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.)

Okay, so I am afraid of the dark.

So I have never actually lived on my own. This is the first time in my life that I am living as just one person in my home, while it is one of the greatest things that has happened to me, it also scares me. I know that I am almost 23 years old, but I am deathly afraid of the dark. Everytime I go outside when its dark I am convinced someone is going to come out of the darkness and kill me with a chainsaw. In Morocco this fear has subsided a little knowing that there is virtually no crime and the only murder in the last 5o years happened 10 years ago where two men were fighting and one got stabbed and died about 15 miles away from here. Basically, there is very little risk that someone is going to murder me, much less than when I lived in DC, Baltimore or even Charleston.

All of the logic I can summons does not help me with my crazy fear.

My fear hit a pinnacle the other night. During all of my time in America, I cannot come up with even one time where someone beat on my door in the early hours of the morning. On Monday night I decided to go to sleep early and hit the sack around 10:30pm. At 2:45am I hear a constant bang on my door. First I heard it in my dreams then it didnt stop, so I woke up, scared to death. The knocking didn't stop. I was sitting on my bed, glued to the wall with my heart beating about 150BMP. I really thought I was going to have a heart attack. I really don't know what I thought someone wanted. As a disclaimer, the first night I was sleeping in my house alone, some man knocked on my door at 11:30pm for no apparent reason. I assumed that maybe it was the same man wanting God only knows what. As I waited in panic a million thoughts ran through my mind. I finally worked up the nerve to move to the other side of the room and grab my phone. With no emergency line to call, I had to call my counterpart. She immediately answered the phone and in my half broken Tashlheet and half crying voice she said she would be right over. About 5 minutes later she knocks and immediately begins laughing.

As it turns out, a small child had been stung by a scorpion while he was sleeping and the poor mother was just knocking on anyone's door trying to get help. I am not sure why she thought I would be able to help her but she was very desperate. My counterpart had run into her on the way to my house and so by the time she got there I was in tears and she was laughing. I was slightly embarrassed that I had reacted this way but she was understanding and went home. The next morning she had told the whole village and I have spent the past few weeks explaining to people that I am afraid of the dark. I now have multiple offers for guests to sleep at my house and "protect" me from the dark.

I really don't mind being the silly American girl who is afraid of the dark. After all, before moving to Morocco I was still a silly American girl who was afraid of the dark, too.

Oh and as a side note, my fears of someone breaking into my house are completely unfounded. I have only one outside window and it is 8 ft off the ground, has a wooden shudder and a wire cage preventing someone from getting in. My front door is made of metal and has 3 dead bolts. Maybe I am just a little paranoid :)

Rah Rah for KD.

As you all know, I am in currently in Africa and cannot be in Columbia, Missouri to celebrate this recruitment week but boy do I miss it! Best of luck to all of the PNM's going through Recruitment and all of my KD ladies working hard over these next few days!

Love in AOT.