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.