What would have been our COS conference offers a milestone moment for me reflect on the last half year. In February we arrived back in the US slightly bewildered and disoriented, not so much by any “reverse culture shock” (surprisingly almost non-existent), but by far more existential matters. What in tarnation just happened? Did we dream that? What’s next?

The road itself offered answers to questions I hadn’t even articulated. Twenty-three hundred miles separate Arlington, Virginia and Mesa, Arizona if you travel directly. We didn’t. We meandered via more than 5,000 miles, each one stretching like a much needed deep exhale. Stops included the world’s largest truck stop and the world’s largest pistachio, a place called Totem Pole Park, a couple of tombs of fine Americans, a cattle drive, Big Bend and White Sands National Parks, the Alamo, an inspiring nonprofit coffee shop, bourbon distilleries, and a retreat at a Cistercian monastery.

It was glorious, and although I can’t say everything went exactly as planned, I loved every mile. Long quiet stretches punctuated by weird sights that caused us to check in with each other, did you see that??? Most importantly, the extended trip was an opportunity to reconnect with family and friends we hadn’t seen for too long. By the time we reached our condo on April 1, I felt both spent and renewed.

And now we’re denizens of Sunland Village East, a 55+ “active adult community,” where you’ll find us tooling around on a custom painted John Deere golf cart. I did not see that coming 2 years ago! Speaking of getting around, the highway as local road out here has taken some getting used to. If you’re going somewhere that’s “not far away,” that might mean a 20 minute drive on a 6 lane, 65mph road (not in the golf cart, obv!). What it definitely doesn’t mean is, you can walk there.

There is something strange about settling into a place where I know I won’t stay long, but we’re getting comfortable with this temporary home. We have spent the last few months learning the rhythms here: the heat, the cactus landscape, and the way the light moves across the desert into spectacular sunsets. There is a peculiar contentment in the awareness of being a short-timer. It makes the present feel less heavy.

Right at the end of our epic roadtrip, Joe secured a consulting client from his former government relations life. He has also re-certified as a soccer referee and is working on getting into the assignment system here to pick up games in the fall. I decided not to look for paid employment for now, grateful for the option to treat this time as a bridge rather than the destination. Instead, I’ve been volunteering with the American Red Cross’s local disaster response services. It’s a lot different from Peace Corps: very different stakes and scope, but it’s satisfying to have purpose and to show up and work. Also, I don’t have to do it in Arabic!

Sometime in 2027 we will return to Virginia. Selling our townhouse in Arlington will close the Northern Virginia chapter definitively. We are considering the Shenandoah Valley and Southwest Virginia; I am ready for someplace slower, quieter, and beautiful. Although I can’t say now what I’ll be doing, the word “retirement” doesn’t really fit; it feels final and weighty.

In the meantime, my siblings and I are looking forward to a birthday party next month in Phoenix for our mother’s 90th. I’ve appointed myself chair of the planning committee.

As the fall approaches, and I hope, inshallah that the blistering heat will loosen its grip, I remain thankful for this transitory period. The occasion of the COS conference we will not attend is a good reminder that beginnings and endings have a flexible schedule. I’ve spent the past few years recalibrating, not retreating; it’s still a work in progress. The script gets rewritten, and you resist at your peril!

Onward!

Joe’s post:

Rebecca and I are indebted to Morocco and its people, our friends and hosts, and we are grateful for our time here. Simply put, we do not have enough work. This comes as a surprise to both of us. We are old enough to remember the 1980s-era Peace Corps slogan, “The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love.” Our experience hasn’t quite measured up.

One problem for us from the beginning was lack of clear roles. Peace Corps Morocco does not place volunteers into jobs. Rather, we are told to report to a government-sponsored facility and create classes, clubs and activities for young people. To get started, Peace Corps recommends that we offer English language classes, although we are not trained to teach ESL.

The worksite that Peace Corps selected for the two of us is a “dar chabab” or youth center. It operates on a drop-in basis, serves mainly school age children and proved a poor fit. On any given day it was impossible to know how many people would attend our sessions, how long they might stay, or if competing activities would displace us from the classroom. Not surprisingly, many of our efforts at dar chabab failed. We tried offering our services to other institutions with little success.

Another challenge was being new (and unknown). Midelt, the town where we live and serve, has little history with Peace Corps; we inherited no initiatives, participants, or “counterparts.” No one was waiting to put us to work. We found it difficult to identify community needs and offer appropriate activities, by ourselves and in halting Arabic.

Our struggles with work were not unique. Indeed, many of our fellow volunteers experience additional problems (e.g. nonfunctioning facilities, absentee or tyrannical local managers, harassment) that we did not endure. Even so it was hard to improve our situation. Lacking roles, collaborators, and suitable workspace made it difficult to connect with local people, which in turn made it challenging to find work. Likely we will find better opportunities to volunteer in the US, after we leave Peace Corps. Go figure!

Not all of our efforts in Midelt were unsuccessful. We managed to develop English classes and activities at dar chabab, Nedi Neswi (women’s club) and at an academic tutoring association; inshallah some business development spadework we did for the local sewing cooperative may eventually bear fruit. But our list of failures is longer.

As a cultural exchange program, Peace Corps remains top notch. Rebecca and I lived with two Moroccan families, learned local customs, culture, food and language, and were warmly welcomed at numerous community events (uniquely among our fellow volunteers, Peace Corps also proved for us an excellent marriage retreat 😉). There is nothing wrong with an immersive cultural experience that doesn’t prioritize work. But that is not what we wanted or expected from Peace Corps.

Even though we didn’t “love” our “jobs” (tough or otherwise), Rebecca and I enjoyed personal growth, made new friends and had many, many rich experiences in Morocco. Serving as Peace Corps Volunteers was an awesome chapter in our lives. We head home with no regrets.

Rebecca’s post:

In the summer of 2024, before we rented our home, put our belongings into boxes, and kissed our kids, I did not remotely anticipate that we would return before completing our whole Peace Corps service. “Two years isn’t that long; I am wholly committed to staying for the whole thing,” said 2024 me.

So why, now, are Joe and I packing our bags, fully 9 months before our scheduled close of service?

I had a list of reasons for joining the Peace Corps; chief among them was a hope that serving would entail 2 years of impactful work. I did not suppose every minute would be gratifying, or that there wouldn’t be frustrations. But I did imagine that we would have jobs offering some definition to our days. I had supposed that the most trying aspect of serving would be the privations of daily life: that we would endure a lack of creature comforts made worthwhile by the rewards of the challenging work. In fact, we have been fine in the creature comfort department. We have what we need here and manage fine with what we don’t have. (Admittedly, the uninsulated and unheated apartment posed some physical discomfort in December and January!) But meaningful work eluded us. Lately, work of any kind has been scant.

Peace Corps’ stated mission is furtherance of world peace and friendship through 3 goals:

1. partnering with host countries to help meet their need for trained men and women;

2. helping to promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served; and

3. helping to promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

In my mind, goals 2 and 3 can be summarized as an immersive cultural exchange program; as such, it gets an A+. We could not be more appreciative of this country, the town of Midelt, and the United States Peace Corps for the unique opportunity to live here, learn basics of the local language, be embraced by Moroccans, and to share in their community life. And also, I recognize that 16 months is long enough for a cultural exchange and travel adventure, no matter how rich.

In November 2024 we arrived in Midelt with instructions to report to a work site (the youth center / dar chabab). Without identified roles, projects, goals, or deliverables, we set to brainstorming how we might contribute. The director of the center, though affable and pleasant to work with, has little engagement with programming and was open to every suggestion that we came up with, even the terrible brainstorms! We lacked colleagues with whom we could collaborate to create work. Networking with other local youth-focused organizations and individuals yielded lots of delightful new friends but no purposeful work. Everyone was friendly and welcoming; most served us tea. No one knew what to do with us.

Our efforts and ideas have included: girls’ sports and women’s exercise programs, kids’ outdoor recreation, intermediate/advanced English speaking and conversation, hiking, a teen girls’ empowerment project, and professional English for clients of a small business incubator. Ultimately the only activity that got any traction was teaching drop-in English classes for all ages—something for which we are woefully inexperienced and untrained. By December 2025, our work schedule consisted of 2 such classes. Not an impressive schedule after more than a year.

Though I may have wanted things to unfold differently, I am not sorry we did this. In spite of (or perhaps because of) all of our stumbles and failures, we remain profoundly grateful for the past year and a half.

The rewards have offered renewal and reflection, togetherness, self-discovery, friendships, humility, at times hilarity, and certainly much more that I can’t even appreciate without the benefit of time and distance. I am ready to go home, open-hearted to what I might be called to next, and so glad we came to Morocco.

Earlier in November, Peace Corps Morocco swore in its new group of 40 volunteers, 10 of whom have been assigned to our region of the country. Three of those 10 passed through Midelt in their travels to their new homes, and we were happy to host them and see them off to their sites. It was a little strange to play the role of veteran volunteers offering guidance to the new recruits (because I feel only slightly less befuddled than we were when we were in their shoes a year ago!) Actually, we had planned to host two of them again for a belated Thanksgiving-ish dinner, but our intentions were foiled when we read on Facebook that Midelt would have a citywide power outage. The volunteers came anyway, and we were able to share a meal after power was restored. Not very festive, but nice to gather nevertheless.

Work finally found a groove in November. Right now, it’s in a good place, relatively speaking. What this means is that we have a pretty regular schedule of 3 classes per week. We have a core group of about 7 teens and young adults who come twice per week for English practice. Sometimes others drop in, but in general we know who will be there. In addition, we have a once-per-week class at an academic tutoring center, which usually consists of about a dozen children. A busier schedule would be more satisfying, to be sure, but this is an improvement since the long “summer” break that lasted from July to October.

Last December we were getting to know our way around Midelt, and our days were consumed with trying to find an apartment. I didn’t have time or psychic bandwidth to feel homesick for Christmas. Not so this year; I feel a pull to family this time. I do also miss having a community of faith. And the holiday decorations, baking Nonna’s tortasica, and the smell of pine in our home. (Ok, and I also would enjoy my annual peppermint mocha!) The absence of any sign of the sacred season is harder this time around, but this is offset by our planned travel to Europe for Christmas. We are so excited to see Jamie’s digs, spend Christmas in Germany with my sister’s family, and celebrate New Year’s in Paris!

Wishing you December blessings!

Still, we are profoundly grateful that they trusted us enough to surrender to all of the unpredictability and bewilderment that we have become accustomed to. The kids rose to all the challenges: they had patience with difficult travel, laughed at unfamiliar and sometimes less than comfortable cultural practices, tolerated not always knowing what exactly we were doing, and tried some basic Darija. We were so thrilled to see them, proud to show them around, and also felt a little bit of the weight of responsibility of hosting. I think we all did well.

The week began in Fes. After a night at a Riad in the medina, we headed to the desert. I had hired a tour guide, Rachid, to take us through Ifrane, the cedar forest, and the Ziz valley into the desert. We were to arrive by 5:00 and saddle up for a sunset camel trek to our Sahara camp. I found Rachid through a tour company managed by Mohammed. I think Rachid is conversant in English, but it’s hard to say because he was a man of very few words. Almost no words, actually. I now suspect that my and Mohammed’s definitions of “tour guide” may suffer from some cultural variation. But no matter, Rachid ably captained a spacious van and offered some stops that made the long drive south to Merzouga more pleasant than it would have been in a taxi. All good.

After stopping in Ifrane and feeding barbary macaques in the forest, we rushed through lunch in Midelt. We all packed up the second halves of our “Moroccan tacos” (nb: no resemblance to a taco), as I was growing concerned we would not arrive for the camel trek on time. Rachid seemed pretty sanguine about the timing.

About halfway between Midelt and Merzouga, Joe and I began a slightly anxious private exchange. Is he in touch with the camp? I don’t know, do you think he’s in touch with the camel guys? I’m not entirely sure he’s aware that we intend to get on camels before dark. Did you tell him that? Well, I think I did. Eventually I texted Mohammed with our ETA. Mohammed responded promptly: “Hi. Just confirmed with your camp - today take the jeep to camp with your bags. Tomorrow morning take the camel ride back to the van. No rush, take it easy you are with your family on holiday.” At the same time, we thought we heard Rachid take a call from Mohammed with the same exchange of information. Sigh of relief. I then explained the new plan to our kids, after I had raved about the wonder and beauty of a camel ride at sundown. Riding through the dunes in the morning is spectacular also. OK, all good.

At about 6:00 we arrived at our destination in Merzouga. Upon getting out of the van, I had the following exchange with Rachid:

R: There is no Jeep, only camels.

Me: I thought we didn’t have time to ride the camels tonight.

R: There are only camels, no Jeep.

Me: ??

R: (gesturing): the camels are there.

Me: Did you speak with Mohammed?

R: Yes.

Me: What did he tell you?

R: He said someone is coming, I don’t know if it’s a Jeep. There are only camels.

At this point I noticed that the camel handlers were also standing at the van impatiently and that Theo and Emmy were shuffling things around in the back of the van. I looked at Theo quizzically, and he said: “right now I am stuffing Moroccan tacos into my duffle bag so we can get on camels!”

As one does.

“Are we riding camels now?” I asked the camel guys. “YES! yallah! (Let’s go!)”

Of course... because it’s gonna get dark.

In the end a truck came to take our bags to camp. There was never a jeep. There were 5 camels waiting for us, and we had a glorious romp in the retreating sunlight across the orange Sahara dunes.

The rest of the week had its delights, stresses, hysterical laughter, strange food, unfamiliar customs, and (at least in my case) just trying to soak up as much time together as possible. Highlights included:

· Waking up in the dark to see a magnificent sunrise over the desert.

· Walking around a desert oasis and live music at the Gnawa café (admittedly a tourist spot, but still fun.)

· Haggling for goods at the bustling souq in Rissani. (Props to Mom and Dad for some good deals.)

· A day and a half in Midelt, complete with a men’s hammam experience, walks about town, a homemade hard cider tasting and introductions to our local acquaintances.

· An epically long Moroccan lunch during which we failed to ever understand what exactly was being served, it bearing little or no relationship to the menu.

· A tour of the Fes Medina, admiring local craftsmanship and (of course) some beautiful local purchases.

· A traditional wool-dying workshop at our favorite artisans’ cooperative.

· Visits to historic madrassas and a wood craft museum.

· The best mint tea ever, prepared by a lovely man named Abdullah.

· Lots and lots of Moroccan street cats.

When the week was over, the end of the visit — true to form — also proceeded in chaotic uncertainty. Though Joe and I knew to expect complicated logistics in getting our travelers and their luggage from Fes city center to the airport, we were not prepared for the Moroccan goat rodeo that ensued. It involved:

Standing on a busy corner hailing petit taxi drivers … trying to find ones who would change our 100 dirham bills … witnessing a traffic accident … ultimately splitting into 3 different petit taxis … waiting anxiously for all to arrive at the grand taxi station … all of us being dropped at slightly different locations and paying different fares … hastily lugging Theo’s behemothic suitcase (the wheels of which are still working only by the grace of God and Theo’s handy DIY shims) up the street.

Possibly the last straw was when we were all finally gathered at the grand taxi stand and we informed the manager that we needed to get 3 people to the airport. For those who were anxious to get to the airport and have not spent the past year stumbling in constant ambiguity, his enthusiastic “inshallah!” was unappreciated. “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???” We explained that this particular “inshallah” was good, as it meant he was on it and would arrange the needed transportation. And so he did.

Five minutes later we said our good-byes, and off they went. I said a short prayer that if anything went seriously awry, Jamie would be able to use his French to communicate and problem-solve with the driver. As of this writing, everyone is accounted for on our respective continents.

Hamdolilah!

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

Every day I remark that this is a very beautiful city. As an American in Europe I’m sure that’s said frequently anywhere, but it’s still true for me here. A fellow exchange student I’ve met from Slovakia told me recently that she had long ago learned the word “picturesque” in school but had never had a reason to put it to use until now. I quite like that sentiment.

Everywhere I turn there are gorgeous medieval churches. Particularly iconic are the two large Abbeys, the Abbaye aux Dames (Women’s Abbey) and Abbaye aux Hommes (Men’s Abbey), both of which originate from nearly 1000 years ago, and were built to appease the Pope due to some special circumstances of William the Conqueror’s marriage to Matilda of Flanders.

However, World War 2 and the invasion of Normandy loom large here as well. Just as often have I stumbled on a beautiful old church as I have come across the ruins of one. Much of the city (including the original university campus in the city center) was badly damaged or destroyed from Allied bombs, and restoration is a decades-long task. Some buildings have been restored, some are in the process, and some have been left as reminders.

One thing I’ve gotten used to, and which seems (to me) very French: strikes! I have so far borne witness to 4 strikes, which in my city seem to be led in part by motivated students, but are happily joined by workers of all stripes. At the moment, they seem to be weekly Thursday occurrences, due to consistent dissatisfaction with the federal government, and other issues. Already I have had classes cancelled twice(!) due to social movements, but I’m not complaining! I’ve been told that the French will eagerly take a day off whenever they can, something I can certainly get behind. This can be a double-edged sword though: next Monday I have an 8 am makeup class!

Lastly, the sounds of the city. I hear church bells often; the one nearest to my campus calls out every quarter hour. Thankfully I don’t sleep that close by, but when the windows to my dorm are open I can usually hear it. Something else I’m hearing often is polyphonic music. I joined a community choir here which sings traditional Georgian music (videos to come), and I often have a few songs stuck in my head. Plus, I’ve been listening over and over to a bunch of recordings in preparation for our upcoming concert. Not all of the noise is nice though. Right when classes started, the University decided to restart some construction project right outside the window of my dorm. My only consolation is that the constant construction reminds me of home at Virginia Tech.

That’s all I have to report for now. I would, however, like to propose a guessing game: try to predict how many photos appearing in all my future posts until I leave will not have clouds in the background. Winner gets a bottle of local apple brandy!

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government. (Or of Virginia Tech!)

In the old days when separated from friends and family on other continents, our best bet to hear each other’s voices was to record cassette tapes, pack them up, and ship them to one another. We are grateful that technology now gives us more and simpler options, and we had some fun recording ourselves riffing about our year here. We hope you enjoy listening also!

And for those of you who don’t have the almost 23 minutes to give it, here are some photos from our recent trip to Tangier and its environs.

As we approach the anniversary of our arrival here, we have been reflecting on the past 12 months—how far we’ve come, and things we’ve seen. We offer some random observations:

· There seems to be a different relationship with information here than we Americans are used to. For example, restaurant hours are never posted, and menus are often not accurate. Weather forecasts are aspirational. Events do not get publicized; people just seem to know – or in our case not know – that they’re happening. We often find out afterwards, when we see photos online.

· We can sometimes make the “daba/inshallah” mindset work in our favor, such as when traveling long distances. We usually get seats together in the first 1 or 2 rows of the bus; why? We plan ahead and purchase tickets a few days in advance. Because it’s not daba yet, the whole bus will be available even though on the day of travel, it will be mostly full.

· And speaking of conveyances, taxis act like busses: a grand taxi (city to city) doesn’t go until all 6 seats have been purchased, only travels certain routes, and only drops off and picks up at taxi stations. And busses act like taxis, stopping for would-be riders on the street, even if they are standing 100 feet from the last pickup or from what is ostensibly a bus stop, and frequently making an extra stop to disgorge assertive passengers.

· Our recent travels laid bare the unequal distribution of resources between the urban north and rural southern Morocco. Midelt, which is very much within the latter, has no university, public library, airport or rail access, museums or major cultural institutions. Indoor climate control, electronic (non-cash) payments, and foreign foods are scarce to unheard of here. We enjoyed every one of these amenities in the cities.

· We also encounter few foreigners outside of the cities.

A few recent photos.

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

Hot Town, Summer in the City. July and August are dog days in central Morocco. Our work schedule is reduced, the school year has ended, shops close whose proprietors take vacation (this was a particularly disappointing discovery with respect to our friendly vendor of school supplies who is also one of the few sellers of ice cream novelties!). The vibe around town is relaxed.

Good Day Sunshine. Summer weather in Midelt is sunny and hot but bearable. Temperatures average low 90s by day and 65-70F at night. Sometimes it feels uncomfortably warm in the apartment at night; we take cold showers or go on the rooftop to cool down.

Dust in the Wind. Not surprisingly, it is uncommonly dry and dusty on the slopes of the Sahara. Indoor spaces are difficult to keep clean. We wipe down counters and tables daily and store household items in plastic bags. Mopping floors is almost a national pastime.

Two Tickets to Paradise. Summer is travel season for Moroccans and Peace Corps Volunteers alike. We recently returned from a mini-tour of the Atlantic coast. Highlights included beautiful Essaouira (where we improbably met some Peace Corps colleagues), the Portuguese fortress in El Jadida, an outdoor concert in Casablanca, and creature comforts that are generally unavailable to us in Midelt: fresh seafood, air conditioning, strolling hand-in-hand in public.

Big Yellow Taxi. Navigating Moroccan transportation is a recurring theme of this blog. Not to belabor, but local (petit) taxis in Casablanca and other major cities deserve special mention for their … quirks. It is not enough that some cabbies try to rip off non-Moroccans, for profit and/or sport. First, one must hail a cab in traffic, always on the correct side of the street (there appears to be a cultural aversion to making two legal turns) and persuade the driver to approve your destination! The latter succeeds less than 50% of the time, not including those occasions when the driver claims to know where he is going but clearly he (always it is a “he”) does not. Speaking Arabic helps mitigate some of the above outrages but falls short of full inoculation.

Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood. Our (self-paced) language learning continues. We are both now more or less functional much of the time in everyday conversation. However, a troubling pattern persists whereby local people ask us if we speak French, we say no we do not, and they proceed to speak French to us anyway. This tendency was especially evident during our recent travels on the coast.

Sympathy for the Devil. Of all our perceived Western eccentricities and shortcomings, perhaps none vexes our Moroccan hosts more than non-adherence to Islam. Direct inquiries about our faith are commonplace; recently a taxi driver implored us to read the Quran and a kid on a bicycle asked simply, “Muslim?!?” More often than not, such expressions are hopeful rather than pressuring.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Unquestionably true in Peace Corps Morocco as elsewhere. But serving together, on good days and more challenging ones, we get what we need.

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

As Peace Corps volunteers, we find tea drinking darori (necessary) to our social and professional success. Finding enough useful work remains a challenge for us here. We do a lot of networking, and accept a lot of invitations, in an effort to expand our portfolio.

Witness this eclectic sample of our recent tea dates, all during the month of May!

· The president of a new local association, whose focus is out-of-school academic support for struggling students, invited us to come discuss potential collaboration. We arrived prepared to make a schedule for working with the kids; that happened, but not before a full tea service was presented.

· A fellow Peace Corps volunteer came to Midelt to buy supplies. The three of us met at a restaurant so we could bring him a fire extinguisher (long story). The owner, who is also our friend, served us tea on the house.

· At the Neddi Neswi (Women’s Club) where we teach, we arrived one day to discover class was canceled to accommodate another event. Of course we were “encouraged” to stay, and of course tea was served afterwards. The event in question was a lecture about ... postpartum depression?!? (We learned a lot of new vocabulary).

· We invited a friend who leads a local youth club to meet us at a café. He brought along his mentee, a young musician who lives mostly in England whom we had met once before at Dar Chabab. Informative, as well as a good time.

· Days later we were invited to the home of friends, a veritable Midelt power couple, who own successful businesses and help lead a non-profit with funding from the USA. While drinking tea, whose music do we hear streaming from their TV? Our mutual friend from England, of course!

· We brought cake to the local women’s sewing and weaving cooperative, whose members could not be more welcoming. They served the cake with tea, of course. We plan to make many more visits.

· And most recently: Joe found himself sitting with monks of Our Lady of the Atlas, Midelt’s own Cistercian monastery, discussing life and work (in bits of four languages!) as their guest for morning tea.

As we learn to appreciate drinking tea with others, a confession is in order: unlike all(?) of our friends and neighbors in Morocco, we do not own a tea pot! (Metaphor, perhaps?!?)

In closing, recent photos and video. We hope all is well with you, dear readers! Please keep in touch.

And on that note, among Peace Corps volunteers there is a global collective unease right now as we wonder what is to become of this agency. In group and private chats we try to support each other and maintain our sense of [gallows] humor as much as possible. What we know:

1. In early April the Department of Government Efficiency entered Peace Corps HQ.

2. Sister agencies including AmeriCorps have been cut and/or eliminated.

3. Not even the State Department is being spared the knife.

4. We are still here.

The chatter among volunteers is at times, as you can imagine, rife with speculation and conjecture. While this tendency is unhelpful, it is also understandable given that we are trying to move forward in service to our communities with uncertainty about our prospects for continued work here.

Fret not. One never knows what tomorrow will bring; this is a good exercise in just keep swimming! At work, we’ve been a little disappointed by our grand plans for a post-Ramadan schedule. Our girls’ sports program as yet has no takers, our English Club lost its 2 founding members, and we remain ever ISO motivated local counterparts. On the plus side, teaching English at the women’s center is going well so far, and with the nice weather we’ve been able to play some pick up volleyball and soccer. Outside of work we enjoyed a great weekend trip to Fes (including a proud moment when we jointly negotiated down an inflated taxi fare, in Darija. Teamwork, baby!)

We don’t know what the impact will be of DOGE’s visit to Peace Corps. (Admittedly, it feels a bit trivial to worry about what will happen to us, while humanitarian relief for global needs such as starvation and war crimes has disappeared.) As we wait to hear what will happen, we are as ever impressed by the resilience of our colleagues who continue getting up every day trying to find ways to do what we came here to do. Peace Corps Morocco continues with business as usual, encouraging new local programs and projects and even preparing for a new cohort of volunteers to arrive later this year. Inshallah.

Postscript: for anyone who may be contemplating sending us a package in the mail ... think again!! Since February we have been awaiting delivery of a box of household and personal items from the USA. Said box is currently languishing in the custody of Moroccan customs, and we take a sad walk once each week to check our post office box. Waloo. Nothing. We were recently informed (well, “recently” following a month-long delay) that in order to ensure delivery, we need to obtain an import license. No explanation was provided and we appealed, likely to no avail. Even our combined advocacy skills are unlikely to get us past this one. Best case for the box, it will be sent back to America (unlike us)!

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed being part of our community here for this holy month. In general, I have found Moroccans to be very appreciative of our efforts to fit in, and Ramadan has been no different. We saw grateful smiles when we wished acquaintances “Ramadan mubarak,” bought traditional holiday sweets, or mentioned that we were trying to fast. Regarding the latter, Moroccan children were especially interested in our eating and fasting habits. When Joe helped at soccer practice, the boys would ask if he was fasting. If the answer was yes, they cheered! (It’s not just us; kids were also monitoring each other, sometimes demanding that a friend stick out his tongue for verification of whether it showed signs of not drinking water.)

Comings and goings at the dar chabab – which we struggle to understand even in a regular month – became even less predictable. Most things happened at night. There were chess games pretty much every day. A ping pong tournament was promised but we never saw it happening. There was a lot of soccer. We attended a reception for a women’s conference on International Women’s Day, and a Quranic recitation contest. Many of these events and activities went on well past midnight!

We also got used to a new schedule around town, as we had to make sure to get any errands and shopping done between around noon or 1pm to 4 or 5pm. After that, everything was closed until around 9. At about 2:40 in the morning, a musician walked around the neighborhood playing some kind of flute, to wake everyone for Suhoor. This tradition comes from the days before smartphones and prayer apps, when people might have needed the wake up call. We’re told that near the end of Ramadan, people might go outside and give money to this guy (the Nafar.) We didn’t investigate that practice, mostly because it was 2:40 in the morning, and partly because we had no idea which night would be appropriate.

Also during Ramadan we passed the 6 month mark of our time here. It feels appropriate to hand out interim grades. As a cultural experience, Peace Corps earns a solid A; the same goes for the marriage therapy component. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for our work nor our interactions with Peace Corps administration, both of which grade closer to D-.

The basic problem with our work is that, in spite of lofty project descriptions to the contrary, neither the Moroccan government nor Peace Corps seems particularly motivated to tap into our skills. We are, in essence, seen as drop-in English language teachers and child care workers.

During Ramadan we spent time planning for our next term of classes and activities, which will include practicing English through indoor games and outdoor sports and recreation. We will endeavor to fit Uno and Sharks & Minnows into Peace Corps’ goal of promoting “sustainable youth development.” We are a bit far from promoting young people’s “life skills, entrepreneurship, business skills, and community engagement,” (cited as main activities to expect upon being placed here in Midelt), but we march on. One positive development: two of our more advanced English students from the winter session have agreed to work with us and establish an English club, in which they will lead some classes and activities. We look forward to working with them; in a perfect world, we will help them incubate an English club that will cultivate its own leadership and will outlast our tenure here as volunteers. Failing that, at least in the meantime we’ll have fluent Darija speakers to help us explain the rules of Duck, duck, goose.

Also, warm weather has begun to creep in to Midelt, much to our delight! We took one of the blankets off our bed, have turned off the space heaters, and moved our sitting furniture into the living room. We had been huddling in the second bedroom (which we dubbed the “winter salon”) because it’s small and could be totally heated with our space heater.

How else do a couple of American old farts pass the time during Ramadan?

• Spring cleaning and redecorating: we added some furnishings to our salon, which is much comfier now; I turned the second bedroom into my fitness room. (Women’s hours at the local gyms are restrictive.)

• Visiting Hammams: much less crowded than usual. One time, I was the only one there, which suits me, with my American sensibilities and belief that bathing is a private activity.

• Crocheting. (I’ve even started repurposing the ubiquitous plastic shopping bags into a colorful floor mat!)

• Baking: we bought ourselves a little countertop oven, and I have managed a reasonable imitation of my perfect chocolate chip cookies, improvising on both ingredients and kitchen equipment.

• More fun with bad translations.

Happy Spring to you all!

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

Rebecca and I left Midelt in mid-February for two weeks. The first week we attended Peace Corps training in the city of Mohammedia. It was fun connecting with our fellow Volunteers, although training itself left something to be desired. Owing to US politics all grant-funded projects remain suspended, so there was less of substance to be trained on. After training, vacation! Our first long break since coming to Morocco.

Our return to Midelt coincided with the start of the holy month of Ramadan. Ramadan begins with sighting of the crescent moon by local authorities, and in Morocco the moon was observed one day later than in other Muslim countries – a lucky break for us, as we were able to travel with less fear of disruption.

Ramadan dramatically alters the rhythms of daily life in Midelt. Schools and shops change their hours, cafés are closed during the day, virtually everyone in town is fasting. At sunset, the streets are quiet while families gather. Afterwards the city comes alive and remains abuzz until wee hours of the morning.

During our first week back in Midelt we were welcomed by a local colleague and his family for iftar, featuring a traditional spread of pastries, juices and harira soup. We also attended Ash Wednesday mass at the Monastery of Notre Dame (shout out to Brother José who texted me the mass time).

Our work this month reflects a Ramadan calendar. The Dar Chabab (Youth Center) is quiet in the afternoons and busy between 9-11:00 at night! Yesterday I played soccer with local boys in the hour before sundown ... how much more energetic must they be when they are not fasting?!? We are planning new work activities after Ramadan.

Also on our to-do list this month: work with a new language tutor, track down a package in that has been in Moroccan postal custody for weeks, fashion and hang window screens in our apartment, test whether the video projector at Dar Chabab is compatible with our devices, attend various community events and (possibly) more iftars. Ramadan Mubarak!

[Please note this is NOT to equate modest impacts on PCVs with serious and often heartbreaking effects that are being felt in developing countries. Rather, it is to share our perspective and ours alone as current PCVs.]

PCVs around the world are encouraged to apply for small grants to support local programs they are working on – think $250 USD to purchase yoga mats in a community where women have few opportunities for exercise or $500 USD to fund bus transportation to a youth leadership camp. Grant amounts are comically small compared to major US aid programs. A few hundred dollars to support hands-on volunteer activity goes a long way in many developing countries!

As a result of the US government’s foreign aid pause, Peace Corps Volunteers are now instructed to pause all grant funded activity, including spending money they have already raised and received. Worthy projects are being disrupted or abandoned, never mind that many PCV grants are privately financed and do not involve direct financial contribution from US taxpayers.

Here in Morocco, Peace Corps also is unable to proceed with a planned training for PCVs and local “counterparts” (i.e. Moroccan nationals who volunteer to help PCVs complete their work), putting at risk those vital collaborative relationships.

Perhaps a reduction or “right-sizing” of US foreign aid is justified on policy or political grounds. What is harder to fathom is why such adjustment should be done arbitrarily, forsaking worthy projects that are already in progress, led by workers or volunteers that our government has paid to train and deploy. This seems akin to constructing a house, only to order the builders to stop after pouring the foundation and not add walls or roof.

Rebecca and I serve in a relatively large community (by Peace Corps standards). Inshallah, we will find plenty of meaningful work without relying on grants. Still, the loss or suspension of important programmatic tools is likely to be felt by many PCVs and community members in Morocco and around the world.

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government

I am a planner. I love lists and schedules, and this Moroccan approach challenges me. But I’m learning not to be alarmed when we make plans to meet with someone, and they say, “inshallah,” while conspicuously NOT putting anything into a calendar. When receiving an invitation, I’m getting used to suppressing my questions (like what are we going to do there?...how long does it take to get there?...what time will we return?...), because they will not yield accurate answers. In fact, I often observe that the questions baffle our companions.

In September, just 3 days after we arrived in the village where we would spend our 8 weeks of community-based training, our hosts, Mohammed and Jamila, told me over dinner (at around 9pm) about an upcoming event. It took several rounds of halting conversation, aided by Jamila gesturing at the ring finger on her left hand, to understand that we were talking about a wedding. I could not know who the bride and groom were, but I did get that I was invited to this wedding. Sounds great, I tried to communicate, (iyeh, mzyan!) supposing that they would let me know when I should clear my calendar. Then they all looked at me expectantly, as though I wasn’t really getting the message. Sensing that I had misunderstood something, I asked apprehensively “Daba?” Jamila nodded, but I was incredulous. “Daba, daba?”

Yes, indeed, daba daba. Shortly after dinner, we all piled into Mohammed’s car, with no clarity as to what was happening next. At around 2am I found myself, coated in sweat in the very crowded women’s side of a party tent, getting retrieved by Mohammed and Joe (who had experienced his own daba evening with the dudes.) Jamila stayed until after 4, astonished that I was leaving “early” with the young children. In her mind, it was still time to celebrate. Daba. Actually, I think it’s not just clock settings; I think there are 2 states of being in this culture. I still have not learned to give in to this approach, but I will admit—it’s probably good for me.

Before heading to work one afternoon, we visited the martial arts gym owned by a friend. While showing us around, he talked up this area’s mining heritage and asked whether I would be interested in seeing a mine and some locally sourced gemstones. Next thing we knew, we were in another friend’s car on the way to his gem and mineral warehouse. As we were climbing into the car, I asked Joe whether he had any idea where we were going. He said, “no, I think we have entered the daba zone.” We did get to work that day; by my watch we were a bit late, but we weren’t Moroccan late.

One last example: three days ago we approached an acquaintance about helping us start up a hiking club for young adults. When he expressed enthusiasm, we told him we will reach out soon to discuss plans. We have been thinking about this for weeks, availing ourselves of Peace Corps resources and peers for ideas. We need to think about scheduling; how many people would be interested; supplies; whether we need money for local transportation to the trailheads; etc. In our minds we are very much still in the pre-planning stage of this project. That stage does not exist in Morocco. Last night our acquaintance asked us if we are ready to begin hiking. We weren’t sure, but it seemed like he thought we might take a hike this morning. When we explained that we’re talking about planning for a program to start in the late spring or summer, he looked at us quizzically. “Inshallah,” he responded.

Hopefully we’ll get this off the ground.

Other things we’ve been doing with our time:

Work:

We are teaching English classes at the dar chabab. We tried to create a schedule for beginners, intermediate learners, adults, and children. As it turns out we are often teaching all of these at the same time in the same room, with varying levels of success. In 2 weeks we will attend a mandatory week-long (week-long!) Peace Corps training in Mohammedia where we hope to learn some skills that will help in designing programs other than drop in English teaching. We have a lot of ideas.

Inshallah.

Play:

Also at the end of Febuary, our Peace Corps-imposed prohibition on leaving our local region will be lifted. There is a lot of pent-up demand for travel, which Joe and I will be satisfying with a trip to Florence Italy. Neither of us has been before (as adults); I’m sort of hoping to be overcome by Stendholm Syndrome. We will return from the land of wine, art, and indulgence to Morocco on the first day of Ramadan. Working hours in this town will be very different for the month, but we don’t know exactly how. Will we be working a lot less? Working at midnight? Stay tuned.

We are also making our list of other locations to travel, both in and out of Morocco. When you’re trying to make those decisions you realize that 2 years really is not that long.

Life in Midelt:

We’re continuing to make our apartment a home, although it remains sparsely furnished. And cold—Moroccan homes do not have central heat. It was a big upgrade when our landlord expanded the electrical capacity so that we can run more than one space heater at a time, but we still pretty much confine ourselves to one room when we’re here. We have an 8+ gallon water heater, and a washing machine—more than I expected when I signed up for this!

Much love to our family and friends.

As we prepare to begin another week, home is on my mind. Before we left I looked forward to a healthy detachment from life in the US. While I appreciate being remote from what is happening across the pond, I sometimes also feel deeply the confusion and disruption wrought by today’s political currents. These are difficult times. Today I was reminded by our priest’s sermon (I’ve been grateful since we got reliable wifi to be able to virtually “attend” the services at our Episcopal church in Arlington) that even when — or especially when — I find myself navigating dark times, I must seek love and light. It is a spiritual discipline, and I need to dig deep; but I am choosing to find hope in that which is of God. Certainly there is much to trouble me, and I can’t make sense of the world. Here in Midelt, every day I put one foot in front of the other and embrace joy in what is now … if God wills it.

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government

Here are some examples of our recent learnings:

1. DO: when haggling over prices (a common practice here), understand which currency unit you are dealing with! Some merchants price their wares in the old Riyal currency instead of today’s Dirhams. To the unsuspecting foreigner, this practice may cause prices to seem a lot higher. I say from experience there is no more embarrassing moment at souk than negotiating a fair price, only to offer to overpay by orders of magnitude.

2. DO NOT: plan to shop or conduct business in early afternoon. Many Moroccan establishments close for lghdaa (lunch), the major meal of the day. Shutdowns are longer on Fridays when a lot of people attend mosque. On the other hand, shops and street vendors are thriving at 10pm!

3. DO: leave home without it — your credit card, that is. Cash is king, virtually everywhere. We visit our preferred ATM so often that the security guard greets us.

4. DO NOT: overload your electrical system at home. In our Moroccan apartment, the entire system shuts down whenever we turn on more than one space heater — our only defense against the chilly mountain winter! Suffice to say we are becoming experts in energy conservation AND the workings of our circuit box.

5. DO: appreciate kindness from strangers. People here are uncommonly friendly and willing to help random Americans stammering in Darija. Recently a furniture vendor carried a bulky item to our home without being asked, a man offered to give us his bread when I inquired where he bought it, and Rebecca was warmly welcomed at a local gym that has dedicated hours for women. Forget Siri; when you need help with something in Midelt, ask someone!

6. DO NOT: take the future for granted. Worthy advice in any cultural context; in Morocco, it is driven home by liberal use of the phrase “inshallah” (God willing). Moroccans say that all the time in reference to things and events yet to happen: class will meet on Tuesday; warm weather is predicted tomorrow; someday we may speak fluent Arabic. Occasionally the phrase “lands” badly (Flight 123 will arrive at 4pm local time, inshallah!). We are learning to do like a friend in America — not Muslim but Jehovah’s Witness — once advised: trust God, lock your door.

7. Above all, DO embrace and learn about the community where you are serving. In recent weeks we have gone to local events and places interesting and mundane — youth leadership training, gem and mineral warehouse, girls volleyball practice, Trappist monastery (to list few) — in the spirit of becoming effective volunteers. That is something we may succeed at doing, inshallah.

Sana saida (happy new year)!

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

Nevertheless, days before Christmas we were thrilled to receive a special gift: our own home! After a thorough search all over town, we did well to lease a newly renovated 2 bedroom, 1.5* bath apartment in a desirable neighborhood. Also remarkable, our monthly rent is less than a lot of dumpy places we looked at, and our landlord Salame is a skilled handyman! We are now eagerly taking to furnishing, with an eye toward simplicity and the ability to host guests (hint, hint).

(* The 1/2 bath in our apartment is a tiny room with only a Turkish toilet. On advice of our landlord/handyman, he installed our washing machine there and converted it to a laundry room.)

Among Peace Corps’ many hazing rituals, we are perhaps most seriously vexed by the mandatory six week homestay in our host community. I won’t go into detail except to say that we are eager to move into our own space and focus on priorities that brought us to Morocco.

We feel profoundly grateful this holiday season and it must not go unsaid, the most important things about Christmas are neither decorations nor presents. This year, far away from home and family, we look with joy to the wonder of God’s blessings and the opportunity for new beginnings.

Work update:

We have started teaching conversational English classes at the local Dar Chabab (“youth center” which serves children and young adults). We are still working to refine our teaching schedule to best serve the community. Things are going well so far, aside perhaps from our first day when we were ambushed by a local journalist.

On the horizon, we befriended the director of the local association that offers diverse recreational programming for youth (it helped that he found us lost on the street one day and offered us a ride to the post office). We agreed to look for opportunities for partnership.

Lastly: A shout out to the ladies of the Association Zaouia weaving cooperative who hosted us for a delightful visit last weekend! Rabiaa’s rug will be a proud addition to our new apartment.

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

It has now been a week since we arrived, and although we are starting to get a sense of this place, we are nowhere near settled in. Not by a long shot. We are eager to put everything in order to make this place our home and get to the work we signed up to do.

So far we are pleased with the site placement. The city is a good size for us—not so large that it feels overwhelming, but large enough for us to maintain some anonymity. (We are certainly conspicuous, but most people don’t pay much attention. Not so in very small towns where everyone watches us, and packs of curious children cannot resist following and practicing “Hello, how are you?”) Also, the youth center where we will be working is an impressive facility. The director there seems engaged and easy to work with, and is enthusiastic for us to bring in some programming ideas (starting with English language classes.)

Our temporary living situation is challenging, principally because we are weary of Peace Corps’ required host family model. It is a very big ask for a married couple at our ages to be guests in someone else’s small home for 3 months. They insist that we not rent our own home until January, which on some days is feeling like a very long time. Though Moroccan hospitality is lovely, New Years cannot come soon enough!

How do we cope when days are difficult? 1) With profound gratitude that we have each other; and 2) trying to find humor in the day-to-day. In that spirit, I share with you some highlights from the past 10 days.

House-hunting

We began looking for new quarters almost immediately after arriving in Midelt. Since we don’t know anyone here, house hunting involves mostly introducing ourselves to strangers (waiters at cafes, nice shop owners, people at the taxi stand, stray cats) in terrible Darija “wesh kat3rf shi D-Dar t-kra?” (Do you know of any house for rent?) Probably you’re thinking this isn’t likely to be a winning strategy. You may be right, but so far it’s the only way we’ve gotten any leads.

For example, we tried going to a real estate office. Relying on Google, we wind up at a café asking where the property agency is. The owner of the café tells us there is no property agency here, but he’s unwilling to let us leave without helping. He calls his friend, Ali the “muldjaj” (chicken seller) who apparently also operates a rental business. While the café guy is telling us about the muldjaj, a 16 year old named Mohammed approaches, speaking a little English, gets the 411 on our situation, and takes it upon himself to escort us to the chicken shop to meet Ali. (Even though he is on his way to soccer practice.) We arrive at Ali’s shop just as he is in the middle of dispatching with a couple of chickens, but he takes a break and walks us to the property. So, we find ourselves touring the apartment with a 16-year-old soccer player and a businessman with fresh feathers on his apron and rubber boots, amidst the faint odor of chicken blood. Negotiations were in Dar-English, back at the chicken shop while Ali’s colleague carried on with chicken slaughtering. The apartment turns out to be a nice place—our favorite so far!

Joe Comes Out

Although our primary work site will be the youth center (“dar chabab”), there is also a women’s center (Nnedi Nswi) that is eager to have volunteer services. Last Friday we went to tour the facility with a representative from the local youth ministry. Morocco’s very sex-segregated culture can feel pretty inflexible, and we often find ourselves trying to navigate the rules. (Am I supposed to be in this café? Can we both work out at the gym at the same time? Is he speaking only to you because he isn’t allowed to speak directly to me, or because what he’s saying isn’t relevant to me?...)

So, there were several staff members showing us around the Nnedi Nswi, all women. They bring us into an embroidery class of about a dozen students; no one speaks English. Joe wants to clarify whether we will both be able to facilitate activities, or if the invitation to this facility is really just for me. Struggling with the language, he tries to ask several times. No one can figure out what he is stammering. I am also no help. He keeps trying, and they keep looking puzzled and explaining to him that, yes, there are lots of activities here for women. Joe won’t give up, and finally just asserts clearly and loudly in Darija: “I am not a woman.” At last everyone understands, and they burst into peals of laughter, clap for him, and assure us that we are both more than welcome to lead programs here. After 35 years with him, I have had uncountable moments of pride and admiration, but this might be my proudest: seeing a roomful of curious Moroccan young women laughing and applauding for my undaunted husband declaring himself not a woman!

The List of Contacts in My Phone is Making Me Look Like a Player!

I have found Moroccan people to be extremely warm and welcoming. They want to help us with our language, invite us to lunch, and hear about what we’re doing here; but strangely, exchanging names isn’t common. When they do offer names, it almost never includes a last name. They do frequently want to exchange phone numbers, so the contact list in my phone now looks like this:

Driss (from the café)

Amine (guy at the bookstore)

Rachid (from the taxi stand)

Ali (the muldjaj with the nice apartment)…

You get the idea.

The Matter of Our Underpants

In our current host family stay, the woman of the house has generously insisted on doing our laundry for us. Items are washed in a machine and hung to dry on a shared line on the roof. I am grateful that she does this task for us, but it’s complicated. We have been repeatedly advised by Peace Corps’ trainings that our intimates are culturally taboo. It’s Hshuma (shame). I have no idea how Moroccans get theirs clean, but apparently no one should touch anyone else’s underwear; in fact, they should not even see it. (In our last host family home, where we did our own laundry, we took to hanging the underwear on the line in the dark of night and taking it back down first thing in the morning.) This advice is borne out by our current host’s response when I tried to ask whether I should include our underthings in the laundry. So we are at a loss about what to do with ours; a crisis looms. I plan to purchase 25 pairs of new ones.

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.

Then we “graduated” (took the oath as Peace Corps Volunteers)…

And found time for parting silliness…

Next up insha’llah, news and (more) photos from Midelt. Please stay tuned!

With apologies to President and Mrs. Biden, Rebecca and I are gearing up for our own big transition!  On Nov. 21 we will take the oath to become Peace Corps Volunteers; the next day we will head to our long-term site in Midelt, Morocco.  Friends tell us to expect lovely mountain scenery, chilly winters, and apples... LOTS of apples!

Now as our time in Tanant comes to a close, here is a list of Joe’s personal highs and lows during training:

Tlata fuq (3 up):

1.        Our host family.   It’s not easy living in someone else’s home.  Thankfully our hosts are wonderful people, patient with our language learning and with (most of) our bizarre American habits.  Chokran bzaaf, Mohammed and Jamila.

2.        Cultural immersion.  Training in rural Morocco did as designed and forced us out of our comfort zones.  Most days, the five of us Americans are the only foreigners in town. 

3.        Friendly neighbors!  Neighbors in Tanant are happy to meet us.  We routinely chat with people we have met before facing that awkward dilemma that transcends culture:  ask them their names again, or pretend to remember??

Honorable mention:  Souk!  The undisputed main event in Tanant.  It’s cacophonous, chaotic and colorful; muddy, malodorous and multilingual.  Where else can a person buy eggs, rugs, school supplies, bathroom buckets (crucial in this part of the world), blacksmith tools AND a freshly slaughtered goat’s head?  Take that, Sam’s Club!

Tlata Ta7T (3 down):

1.        Peace Corps curriculum.  These past few weeks we were overscheduled and beset with busywork; our tutor thin-skinned and difficult to work with.  Hazing will soon be over!

2.        Pollution.  Waste management is a huge problem here.  Garbage collects everywhere.  Families burn theirs (plastics and all) in the street or on the souk grounds, filling the air with smoke and noxious odors.

3.        Gender based restrictions.  It’s difficult to navigate Moroccan cultural practices concerning gender.  Men generally address only me while women talk to Rebecca.  Simple everyday activities like going to a café, reserving a taxi or getting exercise are challenging for women (and sometimes couples).

Honorable mention:  our tutor’s filthy house and classroom.  Khaayb (disgusting)!

Bonus Round:  Food.  It grades out neutral for me.  Meals are delicious with fresh and locally sourced ingredients.  But there is too much bread and sugar for my liking, especially at breakfast.  I’ve taken to buying healthy snacks like delicious local walnuts, $1.50 per kilo at souk.

The votes having now been counted, some of our experiences in Tanant I will remember fondly, others less so.  Now onward to new adventures!

We are in language lessons / working 6 days each week from 8:30-6:00. The routine often leaves me too wiped out to take up additional study (not to mention personal reading, laundry, or calling my mom—something I’ve admonished our younger colleagues to do more often!) We will be working 9 of the next 10 days in our little site before heading to Beni Melal for another conference with all 54 of us for a few days. Then we’ll be in the home stretch of the last 2 weeks of training.

Lest this become Becky’s Blog of Bellyaches, I will just say: there are challenges, and we are both grateful we have the ability to take them on! L’hamdolilah.

This week we have Peace Corps trainers coming to observe us delivering conversational English lessons to kids at our dar chabab. Joe will teach them some verb commands (“sit down, stand up, turn around…); and I am teaching body parts. Let’s hope all goes well.

Some good things:

·      On November 1 we’ll be told where we go for our 2 years of service, so we are praying for good news on that front.

·      Today, for our free day, we went to a local waterfall with a group of about 25 trainees. It was great to get away, get a mini hike in, and connect with our colleagues.

·      Yesterday at the dar chabab, we organized a girls soccer hour. We had noticed that many of the girls express interest in playing, but they don’t come out on the field with the boys so they never get the chance to play. We actually had to get the town authorities involved, to keep the boys off the field; it was quite a show of force. Joe refereed, and the girls played for the full hour. Several girls thanked us at the end and told us they want to play again next week. Win!

·      In other gender & culture news, Joe has caused a minor town scandal by helping me do our laundry.

I miss you!

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The content of this blog post is mine and mine alone, and does not reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Moroccan Government.