Apologies

I have a hard time with apologies. Well once when I was 10 and playing tennis with my uncle Chaz on the beach I apologies each time I dropped the ball which meant every time it came my way that he told me if I said sorry one more time he would bop me over the head with the racket. Obviously he served the ball I dropped it, said sorry, he bopped my head, we went and got ice cream.

Ok ok enough cute stories. I was reading this article in The Economist September 2012 issue called Morsi's Moment. The subtitle: Egypt's leader should define the Muslim mainstream and speak out against extremists. The main sentence that struck me was: "First, it has made many Westerners, especially Americans, wonder why they and their government should seek to play a constructive role in those parts of the world where people apparently harbor such visceral feelings of hatred towards them."

This article goes one to talk about extremist and Egypt two things I know nothing about first hand. As a volunteer in Morocco I have come across this topic of what are you doing in a place where no one wants you. I have gotten quite a bit of harassment in my site due to the movie made by an American and comic made by a French person insulting the profit Muhammad. I have not gotten a chance to see either of them (nor do I really want to) but when the first time you hear about it is because some guys are chasing you and throwing rocks at you calling you what would basically translate to stupid pile of French s***. You figure out someone did something insulting.

The article come really close to asking for an apology about the harassment that people get, but then goes on to discus "Western respect for free speech" as to why there are no apologies for the comic or movie. In my opinion the requests are being made to the wrong people. I don't what the government to apologize for the fact that I am scared to leave my house they asked me and 120 other people to come. I want the dudes who throw things at me to understand that I have nothing to do with this. The same way I don't lump the people in my town as extremists they should understand that I have nothing to do with the comic or the movie.

It has come to a point where I am scared and concerned about where I am living. When it was explained to me that I have done my days work when someone says "You can't be an American your to nice" or "What your not Muslim but your not a horrible person" I have done my days work I became hesitant and still am. Reading this article made me realize how important that is. The concept of us not playing a role or being around makes me fear that we are going to put an even greater distance between us. I may not be the person for the job, and we may need to rethink the way we interact with each other. The concept of just not talking because we disagree is for a lack of better words stupid. We all need to go get some ice cream and figure this out. The extremist may reside in these countries but not everyone there thinks that way. Not everyone in the town I live in throws rocks at me, some of them teach me script and make me couscous.

Why when we are scared or angry do we lump people together? Why do we ask for apologies? How does that help find a solution? Where is the ice cream?

Flipping Coins

I have never been good at decision making. The fear is in messing things up so bad that it would be "the end". This of course makes no sense. What ever decisions one makes will of course have an impact on there lives, but very little is permanent. One of the big choice I had was what college to go to. I got excepted into the three I applied to. One was already out in my mind so I was stuck between the last two. After hours of conversations, pro and con lists, racking my brain on the right thing to do I did the most logical thing. Flipped a coin.

The next couple of days I was miserable. If my emotions were so obvious now why was I not able to see what the right thing to do was before. I still don't have an answer. I ended up switching and was excited for the start of college. Something about no longer being in limbo and making a choice let me see what I truly wanted. I loved college, it had its ups and downs but I was so grateful for the experience (and the education).

I am now back at that point. A limbo of trying to figure out the right thing to do. My coin flip has lead to little success and I am still in limbo, which is a very uncomfortable place. This time others are involved in the lightest of ways and a much bigger move is going to be made. The question is who do I aim to please in the end. As for now each day will bring more information and hopefully a correct decision.  

Ah France!

I was lucky enough this last week to take a week off and go to France. Why you may ask, well the one and only most important thing in the world: family. My wonderful uncle turned 70, Jack the newest addition to the McEwan clan got baptized, and so many McEwan's in one place.

For me France is this great place from my youth. I was lucky enough to grow up there in this small town called Cognac and all of my cousins at one point lived in Paris so I got to go visit the city a lot. It was a place of running around in parks as small kids and a great place to be a crazy teen.

Going back on the other hand was kind of odd. I was not expecting to remember how to make my way around, yet I new the place like the back of my hand ( hey look some new freckles ). Jack being born really showed how much all of us cousins had grown. The Powers, our best friends, came out for a couple of days as well. On our way back to our places after a long night of great food, friends, and conversation Ben said " I would have never believed you if 10 years a ago you would have told me I would be walking the streets of Paris with Ian and Jenna.

No more Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles, or game of tag. Hot chocolate has turned into expresso, pizza to foie gras, " Ian hit me" to random friendly debates. Jack is now the baby of the family, Tom only 70 years young, everyone on new sides of the planet. Yet here we are Paris once more.

Some things never change just like when I was little and dad would put us on our planes to where ever it was we were getting sent to I was impossible not to cry. As I sat in the airport waiting for my plane all I could think of was how blessed I am so have so many wonderful people and places in my life.

Group Think

The concept of group think has been on my mind lately in both positive and negative ways. The definition of Group Think according to dictionary.com is "the lack of individual creativity, or of a sense of personal responsibility, that is sometimes characteristic of group interactions." The positive being how when I surround myself with people that I love, respect, and have an open mind set. The negative, being around people that don't allow anything but the "one and only" way to think; or just being around people that are constantly negative because your thoughts will turn that way.

"There is no one right way to live." My mother always tells me and the same goes with thought, though the two tend to go together. For most of my life the best way to learn was a sharing of knowledge. To discuss, ask, ponder, and try to understand. No one ever has to agree but you always allow for diverse opinions. So the question now becomes: how do you discuss or question in a culture were there is "one right way", and things are getting to a point where you are not allowed to discuss? Allowing the next generation to only interact with one type of group think is detrimental to the progression of the world culture.

Bhutan is one of my current favorite example of a country so inthralled with its past culture but is now opening the door to others. Social media outlets have allowed communication to help change the course of government in places like Egypt. No all people want to change which is great, if it ain't broke don't fix it. The concept of not allowing those around you to do as they please, or give them the opportunity to explore is baffling. In my book we should all get a Rumspringa of sorts.

So this has led me to ask:
Why don't people want a Rumspringa (for lack of a better term)?
Why do people force a type of groupthink on those who don't know any better?
Why do people hide others from a potential exploration of the world around them?

Learning Curve.

I guess one never stops learning. Obviously that is something we are all told: "Even once you leave school you will continue to learn." There was always this feeling that there was always going to be a level of people that know more or better. Someone to be able to tell me the next step or what the right thing is to do. "Go to school, get a job, do this, do that." At some moments these statements seam annoying or demeaning, but in the end it gave you a path to follow. Much like a rainy day hike that path is now washed out. People are people and humans make mistakes. No one person know everything (except dear old dad of course (always listen to your parents kids)). Doctors have a skill set that most people don't, and so do zoo keepers. Your boss will most likely know more than you do or have more experience in that particular field, but in the end only you really knows what is going on. Take all the advice you can get and learn from those around you, but don't kid yourself on the reality you are currently living.

Toubkal

Toubkal was an amazing experience. One of those good and bad, scratch that horrible, experiences. Toubkal is one of the highest mountains in North Africa. Day one is a6 hour hike and day two is 9. A couple of my friends hiked it before IST a Peace Corps training we had in Marrakech and had a wonderful time. My friend T told me that he and some of his friends were going and I was of course invited. I am about 7 hours from Marrakech and Toubkal is about 3 hours south of that so for all I new this was going to be one of my only chances so I jumped.

N was nice enough to let us leave our stuff at her place and than we made our way out. We stayed at a really nice hostel and made plans to start the next day. Unfortunately, not only did it rain all night long T woke up with some horrible stomach pain. He headed back to N's and the rest of us headed up the mountain in the rain. Due to the fact I am scared to leave my house due to harassment I have become quite unfit so this hike up was really hard. About a quarter of the way up we ran into another girl from PC E and her friend from the States W, and they were cool enough to let me walk with them as the rest of the group I had come with went ahead.

We finally made it to the refuge about an hour after the others; drenched from the walk in the rain and freezing cold I has sad to find that all of the contents from my pack were wet as well. The night was miserable. The next morning I heard everyone else get up and say that they were going to head up the hill. I not feeling so good rolled over to wake up an hour later and find them all gone.

I checked out and found that the path going up was washed out so I made my way down. Most of the time you are to stick to the donkey path, but because of the rain it was underwater. Somehow I ended up on the goat path at the top of the hills. One of the herders found this to be funny and made his friends with a donkey give me a ride to the right path. I than found myself one bend away from a guy who I though I lost to find he had just climbed a bolder for lunch. George a 56 year old German guy invited me to share his lunch, which was great because the group I had been with took all the food. We chatted for some time until I started back down the hill and he stayed on the bolder for a nap. I finally got back to the town below, stopped for hot chocolate and than made my way back to Tahanaoute to spend the night with T & N. We watched tv, had pancakes, and hot chocolate.

I have to admit the hike was a real bummer until I figured what I needed to do to make myself better and safe. This time things luckily fell into place. Toubkal really ended up being one big metaphor for my Peace Corps experience. I now know who will be there for me and that they will always be there. Now I just need to figure out what is best and safe for me and if the top of the mountain is worth reaching. For now I am just going to enjoy the waterfalls on this epic hike.

Weddings

I have not been to many weddings in my life, but Moroccan ones are something else.  The first wedding I ever went to was for a third cousin I was so young the only thing I cared about was running around with my little cousin Emma and not being the next one to be tagged. The next wedding I went to was for my cousin Louisa and well it as a party from landing France till we left, it was really an amazing time.

Weddings here in Morocco have no ceremony it is all just one big event. Women get dressed up in the dresses called Caftans and the men were everything from suits to jeans. The bride wares as many different dresses as she can during the event to show of wealth. These dresses are bright and bedazzled, but what confuses me most is that most of the time they are made out of really cheap material and generally not really pretty.

The first Moroccan wedding I went to was in Fez and it was horrible. My friend N came along for this crazy night. We went over to her host families house around three o’clock the caftan I got made me look like a leprechaun and N was a great looking red flying carpet, and I have never worn that much makeup in my life as her host sister Z put on us. The wedding started at 5 and went until 4:30 the next morning. I have never seen people look so unhappy as the couple that was getting married. This was the first wedding I ever cried at, and not because I was happy. I was so over stressed from CBT, a heat stroke was coming on, and when I asked to go out and get some air the ball of horrible that was my host mom started to yell at me. Basically it was a night of horrible dresses, unhappy people, and getting yelled at for no reason.

The second wedding was a lot better. It was here in Oued Zem. It lasted just as long but I had a nice time chatting with people, and there was some lovely food. The dresses were just as bad, but the people were nice. One of the things that I found odd was that men and women were separated. It was one big venue but all the women were to sit on the left and all the men on the right, and they were separated by some odd looking decorations.

Today I got to go to another wedding in Jamaa it is a really rural area, and the wedding was really traditional.  This family was really wonderful; they are the most welcoming people and have a lovely farm. The mother of the family officially adopted me when she yelled for one of the kids to get some water. I was the first one at the well. Everyone was shocked that I could work it, never thought anyone would think it as complicated. Once I got the water from the well I got to go with uncle to get honey from the beehives and then put bread in the clay stoves outside.  Once the family decided I earned my keep off to the wedding we went. Their front yard had two tents the tent for the men and the family tent.

The bride had 4 dresses the first one white, second red and yellow, third orange, forth blue. The colors were a little bright but they were all well made. I got the chance to peak into the guys tent all the men sat around the outside with tables set up with tea, there was a band and three women in black caftans and sparkly scarf’s wrapped around their waist. The family tent was much more fun, the bride and groom walked in and out with their many different outfits. Four guys preformed traditional dances and lifted the bride and groom in the air.  Family and friends sat round the outside of the tent as everyone danced in the middle. All around it was a fun and exhausting time and it was from 3 in the afternoon to 6:30 at night.

I still don’t understand quite how this is a wedding because the couple are never declared as married. The whole event is outrageous and makes no sense (much like a marriage). Anyway I don’t understand any of the traditions I have come across in Morocco and weddings can go right to the top of the list. 

Rain and Covering Up

            I got really lucky with my Peace Corps placement when it comes to dress code. Yes, I still have to ware way more clothing than I would like in this 120-degree weather, but I can ware short sleeves and don’t have to ware a hijab. This was something I was willing to do when asked in my interview back in NYC, but being here of course changes everything. Every little piece of over confidence goes away once you get here and have that first stone throne at you just for being well you. I have so many friends that did not get quite as lucky when it comes to the dress code in their sites.

            Today it rained for the first time in my site. Of course this was right after I did laundry.  After pulling in all of my clothing from the rain J and I walked to the Dar Chabab. Just because it is raining does not mean that it cools the town down unfortunately, but it was nice to walk in this light drizzle. One the way home it was raining just slightly harder. J and I parted ways because I needed to run to the hanut and pick up some milk. As I was saying goodbye to everyone at the hanut, which can sometimes take forever, it started to rain harder. Nothing that would ever keep me from walking the two blocks home.  As I prepared for the short sprint I began felling the eyes of the little old ladies behind me. This was when I realized that they were waiting to see if the scarf around my neck would make its way over my head before I took a step out into the rain.

            Granny always told me to put a sweater on because she was cold. This is no different than not going out with wet hair in the winter, but sometimes here in Morocco the little things like that go a little to far. “You can’t sit where there is a breeze because the cold will hit you and seal your health. You can sit on the floor because you will never be able to have babies”, and I guess you can add this to the list. Even though it is 120 degrees outside, don’t step out in the rain without your head covered.

            I don’t know why it bothered me this time. I guess it was because even after the conversation I just had with these women their entire perception of me would be altered by me taking one step out from under the awning.

As my covered little head made its way home I began to ponder about how funny it is that rain can make you home sick. Actually anybody from South Carolina would laugh at this being called rain. It is the lightest drizzle, but it come with some thunder, no lightning, but for the last week you can smell the rain everyday from 4:30-6. It is generally insignificant but still enough to make me homesick. 

Participation

As Peace Corps volunteers our job is to integrate into these communities that we are placed in. This means we basically befriend everyone and participate in community events. As you know, Morocco, were I am placed is a Muslim country. This means religion seeps into everything, and religious holidays are the biggest events. Right now we are beginning Ramadan. This is 29 to 30 days of fasting according to the lunar cycle. Fasting, prayer, and charity are all big parts of this holiday. It is so cool to be placed in a location that is so different from anything else I have experienced. I am exited to learn all about the culture and religion and hope to participate in anyway I can. When it comes to religion it becomes a little tricky. Yes people try to convert me all the time and it can be a good way to learn more, but let's just say I am a long way from converting to any form of religion. I would however love to participate in any of the events they have. I have learned how to put on a hijab which is great for when my hair is wet and probably even better for when winter gets here. I have learned how to pray from my super cool host mom. Picked up a bunch of god phrases that are used in typical conversation, and I just know that there is going to be so many more events. Now though is Ramadan. Ramadan is intense everyone's daily schedule changes. People stop eating and drinking water and pray many more times a day. We are of course not expected to participate in anything we don't want to and when it comes to religious events this can get even more of a touchy subject. Volunteers are so exited to participate in anyway they can and this is the same when it comes to fasting. Ramadan is such an important holiday and the question that is asked the most not only by host country national but also by other volunteers is are you going to participate in Ramadan? For he longest time my answer was "I am going to try." Now that Ramadan is here my answer is "no". For me at this point in time for both my emotional and physical health fasting is not the best idea. My local hanut guy laughs at me as I guiltily go by eggs from him, and my fellow PCV's boo and ask me why. "It's 120 degrees outside and you think I should go all day with out drinking water?" Ok so that's no all there is to it but still. It's hot and I love water! Anyway I feel guilty that I am not participating in this one, but for me it's just not reasonable. I spent summers living with my mom and we finally figured out that when we both started acting a little snippy that it was dinner time and lots of arguments were settled by one of us saying "go eat something and then we will finish this argument". Anyway I am still expected to do my community integration and teach English and sports. Learning to live in another country is still taking its tole and everyone around me is still questioning if I will make it. I even have a small group of people that are rutting against me. That's beside the point. The Point. I want to participate. I want to learn. I even one day want to be able to day that I have participate and live through Ramadan, but I also want to do it right. I want my two years here to be a success. I want my two years of Peace Corps. It's tough to see my rock star friends fast and be able to walk out of the house and just mold into Morocco like they are part of the crowd. One day, enshaallah, I will have that too. As for right now fasting is not in the picture. I don't cook during the day, I don't eat or drink in public, and I admire those that are fasting. My goal for Ramadan is to finish the Quran, but there will be a water bottle at my side. Maybe next year with more understanding and a healthier happier outlook I will fast with my neighbors. For now I am going to read this book, thank whatever higher power gave me this glass of water, and listen to the beautiful call to prayer.

Religious holidays.

Today I woke up wondering if I would be allowed to have a cup of coffee or if I would go to hell for it. This is of course like most of my blogs and most of my first thoughts in the morning before my first cup of coffee a gross exaggeration. Ramadan in most of the world started today. Morocco of course wanted one more day of couscous before, so it won't start till tomorrow. Just kidding. I have only had one sip of coffee it will take a minute to kick in. Morocco goes back to old time for Ramadan so it's actually 6 in the morning not 7, and with just one sip of coffee in my I figure what is a better time than now to chat about the one topic we are not suppose to talk about! No not money, not politics, but don't worry we will get there soon, but this morning on the eve of one of the biggest holidays I figure we should talk religion. I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THIS TOPIC. YOU GIANT SQUIDS OF ANGER ON THE INTERWEBS DON'T READ INTO THIS IN ANY WAY PLEASE.! These are just my little lonely thoughts that will hopefully turn into something. When it comes to religion I am pretty uneducated. This seams like a silly statement seeing as I went to a Catholic school, was baptized Presbyterian, grew up praying in some form or another before eating or going to bed, and Christmas was always quite the event in my family. I have gone to church, youth group, and synagogue with my friends. I make the cross anytime a plane takes off and say bismila when I get in a car. Some form of a higher power however he/she/it maybe understood has been something I cross my fingers for, yet with all of this religion has always eluded me. Religion has always been something I was not really willing to go near. To me it was just something for people to argued over. In my life time I watched people as they refused to listen, talk to, or be near each other because they believed in different things. Then I watched as people began killing each other over it. I can't quite understand why this is so important. Yes, this sounds naive, I know but still this is one of those topic I just can't quite grasp the concept of and I found that if I just did my best to avoid the topic things would be fine. The college I attended was religious in some way. It had a chapel and had a world religions course that people loved. It was one of those classes that everyone took and everyone loved, except of course for me. I found myself lucky enough to be brought into the honors program which allowed me to replace all of my liberal arts classes with honors ones. This I found to be a gift from whatever higher power was looking out for me because it helped me avoid that topic as much as I possibly could. My really great friend in college was also my sorority sisters. It took us quite some time to actually become friends because well you just can't believe some of the things that this girl says. Once we finally became friends/sisters and found a place were we understood each other. We started spending more and more time together one weekend we took a trip together, and she had what we called a zenon moment. Like the girls from outer space in that Disney movie. The words that came out of this girls mouth was just so outrageous I could not believe it. Luckily it prompted me to ask the question I had truly been wondering this whole time. "how in the world are you still alive?" She stopped and looked at me and having realized what just happened, she had no clue. On the train ride back she was finally able to give me an answer. "the only logical reason that I am still alive is that Jesus loves me... A lot." We both giggled. As my college carrier was coming to a close, I began freaking out as most graduating seniors do. I looked to my friends for help and there were only two people around me that really seamed to just be willing to go with the flow. The only two were my friends S & J. These two people could not be any more different from each other, but the one thing that they do seam to have in common are higher powers J is Muslim and S is Christian, I asked both of them and they said that their peace of mind comes from their higher power and religious beliefs. I want that peace of mind and if religion is going to be the place to find it than it is time for me to start studying. After college I found myself with some time on my hands so I went out and got a copy of the Qur'an and the Bible and started reading. The Peace Corps finally became a thing and my free time went way. I was lucky enough to meet someone, E, who had recently been through his spiritual awakening, and has been a fountain of information for me. In the end this is a really long and boring way to tell you I still have no clue when it comes to religion and I don't know if it will ever be for me. E helped me realize that if nothing else I am a 2 gallon bucket and 3 gallons of crazy and some book probably won't help fix that ( you so know I am reading 7 habits of highly effective people after this...j.k). Anyway my plan is to finish the Qur'an and Bible if nothing else because they are lovely and poetic. I am currently in a wonderful position of living in a religiously run country and am going to be given the chance to hopefully partake in lots of religious events and plan to take advantage of them. Tomorrow the rest of the country will begin fasting. I plan to ask lots of questions whenever I get the chance. I still don't get it. I don't know if I ever will. I am jealous of the peace of mind my friends have found and maybe Ramadan will help me with that. I guess the one thing now is that I am openminded to it. Good, bad, indifferent. Anyway here goes nothing, quite literally nothing! No food or water! it is 120 degrees out here! Once the cannon sounds letting us all know we can eat I will raise my bowl of harara (Moroccan soup) to an open and hopefully enshaallah peaceful mind.

Rooftops

Here in Morocco I have gained a new found love for rooftops. Here rooftops have become this magical portal to another place. Ok so obviously I am getting carried away a little with my new found love but the thing is here as a volunteer or even just as an American or someone who is starting to work in a new environment there is a continuos pressure to be perfect. Not only is Morocco just a really judgmental place to begin with, i am once more the new kid, and this time the strange looking one to. Every move I make is judged even when i think no one is looking. I have been told this is called the fish bowl effect.Anyway Peace Corps puts you in training with all of these wonderful people, you become fast friends and then Peace Corps does what they told you they would do all along, but splits you up and sends you to different corners of the country. Luckily Peace Corps gives us a phone that lets us all chat with each other and we are lucky enough to be doing this in the age of technology where communication is simple and sometimes instant. Now every once and a while we are lucky enough to get time off or there be some big event that throes us all together in one place along with this tend to be some hotel with a rooftop, these have become wonderful places where we can all get together relax, have a drink, eat way to many potato chips, play spades, and have educated conversations with vocabulary higher than a fifth grade level. Now many of us are in our own home and these tend to have rooftop access or a small court yard as in my case. This is a little outside places that are hidden away from the curious eyes of those in our community, they give us a chance to be outside and do and speak as we please. A friend of mine came out to spend a week and this gave us a great place to sit, read our books, and drink coffee in our pj's (which would not be acceptable to do in a public place. Girls in cafes and pj's are not publicly acceptable here). The heat here has also been rising over 100 degrees and many of my friends have ended up spending the nights on their roofs because it is just to hot to be indoors. Anyway I am grateful for these wonderful little escapes.

Update & Sorry.
My computer has died. I only get a chance to hit the web every once in a while and it will be quite some time before I can get you guys picture. Sorry. Hopefully more to come as often as I can.

Punching People in the Face on Tuesdays.

I guess since the only people that read this are family andfriends I should probably preface this whole thing with saying that everythingis fine and I am alright, but this story is just too good not to share. Acouple of weeks ago on a Tuesday I was walking home from the café when theeguys that were walking on the other side of the street started walking towards me.This in Morocco is not out of the ordinary they normally just walk up to me andsay something crude and I just continue walking and try not to let it get tome. This time it was different one of the guys began lifting his fist andbefore I knew it, it was headed in the direction of my face, so like any normalperson I duct. His fist just braced the side of my face ( no bruises or nothingso no worries). As I tried to move my face away from his fist I tripped andfell to the ground the other guys that were with him began to laugh and theyall walked away. I got myself off and brushed myself off, and looked up to find4 old men just sitting and watching and did nothing. I readied myself andcontinued the rest of the half a mile walk to my home. As I got closer to thetrain tracks I was not able to hold it in any long and began to cry. One of thelocal Drunks who regularly hangs out by the train tracks ran over or welldrunkenly hobbled over and asked if I was ok. I told him I was fine and hewondered off. I made my way into the house and crawled into bed until it wastime for me to catch the train to El Jadida the next day for my regionalmeeting.

                I wishthat I could say that I was surprised by this, but that is just the way my townhere in Morocco is. People that look different, women, or foreigners, just gettreated like this. All I could think of after this happened were of the peoplethat just stood around and watched and could have not though twice that thismay not have been such a nice thing for these guys to do or care to help me inany way. As I grew more and more angry about what had happened I kept thinkingabout that scene in the West Wing after a plane with a friends of Bartlett’sgets blown up. Bartlett is offered a proportional response and can’t believethat is all there is go do. Bartlett tells Leo that when Rome was a super powerall one had to do was say the words “I am a Roman” & they could cross anyland unharmed. Bartlett now being the leader of the current super power wantedthe same protection for his people. There would be such fear in the concept ofharming one of his people that people would never think of it. Leo his righthand man reminded him that that is NOT how a super power acts. As I was gettingpunched in the face, in a country that had invited me and asked me for help. Icould not stop to think where was my protection?

                Anywayafter spending a week with new friends, a lot of support from wonderful people,and a few good moments with Moroccan people I was able to just get over it. My mind stopped thinking of the West Wing video and started thinking of the SNL one.

                The next Tuesday my site mate andI were on one of our community walks when this boy started walking up to her inan aggressive manner. She just stood and watched as this boy came at her. Igrab her shirt pulled her into the street and shoved the guy away. His friendsall got up to flow up and she and I made our way cross the street to our localOstrich owner. J was amazed at how fast everything had happened. As we made ourway back home (our wonderful safe haven), J ask “Is someone going to getpunched in the face every Tuesday?” I guess it looked like I punched the boy inthe face but I swear I only shoved him in self-defense. None the less so farTuesdays have always had a twitch of violence. May it be getting hit by abasketball, getting punched in the face or shoving someone else. Tuesdays arejust a crazy day to just try and handle.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILvkEHQPHHg

…. Don’t get me started on Friday’s holy days my -------.

Finding a Nun in Morocco

          I was lucky enough that my CBT (Cultural Based Training) was close enough to HUB (where everyone in our region met up for lectures) that my friends and I could walk. It was a lovely one hour away by foot that always brought us to wonderful conversation. Now the traffic in Morocco is quite scary, I don’t think it is as bad as the traffic in Peru, but it is bad enough that Peace Corps does not allow us to operate vehicles or ride on motorcycles. So far I have found myself late for a couple of different things due to the fact that I have to wait 10 minutes in order to find a safe time to cross the street.

          On one of our walks to HUB as we were waiting for a safe moment to cross the street my friend Ted brought up the fact that when he was in Italy all he ever needed to do when he needed to cross the street was find a Nun and go with her. This was basically the same thing when I live in France and when I went back to visit with my friend Stacey. Nicole also had some fun stories from when she lived in Cambodia. Obviously at some point we made it across the street. Now here in Morocco there are no Nuns to help us cross so most of time it is just a live game of Frogger.

          Luckily most of time we are viewed as ‘miskina’ (poor thing). When the first person ever called me ‘miskina’ all I wanted to do was correct them. I am the luckiest person in the world why would anyone think of me as ‘miskina’. Whenever we are spotted here in Morocco looking lost, confused, or have just been standing too long to cross the street someone just comes up and grabs your hand and helps you out.   

          On our epic adventure to get the bags the Peace Corps shipped, before Jasmine and I got into the Grand Taxi one of the women had already decided that we had no clue what we were doing and accompanied us the whole way. Many a times when my Derija is just not up to snubs someone comes up and helps me translate from English or French and then help me learn how to pronounce it correctly. Today an old lady just walked right up took my hand and crossed the street with me, because she saw me look both ways and she thought I was scared.

          It still bugs me when people call me ‘muskina,’ but living here and having random strangers help me with the silliest thing like crossing the street I feel less ‘muskina’ than ever. So far people here have been really helpful. Yes, you do have to be careful most of the time, but every once and a while your faith in humanity is restored as someone helps you with what would normally be a simple task, but here is made 10 time more difficult. 

Why can’t you be more like...

            I have the most amazing family. I will be the first one to point out why each and every one of them is perfect. I am the youngest in the family (ok Jack has now got me bet). Anyway being the youngest comes with many wonderful advantages such as hand-me-downs, always having someone around to count on for life advice, but the best of all is that there is an abundance of people to look up to.

            I went through these phases were “I wanted to be just like _________ “ and would pick up habits from each them, such as wanting to play tennis like Nicky & Louisa, be as lovely or kick ass spy like Marisha, put ketchup on my rice like Ian, and even develop a love for pistachios like my father. OK so these are all really silly and not really helpful in the end. None the less my end goal was to turn into as wonderful as a human being as the people I am related.  

            Now being the youngest is not all sunshine and rainbows (ok ya it is, but hear me out). You get compared to a lot. Angus came to take a horseback riding lesson with me, and after not having ridden for years, and my instructor made  a point throughout the lesson “why can’t you do it more like that”.

Other commonly heard phrases include: 

“You know Elise never behaved like this”.

“Ian graduated with three degree in only three years.”

“Marisha had accomplished _____, _____, and _____ by the time she was your age.”

“Matt has friends why don’t you?”

*** I hold no grudges I love hearing these things this is not meant to sound like a complaint.

            The point of this little blog post is that one of the things Peace Corps suggest is that you bring pictures from back home to show your new friends and host family. Have made a file on my computer of photos to show from back home and of my wonderful and perfect family. Each photo has a story all prepared. Who is in it, where they are, one special thing that I think makes them wonderful, and what we are doing in that photo. One of the photos is from quite some time ago when a group of us cousins got together.

The typical conversation goes like this:

“You and your brother look so much alike.”

“How are you related to Elise?”

“Boy is he handsome that cousin of yours.”

“What a lovely family.”

The question that prompted this whole thing goes as followed:

A:“How are you related to her?” Point to Marisha.

J: I explain.

A: “How old is she here?”

J: I make a guess.

A: “How old are you now?”

J:“23”.

A:“Ohh”

J:“Why?”

A: “I guess I though the pretty would be something you would eventually catch up to, ohh well. Kascrot?”

           

Thousands of miles away, and people that will probably never actually meet my family in real life still make statement as to why my cousins are better than me. I will always have a lot to live up to. Yes this story is extremely superficial, and maybe one day I will catch up to the pretty of Marisha, Louisa, Jessica, and Elise. For now my plan is to catch up to the smarts, kind, and wonderful, that is this great group of people I am related to.

Long story short: I miss my family!

Community Based Training is over and I can’t be any happier about this fact. Ok, so it was not all bad actually there were some really great moments in class and of course on days off. One of my friends actually got placed in 3in Amir, Fes for her final site and Peace Corps could not have picked a better person for that site. It is really a lovely place and not far off from anything that a person would need, but if I had grown up there I would feel trapped. Samantha, the girl that is going there is going to be such a great influence on all of the youth there and just do wonders. 3in Amir is one of those communities that is going to benefit so much from a Peace Corps Volunteers. What made it not be the best CBT site was that any time we actually did something and the told them that we were leaving in two months they were disappointed and lost interest in us. Samantha is going to be living with a wonderful host family and is going to make such a difference in this place and I can’t wait to hear more of her story.

On Wednesday May 23, 2012 I was officially sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. We all piled into bussed from our hotel in Rabat and made our way to the Ministry of Youth and Sports. Surrounded by my friends I could not stop myself from thinking back to College graduation last May, bound with the same knowledge that all of my friends tomorrow would be off to all different parts of the country. We sat and listened to speeches from our lovely Country Director, the Ambassador, and fellow volunteers. In just a few moments we would be volunteers, and we would be off to our own little corners for the countries to try and make even the slightest of differences.

I actually felt something at this ceremony unlike in college. Yes we sat in boredom just like our college graduation, but when we stood and stated our oath I felt as though something not only had been but was going to be accomplished.  That night was spent with friends , talking about our sites, plans for the future, goodbyes, and  see you at Christmas in Kazakhstan (for those of us what were transferred late to the Morocco group).  We stayed up much too late seeing as we all had long days of travel ahead of us, but it was totally worth it.

The next day I packed up my things and made my way to OuedZem with my site mate and two other volunteers that were living nearby.  Jasmine and I lucked out. Our karma has been justified after such horrible CBTs. OuedZem is amazing, our host family and the house we are currently living in is remarkable. According to our Peace Corps emotion chart we are still in the honey moon period so we are not going to get our hopes to far up, but as of now OuedZem has welcomed us with open arms and are excited to have us here, as of now one of my biggest concerns is letting people down.

 OuedZem  is the epitome of posh corps, and one knows that you are here as a government pawn, but there is still so much to be done.  The list of potential projects grows with each walk around town, and I can’t wait to get settled into my own place and really get started. I can now see myself living in Morocco for the next two years which is not something I was able to say before the swearing in ceremony. My Peace Corps experience will not be stereotypical, and I am definitely as far away from living with a nomadic tribe in Kazakhstan as one can get, but this will be an experience none the less with many ups and countless downs. 

I, Jenna Spencer Mc Ewan, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same, that I take this obligation freely, without any purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps, serving Morocco to the best of my abilities and maintaining the respect due its people. So help me god.

My First Kill

                Blame and fault are two the hardest things to define, sometimes trying to find figure it out can be a waste of time and emotions. As humans we believe that placing blame will help us get over whatever tragedy we are currently faced with. A lovely x-race horse I helped rescues, Just a Letter, and an incredible man, Christopher, died this week in a horrible riding accident.  What ifs, sadness, prayers, condolences, and stories of these two wonderful lives run ramped this week. Moments of joy are struck down because it is just not fair that we get to experience them when these two don’t.  What can be stated for sure is that they were loved, respected, and will always be remembered. 

Topics! Hi, I need topics! Please send along all the random questions you have so I can do a big Q&A . Also it might help me come up with some other things to right about.
Thanks.

Is there really no such thing as fun.

I keep asking people around here for a translation of the word fun in Derija and so far no one has been able to come up with one. The best they can do is come up with is a way to say happy times. If you translate the word directly for fun they tend to talk about “forbidden things”. One of my friends (in a completely silly manner) stated that most of the things we American call fun are not allowed, meaning smoking or drinking. (ATTENTION THIS WAS MENT IN A JOKING MANNER! You crazy internet people). I just got to spend a weekend off and we had the most fun I could have asked for. My spirits were lifted in so many ways it really put me in a better place. Yap a bunch of Americans in Morocco celebrated Cinco de Mayo.

The toughest part is not that these things are forbidden; we can live without all of these things and in this case have, will and don’t care. The toughest part is that not only is there a language barrier, but that there are not even translations to help explain the way we are feeling. Actually in Derija the word mqllq is both sad and angry. The word Sb3 is toes, seven, morning, and lion. Talk about not always being able to express the way you are feeling. “Are you trying to tell me there is an angry lion or sad toes?” Waxxa(ok) so most of the time you can understand just from context what people are going on about, but still.

We had a sit down with our host families to talk about life and gender roles. Of course Americans have plenty of preconceived ideas of gender roles in Morocco and vice versa. First we had to try to get passed just being polite and saying the “correct” answers which we never really did, but then being able to explain the concepts and then have them be understood complexly.

On our time off a lovely group of us Peace Corps Trainees got together sat on a roof top at Bab Bou Jeloud and enjoyed some wonderful conversations. At one point the conversation switched to talk about objective realism and with an open minded group of people, 4 languages that could be spoken fluently, we were still not able to get to a point where we could fully understand each other’s opinions. The end of this debate ended in such a manner that beginning another debate or building upon that one was not possible due to the inability of some to theoretically understand where the other was coming from.

I am sorry this blog harps so much on language, but with the basis of language not being around it hinders conversation from going an interesting place. Now that language has begun to get better and we have been able to have conversations with people who speak the same language I am amazed at how sometimes people just don’t or almost can’t agree to disagree and let that stop them from continuing with a debate. I am grateful that so far my close group of friends are always just willing to move on and continue with a variety of debate, and I hope that I continue to get better at language and inevitable be able to communicate and understand where others are coming from and have them even try to understand where I am coming from.      

The Devil You Know.

Peace Corps keeps telling us what an amazing experience we are all in for. How we will have completely different experiences from one another, and how nobody will share the same experience. This theory of course can be used in any aspect of life. Even if the person is standing right next to you, they will experience the event in a different way and come away with a different perspective.  With life here I can’t think of a better way to explain it.

Each day a new friend tells me how they feel like an anxety teen. “I can’t really complain because I heard insert someone else’s horrible story here. No one likes to complain especially when a generalized concept of what we are here to do is help others that are worst off then us. Though with even the simplest task here being difficult it is made even harder when a person who has no right to yell at you (and no reason) does so.  This is of course my complaint and others here have their own. No matter how little they even is it still packs a major punch.

After not being able to shower for an extended period of time or needing to use a sock as a washcloth, or even not being able to communicate that you want to help in the kitchen and it is not Hshuma (Shameful). Each little event takes its toll. Of course the Peace Corps is there for when things get to tough and offer you help in the ways that they can, but not even including language it is hard to culturally get your point across things just don’t translate.

A simple “sharable” example is language. For quite some time I was able to make it through life without the ability to read. Now reading is one of my favorite extra-curricular activities. Though it is still quite difficult with my dyslexia I have grown to have the ability to read and write and get by (let this also be a warning for those of you who read this spelling is still not my forte). When I took on the challenge of moving to Morocco I came in know that my focus would be on speaking and not on reading or writing. Getting by for the next two years and being illiterate would be the easiest thing for me to do being able to communicate with the people around me for now is the most important.

For the last month and a bit we have been working on speaking the language. Peace Corps has come up with phonetic spelling for us to be able to read and write to learn how to speak, but of course people here have no idea what any of it mean.  Shwiya b shwiya (little by little) the language gets better. On a rainy day when we were unable to go out on one of our community walks we began learning script. As of now the only word I can write is sun or ṧms but it was amazing at how easily it came. Obviously this is me we are talking about I am still last in my class when it comes to just about everything, but my courage double as I was able to work through this task with ease.

The Devil you know may just be the devil you want to face. You don’t know if what’s behind door number two is, it may be better or worse, and of course there is a 10% chance it will be worse. Picking your battles is inevitable. Once you go through something try to step back and realize the new skills you have acquired through this hardship and you many not want to avoid this challenge the next time. Take the bull by the horns and with your friends by your side and your trusty stead you can make it through.  Even if it takes and advent calendar made by your friend counting down the days until you get to move out to your final site.

                                                  Working with Kid

                                     Friends By Your Side in Font of Our Dar Chabab

                       Getting Through Everything Even the Mud in Moulay Yacoub

The plane landed as the sun rose in Casablanca. Once could not ask for a better entry into a country. The security officer met us in the airport and helped all 120 something volunteers make it through customs. We all piled onto busses and began the trek to Rabat. Everyone was full of laughter, enjoyment at the amount of camels, horse, and other animals we were able to see right out of airport gate, and jetlag from the trip. We all made it to our rooms and my new friends and I meet up in the lobby of the hotel for our first walk in Morocco on our own. This was unexciting, and uneventful but wonderful.

My friends here have some of the sharpest minds, they are brilliant and have amazing pasts, wonderful ideas, and theories of the world. I could sit and listen to for hours. I don’t think I have ever met such a wonderful open minded group of people. Debates cover all subjects and never seem to run dry. One of the things I am most impresses about with my new Peace Corps friends is just how respectful they are (please not this does not cover all of the people I have meet just my group of friend, many a harsh argument has occurred.)

We spent a week in Rabat beginning language classes and listening to endless lectures that will hopefully give us valuable information for the rest of our stay here in Morocco. Within this week of lectures we were given a day off where my friends and I went off to do crazy touristy things. Back in the States my dad would call this day a culture day, where we go off and get culture and learn all sorts of new things. With this group though and getting some culture was more fun than one could ask for. Each moment here is filled with culture and it is hard to get a break. It is amazing at how fast we have all bonded though, when put in a situation like this one it is to be expected.

Unfortunately, we were split into three groups and then into even smaller groups to be sent off. Three Hubs of immouzer, Azrou, and Fes were sent off on buses. I ended up in Fez where I am currently living. Our little group is in Ain Amir. We live with host families, and meet at the Dar Chabab every day for language classes. Last week we got to partake in our first spring camp which was not what I had hoped, but is what is was and a good experience. Derija is one of the most difficult language I could have been asked to learn, and I am so happy I have a little French. My host family is crazy, and some of the stories I can’t post online. In the morning we share stories of what has happened to us and the others in my group always end my stories by asking me if the Peace Corps. actually screens the families they place us with. My Culture and Language Facilitator is of course happy to help, and loves to remind me that I will end up meeting lots of people like this in Morocco. I do my best to take everything with a grain of salt, but things sometimes get to overwhelming.

Once more I was given a few days off. A group of friends came to Fes and the hardest part was not being able to run up to them and give them hugs for it is just not culturally acceptable.  It is amazing how not being able to hug someone can make things just a little tougher to take. The next weekend I headed to Mulay Acupe for a hike in the rain. I was sad that two of my other friends ended up choosing to head with another group. One friend expressed  “I am addicted to our group”. We have all shared our concerned about the fact that we fear we are all being to clinging but in a way it is just the best support system we could have. The days we get to get together help with any extra stress we can hold. The amount of friends I have woken up to talk to in the middle of the night, but because they needed to talk can’t be count. Everyone put on a brave face and we do our best to make it.

Crazy stories are abundant, but not really post-able. The hard days are more difficult and one could imagine and the happy moment hardly makeup for them. As they say this is the toughest job we will ever love. One here is happiest in this cold country when the sun finally shines and you can sit outside with your friends, and understand a conversation, it may be in French, English, or Derija. Hopefully our stay here will soon be productive.

It was a cold Wednesday in December, Centenary College Equestrian Center was covered in snow. As the text message went out that classes we canceled for the rest of the day I ran to ask the van that headed back and forth to campus if it would wait as I went to drop of my schedule with my advisor for the next semester. As I gracelessly made my way to the offices Tim Cleary (my wonderful advisor) was headed out the door. “Actually we need to meet up and talk about your schedule.”

Nothing sucks more that not getting the classes you want. Students spend quite some time coming up with 5 classes that a line in a way that you can make it to each class, be able to eat (not that eating is something that I of all people need to do, but it is my favorite thing to do), and for Equine Studies students it is even more difficult because we have a twenty minute drive to another campus, along with animals that don’t care what your schedule is that require attention.

The next week I found myself in the Crow’s Nest (Equine Studies Professors Offices) next to Tim’s desk waiting news that the only classes I would be able to take this semester were the insipidly bland ones. “You can graduate.”

I stared at him

“At the end of this coming  semester you can graduate”

After 20 minutes I walked out of the offices with the most amazing class list anyone could ask for. Photojournalism with Lev, Honors Thesis with Cleary/Elsaser, Management of Equestrian Activities with Cleary, Novice Hunt Seat with Hustis,  Equine Nutrition (blah), and Middle East Peace Conference with Fitzpatrick (AMAZING Prof). Now what?!?! I found myself going straight (or as straight as one can go coming down Kings Highway) to the DSO (Disability Service Office). The DSO is amazing and every school should have one as well as every student be able to use it if they want. Tara was sitting behind her desk and new right away that something was up. After some discussion with many of the wonderful people in the office it was decided that I would come up with something wonderful to do with my major, minor, and concentration, not only for my life, but my thesis as well. I signed my declaration papers and went to hunt down Maureen Fallon (the main reason I made it through college) and filled her in.

Winter brake was spent doing some soul searching and taking to many of the wonderful people in my life about how they got to where they were, and before I knew it I was sitting front of an Air Force Recruitment Officer. Long story short dyslexics can’t fly fighter jets, and the other deal I was offered did not sound like a lot of fun, so I went in search of other options. A couple month later I was on Skype with my uncle Tom, then in the Peace Corps Office for my interview (then getting asked by my dad why I never told him any of this), getting an invitation to leave for the Ukraine, righting  a horrible 32 page thesis creating an Equine Non-profit in the Ukraine, and graduating from Centenary College with a Bachelor of Science in Equine Studies, a concentration in Communications, and a minor in Political and Governmental Affairs. Honors from Delta Apha Pi Honor Society, Centenary College Honors Program, and cords from Theta Epsilon Nu Sorority (take that people who think people with dyslexia are less than. With my diploma in hand I was ready for this grand adventure, only to be told that my grades never went through and I won’t be making the trip to the Ukraine. 

I spent some time in Pennsylvania horse showing for Royal Rock Equestrian Center, for I made my way to Arizona to work as a hunter stable. This was the worst job I will probably ever have; every single person I met was wonderful with the exception of my boss. Though she was not always around her disrespectful and brazen manner was enough to put me in the hospital. My wonderful brother Ian helped me pick up the pieces when I got a letter stating that I would be leaving for Kazakhstan with the Peace Corps. Of course the world exploded (my staging offices words not mine) and stated that once more I would not be going to my assigned location.  This led me to call my uncle Chaz and aunt Elaine who were nice enough to let me live with them. Of course when in California one must go visit the wonderful people and horses of Mill Creek Equestrian Center (my favorite place in the world, sorry Cognac, France and Moray, Peru, Mill Creek will always win). A hug and greeting with the wonderful Cory, and I had found myself a new Job.

I can’t stress just how wonderful Mill Creek was. It was just the best job I had ever held. The work was fun the people were amazing, being that consistently happy in a job is had to come by. Living with my Aunt and Uncle was just so much fun, my friends Lexi, Janey, and Katy, made my weekends wonderful, and every person I worked with as fun.  Unfortunately, not to long after being there Morocco came a calling. Peace Corps Volunteer Youth Development in Morocco, even with having finally found happiness this was a hard opportunity to turn down. I gave Cory my notice, sold the car, and headed to Dallas Pennsylvania for one last family get together. My brother Ian and my dad both made the trek to come visit before I took off.

With long goodbyes I hoped on the plane to Philadelphia for pre-service training.  In the airport was the first place I actually met two people which was fun, and after that the day was spent in lectures and going out for one final meal with Pork and Beer since for the next two years of our live these things would be absent.

The Adventure had begun, the people were amazing, and there was official no time to breath. We were off and though nothing was happening everything was changing. 

                                          Winter at Centenary College

                                          Peace Corps friends last night in the States

                                                    Graduation Dr. Fitzpatrick

                                     Mill Creek Equestrian Center = Amazing