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.