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.