Anxiety, Wearing My Nerves Thin.

This past month has been an emotional roller coaster; from so homesick I couldn't even look at a family photo without bursting into tears, to so happy and joyful I wanted to dance and sing in the streets, it seems as though each day will bring a new heightened and over-dramatized emotion.

I think the biggest thing driving this emotional ride has been the finally real and tangible thought of "going home". For years my fellow volunteers and I have been talking about what life will be like at "home", when we are finally back to America, the place we love. Some volunteers have been counting down since we got here.

Now, four months out, I can't understand why the thought of resuming life in America makes me want to throw up.

Will I be able to function? Will I be able to work a job? Will I be able to get back to the work needed for graduate/ law school? Will I be able to interact in social situations? Will I be the "weird" one? Will my life be as amazing and fulfilling as I remember? Will I be able to support myself financially? Will the stupid economy every recover? Will I remember how to find/ buy things? Can I contain myself with the plethora of outstanding food around? Will I have any people around? Will I be able to make new friends?

I don't know why the thought of going home seems so scary. After all, what could be scarier than moving to Morocco. knowing no one?

It seems ironic that I am twenty months into the hardest and scariest thing I have ever done. and yet the thought of returning home, the safest place I know of, seems frightening. I think for now it's just jitters and nerves. I know my fears will be unfounded.

I hear a lot of volunteers and read a lot of articles talking about how "coming home" is even more difficult than leaving. That finding fulfillment and joy in coming home is difficult. That scares me. Could it really be that hard? Will my adjustment be bad?

In my quest to see if there was more information out there to calm my frayed nerves I found the Peace Corps book they send to families of volunteers titled, "Peace Corps,  A Few Minor Adjustments," which by the way, seems like the most ironic title possible. In there was a quote I particularly liked and one that might explain my anxiety better.

Most of us agree that although we knew the Peace Corps was go- 

ing to be hard, it is often hard in a different way than we expected. 

We all worried about adjusting to the bugs and the heat, but that’s 

the easy part. It’s more of a challenge to get used to dealing with a 

perplexing bureaucracy … or cultural barriers.

Maybe this is it, that the anxiety is rooted in the idea of American culture being somewhat different than I remember and that I will be less able to adapt.

I know this is just ranting for now but my with projects wrapping up, my sister and friend's visit. and the thought of looking for work next summer, my nerves are being tested. Thanks for bearing with me. Your support is KEY and appreciated. 

Also, my hot shower should get installed tomorrow, God Willing (InShalla) after nearly five months of begging. Better late than never I guess, and just in time for the coldest season!

I love you all. Thanks for hanging in there. 

I've Got Plenty to be Thankful For.

My fellow volunteer friend Nina and I were talking this morning about how much more difficult round two of being away seems. We have done one Thanksgiving, one Christmas, one football season, two birthdays, two Easter's and frankly, it just doesn't seem fair to have to do it again. Keeping this factor in mind, the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving were more difficult than ideal. I was homesick and mostly annoyed that I was missing yet another holiday season; another Black Friday of shopping with my Mom, another day spent baking pies, another round of Christmas movies playing on T.V., it just didn't seem right. Then came Thanksgiving.

This year Erik, a volunteer down in Tata, volunteered to host us all for a Thanksgiving celebration. Tata is far. Far from life, civilization and far from even southern-most volunteers, but it's a unique place that was on my "must see" list before leaving Morocco. Luckily for me two volunteers from the Essaouira region, Nina and Adam, as well as my 10-km-away mate Kate, came to my place the day before so we could all travel together. 

Tata's beauty is unlike anything else. There is such solitude and peace in the vast emptiness. The mountains seem to pop out of this barren landscape simply to add texture and depth to the nothingness. 

We traveled the first day to a fellow volunteer, Alisa's, site where we took a beautiful walking tour of the lush green gardens amidst the desert, we cooked delicious stuffing and a pie, and ate just about every delicious thing in her refrigerator. The next day we caught an early bus to Tata city, where we could catch a cab to Erik's site in the middle of nowhere.

The feast itself was fantastic. The miracle of the day was that twenty four volunteers managed to get from their homes all over Morocco to Erik's place, without a hitch. I am also not exaggerating when I say he lives in the middle of nowhere. Each volunteer brought a dish (or two) and Erik bought a 44lb turkey for the event. We took pictures, played games, caught up on life and most importantly, ate like kings. The best part of the day was the extremely positive attitude filling Erik's cinder block house. When volunteers get together things tend to get negative, quickly. This holiday seemed like a celebration, like a group of friends just getting together to celebrate in the States. It felt so normal.

After the first round of food was consumed, most people were sprawled out on the floor recovering from their extended stomachs. Per my suggestion, we then went around the room and everyone shared what they were most thankful for. This is a holiday tradition at my house which was great to get to share with everyone else. It made the day.

Overall, we had a blast. It was exactly the fun and fellowship I needed to recover from those very homesick weeks. I only have about 20 weeks left here.... the time is flying. One month until Claire and Danielle's visit and our trip to Rome.

Also, I just got a scholarship award letter from UArkansas to my post box in Morocco so things are looking pretty rosy. 

The group of us volunteers celebrating Thanksgiving.

Kate, Nina and Adam in my kitchen baking cookies the night before our trip to Tata.

Myself, Ayanna, Eric and Nina at Erik's house. We were all wearing brown.

Nina and I having too much fun.

Adam, Alisa and Nina in Alisa's gardens/ fields near her house.

The amazing plate of Thanksgiving food we had. It was perfect.

Bjai and I celebrating.

The desert beauty of Tata. 

A little pre-food hangout.

1/2 of our 44lb turkey.

This picture is the crowning glory, me and my pumpkin bread.

What The Peace Corps Taught Me About Failure

Today I found this great --frankly, perfect-- article to describe how I feel about Peace Corps on Huffington Post. I copied it below so check it out, but here is the link: Peace Corps and Failure. I want to thank Maya for her honest and accurate portrayal of Peace Corps life; it is exactly what I have been thinking and feeling for the last months.

Volunteer life bursts with cultural faux pas, fruitless projects and second guesses. For two years, I felt like the joke was on me. Even on my best days in Senegal, the sudden scream of "toubab," a taunting word for foreigners, reminded me that my cheerfulness was jinxed, my presence perhaps unwelcome.

In West Africa, I confronted the toubab version of myself, a self previously foreign to me that was lethargic, cynical and at home with failure.

For a long time I hesitated to admit that I felt incompetent as a Peace Corps volunteer. I felt that if I expressed my suspicion that I was inept, it would confirm criticisms that the program itself is irresponsible and presumptuous. I signed up largely because I saw myself as a go-getter and I wanted a challenge. I have a childlike loyalty to getting things right; I lack a cleverness for bullshitting. Yet these traits, from which I had previously derived strength, became the source of my immense heartbreak.

I did extra work in my demonstration garden only to find out later that agriculture agents resented me for it. I had lengthy, optimistic conversations with a village chief about starting a community garden only to discover that I misread his reaction and that he was, in fact, against the whole endeavor.

When a project faltered, I wondered if I should blame the cultural difference or my language skills, my lack of expertise or my accidental impropriety. I never knew for sure.

And yet, seeing my confidence unravel was helpful. Maybe everyone needs a period in their lives when they barely recognize themselves.

The story that Peace Corps volunteers like to tell -- and Americans like to hear -- is one of urgent and awe-inspiring work. Americans like to feel that at least someone is out there fighting all those incomprehensible African problems.

This narrative is too simplistic.

As the Peace Corps celebrates its 50th anniversary, some still find it hard to put a finger on what exactly the program achieves. There are both quantifiable yields, like number of wells dug and trees planted, and unquantifiable gains, like the intimate bonds volunteers make with people all over the world.

One benefit of the program that is never trumpeted (and likely never will be) is that it produces a group of young Americans who understand failure.

Americans, especially the variety who join the Peace Corps, are raised to believe that hard work pays off. We come from a place where the phrase, "We'll meet tomorrow at 5," means, "We'll meet tomorrow at 5" -- where you put a stamp on an envelope and it gets delivered.

"Failure is not an option," according to the locker room poster likely brought to us by the same people who birthed "Impossible is Nothing." Americans are immature when it comes to honestly accepting failure and maybe that's why so many of us lack the emotional depth to make sense of it.

We all have failures, yet we bury them in the folds of our pasts as curious gaps in our résumés and cryptic replies to direct questions. If we are unable to emerge triumphant, our failures eat away at us.

My Senegalese comrades are less brittle. They admit freely that their lives are full of fiascoes, delays and disappointments.

When I asked locals in Pulaar how work was going, I didn't often hear: "Oh, just fine!" Instead, the response was a more honest, "I'm trying, little by little." It seems to me that growing up with unpredictability has better equipped the Senegalese people to persevere in the face of real obstacles.

The same barriers Senegalese people manage to climb over regularly ended some of my projects. When I tried obtaining a grant for a women's farm, the land rights had to first be legally transferred to the women themselves. While the paperwork lingered in a government office, I foolishly kept preparing for the project that would never be, blocking off months in my calendar that I would devote to it. Meanwhile, the women moved on, continuing their own, smaller version of the farm they wanted. They knew not to rest their hopes in government offices and the men who shuffle within them.

I don't mean to give the impression that Peace Corps volunteers don't accomplish anything. We do a lot of the things other aid organizations do, but our version is less grandiose: We hold small-group trainings on childhood nutrition and organic pest control. We help small businesses grow, often through a series of one-on-one interactions. Our hyped-up expectations of success are often quashed--we learn quickly that smaller is better.

I survived two years in the Peace Corps. My proudest accomplishment during my time in Senegal, one that can't be expressed on a résumé, is how much I grew up.

I now know that no occupation, despite my generation's obsession with passion-following, is without compromise or disappointment. And I know that failure, despite its negative connotations, takes practice.

Missouri

I found these great little posters on the Facebook page for the Missouri Bureau of Tourism, and I thought they were great. I love my home state and all it has to offer, much more than just hillbillies and red-necks. I cannot wait to eat some Toasted Ravioli and drink some delicious Budweisers in just five short months after my epic return home. Woo hoo.

Eid El-Kebir (The Big Holiday) and Exciting News

The silence of town is what I find most ironic. Much like the nation wide silence that encompasses Christmas Day, Eid El-Kebir was no different; my booming and bustling metropolis, eerily quiet. Walking outside was like walking into a new town, a new place, so vacant and empty. It almost scared me. 

Most Volunteers and Moroccans celebrate the holiday with their family and loved ones. Since my family is still living in my old town, I didn't think it would be wise for me to head back and visit my old skeletons. Sarah-Kate and her family were nice enough to extend to me an invitation to come and celebrate with them, and celebrate we did.

Sarah-Kate and I spent the day playing with the kiddos, all eight of them. We played games, used the computer, told jokes, ran around and most importantly, I got to hold and play with a five month old baby who fell asleep on my lap. Adorable. 

The main event of the day was the eating of sheep/ goat kebabs. I partook, sort-of. Eating half of a kebab, I am happy that that kebab was my last one of my life. 

Here are some of my IPhone photos of the day; sorry the quality isn't great.

The daughter watching her uncle clean the newly killed sheep that was hung from the tree.

Yes, it's what you think it is. The left one is the goat, the right one is the sheep. The middle thing is the layer of drying fat; ironically, the best part.

Sarah-Kate and her host sisters.

The most adorable and patient baby girl ever. Also, I am wearing my sweet new fake Ray Bans.

Playing with the kiddos. They were crazy.

Yes, she's adorable.

Eid was a great day, I had a blast and am grateful I could share it with Sarah-Kate and her family. 

In other news, I got some good news of my own yesterday. My first (of many, hopefully) acceptance "letters" came into my inbox. I was accepted to both Missouri and Arkansas Law. It seems so crazy. I have wanted to go to law school for as long as I can remember, so now that it is actually an option/ reality, I don't know what to do with myself. Since getting exciting news is sort-of anti-climactic on my own, I had a dance party in celebration!

This week has been going well and I am looking forward to the less-than-two-month away visit from Danielle and Claire. Also, how could I forget.... ROME.

ALSO, one last thing. If you are thinking "Wow, I haven't sent Cara anything in a while (or ever) but she is leaving so soon so I should send something now", please send me some coffee. I don't need anything else, I promise. But I need some coffee, sooner rather than later. I am not picky just pick up any old American bag and send it along. It will be much appreciated and loved.

Love you all.