immediate family, i.e. my Aunt Carol and her family) and just be together.

The night ended with my closest friend BP making the drive in from Columbia to join my Dad, Claire, Alex, Danielle Hohmeier and I for some chicken at Hodak's.

My trip in America reminded me of how much I really miss even the littlest things about my life at home. I miss haircuts, Wal-Mart trips with my Mom, lunches with my Dad, Cracker Barrel breakfast with my Grandma, seeing my friends around town, bar nights in Columbia, El Rancho nachos, trips to JCPenny with my Aunt Carol and Eva, just getting to hang out with Claire, driving a car, fountain sodas, spending time with people I love and just being surrounded by people who really "get" me.


An easily 4,000 calorie breakfast thanks to Cracker Barrel with my Grandma.

I have plenty of friends in Morocco, both fellow PCVs and Moroccans but the reality is that I am a different person here than I am in America. They can never know both sides and my life in America can never really grasp the Moroccan side of my life now. I was happy to see that I could assimilate into my American life quite easily. I didn't come home the "weirdo" I thought I would (at least I didn't feel like I was, I guess everyone at home is a better judge of that than I).

After 8 glorious days at home, I had to face the reality that I had to go back to my life of no hot showers, no washing machines and no car. On Tuesday, my Uncle Rich drove me to the bus station (I took the bus not the Amtrak) and I was off to Chicago.

I was met in Chicago by the dearest Megan Valli where she graciously cooked me a pizza and let me crash at her place. We spent Wednesday bumming around Chicago and spending some much needed time together. I am so grateful for her and thankful that she was there to help me. I was in the process of falling apart on the inside but being around her helped me regain my composure and have the courage to get back on the plane.

For everyone who went out of their way to accommodate me, hang out with me and listen to my stories while I was at home, I eternally grateful. You are the reason that coming back sucks, to put it plainly.

I slept the entire flight from Chicago to Madrid (thanks to some help from my friend, Tylenol P.M.). In Madrid, I caught my connecting flight back to Morocco and then started to long and exhausting process of traveling back towards my site. On the way, Sami and Dave asked me to come visit them before coming home and I did. Despite my annoyance that I left my phone there, I am grateful that I didn't have to go home to my lonely house on my first night back.

I think one of the greatest lessons I have learned while being in Morocco is that we are not too big, important or strong to recognize and ask for help when we need it. We cannot do this crazy life on our own and for the longest time, I thought I could. As it turns out, I can't, we all can't. Sometimes we need help and I will never again be too proud to ask for it.

Thank you to everyone who comes to my rescue, even if they don't realize that's what they are doing.

Now I am back in my village, trying to re-acclimate to my life. Today I had to do laundry, that was a rude awakening. My friends in the village have been extremely helpful and kind, offering their kind God phrases for my loss. Only one person has asked where their souvenir was, so that's pretty good. One lady did ask if she could buy my computer from me next time I go to America. She wanted to pay the equivalent of 40 USD. I had to tell her no.

Life is back to "normal" and I am learning to readjust and attempting to keep busy to avoid the elephant in the room, my homesickness for life in America.

To aid in my homesickness, I did happen to bring back over 20 lb. worth of "America" things to help the transition.