Winter Wonderland

Hey All!


Winter has finally arrived with full force here in Morocco. I’ve dug out my warm clothes and am currently wearing most of them all at the same time. My room has thus far stayed above freezing and I have a heater if it gets too bad but for the most part I just tough it out. I hope that wherever you are you are staying warm and well as the holiday season progresses. Know that I’m thinking about all of you and sending best wishes from my mud house in the middle of nowhere!


My holidays have been quite wonderful thus far and I’ll tell you about them but I am, as always, getting ahead of myself.


My post-Thanksgiving November was pretty uneventful. I made it home from Carly’s house and picked up my daily routine as if I had never left. This is pretty much because it’s the same thing every day. Wake up… read… write…cook… clean… or some minor variation thereof. I’ve had the added benefit of being able to talk to my host family a bit more of late. I enjoy being much more connected here than in my last village. I might not be treated that much differently day to day but I’ve already visited more places and met more people here and I know for a fact who is in my family and who I’m allowed to talk to consequence free. This makes a significant difference in the feel of the place.


Things picked up in the first week of December. My Program Manager visited the region to pack up the house of a volunteer who had been medically evacuated (and who’s projects I am now responsible for) and dropped off my new bicycle. It’s a beautiful Trek 820 and I’m very excited about it. At first I feared that I would have to wait until spring to ride it around but after much debate I decided that I would bundle up and brave the cold air and ride it to my market town, about 16 kilometers from my house. The ride went extremely well on the way there, despite being more than half uphill and the last 10 kilometers without a break! Needless to say I was extremely proud of myself and extremely sore for the ride back home (and the next day). It was worth it though, if for no other reason than for the sense of accomplishment that accompanied the ride. I plan on doing the ride by bike for as long as the weather continues to permit it and as long as I don’t have too much to carry there or back.


Almost immediately after that I went WAY into the mountains for the farewell/project completion party of another volunteer who had just finished after extending his service for six months. (brining his total to 33 months.) He stayed because PC could not place another volunteer in the same site due to new safety and security regulations and it was the only way he could finish his project. The project was well worth it in my opinion, but the prevailing opinion is that he is completely crazy for staying here longer than he had to! The project itself consisted of a two floor community center. The top floor was for meetings of the men’s association. The bottom floor was a neddie, or women’s center, where they set up machines for spinning, weaving and other arts and crafts projects. The building made use of appropriate technology to heat itself in the winter. It did this by means of a solar wall, or a large section of a southern facing wall that is painted black and then covered with plexi-glass to hold in the heat. Its actually remarkably efficient. Even installed incorrectly (ahhh… Berbers!) it was nearly a comfortable room temperature in the room that employed this technical innovation.

A shot of the complete association building with the solar wall.

A close up of the solar wall at sunrise. The pannels were all supposed to be the same, the wood slats are a berber addition.


The party itself was a new experience for me. The volunteer, Chris, was much better integrated than me, perhaps because he is something of a language genius (he learned Berber, French and Arabic fluently during his stay, all from scratch), or perhaps he is more social, or perhaps he simply got a more social village situation. It was a two day party, with the villagers gathering together to prepare food the day before the actual celebration and eating copious quantities of goat head. It was the first time I had sampled this delicacy and except for the rather overpowering smell of burning hair (the skin and hair are seared off the head before it is smashed into pieces with a hatchet and boiled for a few hours) I didn’t really find the taste all that bad. I even tried an eyeball, which didn’t really have any taste at all but which I still don’t think that I will try again if I can at all avoid it. Its just a texture thing I think. Still, there is something rather disturbing about eating dinner out of a plate with an empty eye socket looking up at you and the man next to you is noisily sucking the marrow out of piece of jawbone with yellowing teeth sticking out of it still.


The next day was a flurry of activity preparing for the honored guests. These included our technical bosses at the ministry of water and forest, despite the fact that they didn’t help at all with the project and hindered it more often than not. At lunchtime there was the largest meal that I think I’ve ever had, with 4 courses including dessert. It was protein overload for me, since I’ve become essentially a vegetarian when I cook for myself, but thankfully I didn’t get sick. I just couldn’t really move very fast for a few hours afterward. I spent the evening of that night helping Chris pack and say goodbye to all the people that had been his friends and family for the last 2.5 years. It made me sad to think about how few people I’ll have to say goodbye to when I’m finished.

Part of the welcome for the dignitaries, all the guys are on the other side of the line.

Just a fun art picture I took because I thought the water glasses were funny... given the circumstances


One morning the next week I rolled out of bed late after sleeping in and opened my door to find the village blanketed in white and snow still falling heavily enough that I couldn’t see the mountains on the other side of the valley at all… Actually, I couldn’t see much of the village in the valley bottom either. What I could see was almost unspeakably beautiful. I dug out my camera and did my best to capture all of it but didn’t do very well. I did get some nice shots of the mountains after the snow stopped and it cleared a bit. (I’ll attempt to post an example on my journal page at the earliest possible moment so make sure you keep checking back! ) While I was out there recording the event for posterity one of my host sisters came up to clear the snow off the satellite dish. I ambushed her with a snowball from the other side of the courtyard. At first she seemed utterly at a loss for what to do about this and for a moment I felt bad about it. She figured it out soon enough though and before long her brother and sister had come up to offer her reinforcements against my superior snowball fighting skills. We blasted each other until our hands got too cold to continue and then I amused them by lobbing snowballs from my roof into the courtyards of the surrounding houses. My house is ideally placed for such a bombardment because it is highest in the village and yet still close enough to the others that with an able assist from gravity I can hit a large number of courtyards. Unfortunately, some of the neighbors lacked a sense of humor and we retreated and built snowmen for a while instead.

The mosque tower through the trees by my roof. I enhanced this a bit so that you could see everything

Whats wrong with this picture... Yes, that is a cactus.

My host dad clearing the snow of the dish

My Oldest Host sister Hadija and my host brother Ayou. For some reason they always have to be holidng something, though this time I bet they wish they weren't!

My other host sister, Azeel

The kids and thier first snowman


To my amazement my host siblings had no idea how to play in the snow. As far as I could determine it was their very first serious snowball fight (certainly for the girls and I’m pretty sure for the boys as well) and most definitely their first snowman. I also made some snow candy with maple syrup (a rather precious commodity I might add) which was a hit once they got past the fact that they had never put anything so cold in their mouths before and it was quite shocking to them, as evidenced by some rather hilarious facial expressions and some snorting of snow out of noses. (they don’t really brush their teeth and so I imagine they are quite sensitive). I made up for it by giving them their first taste of hot chocolate and letting them warm their hands on my heater. It was a great time and I got some good pictures of them for the first time. It really made me feel closer! Next up, we will attempt to conquer the game of UNO.


Me in the Snow... bad picture but I had to use a stool as a tripod

My siblings again

Gettin Warm

My Host brothers Ayou and Hussein

Cool Picture of mountains with some clouds



The snowstorm did keep me from getting to town early in the week but I managed to convince PC to let me go to the city a day early for my weekend so I could do some work on the computer and do some Christmas shopping. Carly was coming to visit for Christmas and I spent my extra time at home cleaning the place up and preparing to have guests.


I met her in Marrakech and we bummed around for the weekend before heading back to my house, where we spent a few relaxing days, cooking excellent food, including baked ziti and chicken, macaroni and cheese from a box and Oatmeal butterscotch chocolate chip cookies. After a few days we left for Oukaimeden, the ski resort mountain in the next valley over from mine. We left my house early in the morning and 6 different transits later we reached the mountain around 3 in the afternoon, despite the fact that, as the crow flies, its less than 20 kilometers from my house and in your own car would certainly take you much less than 2 hours to drive. Still, we had some adventures with it. We didn’t really know the names of any of the intermediate towns where were would have to pick up taxis. Also, we were dressed and provisioned like proper tourists which means that we had to constantly fend of people who wanted to “help” us. Thankfully, (or not, depending on your perspective) we were “rescued” by an older Berber man dressed in the shabbiest Jelaba (Berber hooded robe… think Jedi in Star Wars) I’ve seen in quite some time. He rode the first few legs of the trip with us and then realized that we were going to the ski mountain like he was. He offered to show us the rest of the way. We had lunch with him in a café that Carly swore smelled like baby diapers and he proceeded to explain in a rough mixture of Berber and French that he was a ski instructor. He did manage to successfully guess my ski-boot size, but I never tested out his credentials past that. We went our separate ways when we reached the mountain. One of those encounters that you will always remember and yet never quite belive.


Oukaimeden the town was a mixture of Berber Bled and European-alps timeshare. The former looked as it always does, if a bit more snow covered, the later looked rather neglected. The ski season hadn’t really gotten going yet (and probably wouldn’t have been going at all except for the previous weeks snow storm) and most places were still closed up for the off season. We stayed in what once must have been a nice hotel but had fallen on some hard times relatively recently. It was huge and built in an “A” frame style. Each room had a nice sunroom and a glass wall that heated it up during the day. However, the bricks were falling off the side of the hotel and sliding down the bottom in heaps and the roof of the much touted indoor heated pool (our own reason for trying the place) had been caved in by heavy snowfall in the last winter and was now filled only with broken glass, snowdrifts and dead birds. The décor was nice with a large central fireplace centerpiece that they were too cheap to run in the off season. We bought our own food and ate oatmeal cookies instead of partaking in the overpriced menu, though when they realized that we were staying only one night they mysteriously included breakfast for free with the room.


After we settled in the room we went out to hit the slopes. We rented modern but slightly abused skis from a Berber outfit on the side of the road. The proprietor of the place knew a few other volunteers, (This prompted a theory that they must think all the best skiers at the mountain must speak Berber, or conversely, if you know how to ski you must know Berber since there are a bunch of us that have been and it no longer seems to surprise them) and gave us a pretty good rate on stuff. We skied for a few hours. Only a couple of small hills were open with enough snow to ski on. Carly, who is a champion skier, compared it to skiing on the bunny hill in the alps, with gorgeous mountain views all around but a slope that even I could handle with relative ease having skied about 4 times my whole life. The harassment wasn’t as bad as I had feared but there were plenty of sleazy guys around who would “monitor” you and help you with the lift or to ski if you needed it. This would have been equivalent of paying some random unwashed, unshaven guy you’ve never met, wearing a bright pink one-piece snowsuit to straddle you, which in the women’s case they probably would have happily done for free anywhere else in the country. I seriously will never understand French tourists obvious attraction to this kind of treatment.


We called it quits at sunset, returned the skis and relaxed. The next morning we elected not to do any skiing but instead rode the chairlift to the very top of the mountain to take in the views. It was absolutely spectacular. I can’t really do it justice but the it was moderately clear and the views of Mt. Toubkal were amazing. There is something about snowcapped jagged peaks that will always have the ability to take my breath away. Plus, someone had done a really neat map table at the top and I got the names for many of the mountains that I hadn’t known before. We rode back down and returned to the city without serious incident.
Carly on the Ski Lift

Part of the view

More of the view

Jebel Toubkal... highest mountain in North Africa


We spent the next couple of nights at a resort on the outside of Marrakech that happens to be owned and operated by a relative of Carly’s. It’s a completely comfortable place with awesome decoration and really cool atmosphere that caters to the jetsetters of Europe who have some free cash lying around. The owners make a really interesting couple. The wife runs the hotel while the husband runs an NGO designed to protect culture of local peoples, the environment and do development projects. He also glob-trots, teaching courses in anthropology and doing/overseeing projects in several countries. We had dinner with their family several nights and the conversations were some of the only times in Morocco where I felt intellectually stimulated and totally interested. Their children are multi-lingual and equally comfortable in French and English and had to do their best to remember to speak in English for those of us less well rounded. We also met some of the husbands colleagues from university in Sweden. They are a couple only a bit older than me who seem super nice and who are driving home to Sweden from Marrakech in a 1976 Saab. They are planning to visit me in the mountains when they return in March when I hope to get the story of the trip.


We also got to help decorate the Christmas tree! Yay for finally getting some yuletide feeling to this season!


On Christmas eve we returned to Marrakech proper to meet up with some other Volunteers for the holiday. Despite having some serious trouble with the hotel that almost ruined the mood we had very nice dinners in new restaurants on both Christmas Eve and Christmas (Italian on Christmas Eve and Lebanese on Christmas Day) and the company was much appreciated. We also did some good shopping (though I didn’t really buy anything) and some exploring of new places in the city. All in all it was a great holiday, though I do definitely miss my family and friends. Thanks for the e-mails, those of you that sent them!
Our Christmas Crew


I’ll be spending New Years here in the village because it happens to coincide this year with the biggest holiday in the Islamic world, (cleverly named “the big holiday”) and because so many people are on the roads now we are forbidden to travel for two weeks. So while you are all drinking champagne to ring in the new year I’ll be eating copious amounts of freshly slaughtered sheep (everyone is required to sacrifice a sheep) including parts that you would rather not know about. Interestingly, another part of the holiday is for some lucky young man to get dressed up in the still bloody skins (including a mask made of the facial skin) and run around town beating children with a stick. Nothing like a little animal sacrifice and some beatings to welcome in 2007!


The upside is that it IS 2007! You’ll notice that I haven’t mentioned work at all in this e-mail and that’s because there hasn’t really been any developments in that area that have been noteworthy. Not everything is sunshine and rainbows despite the wonderful holiday. I’ve been suffering from bouts of depression brought on by boredom and shattered illusions and am having trouble finding the motivation to do even the things that have previously brought me the most happiness, like writing letters, keeping my journal and reading. Hopefully, this too shall pass, but I’m definitely ready to finish up this experience and move on to the next part of my life. I’ve also been experiencing almost daily headaches that I’ve finally broken down and called the doctor about but thankfully they are quite mild thus far.


I’ve got some great stuff coming up though! As soon as the travel restriction lifts I’m meeting up with two of my best friends from school, Leo and Jess, who are the first (and only) people to visit me from the states. We have a great Atlantic coast trip planned. Then in February I’ll be using the last of my vacation time to visit southern Spain. (if you haven’t gotten me a Christmas present yet its not too late! Monetary contributions to my travel fund are always appreciated! ) Any recommendations on cheap places to stay in Seville or thereabouts, as well as what to see or do, would be welcome. Things are a bit hard to plan from here.


Whew… so this is quite long enough and I’ll let it go here. As always e-mails and letters are all welcome. In fact, I think that you should all resolve to send me something in the first few months of the new year! Also, come back soon to check out the illustrated version of this letter on my journal page, http://atibbs.blogspot.com . Until next time my friends, stay well.

Much love and luck to everyone!

Cheers!

-Andy

In Memory of the Turkey

Hey All,


How goes? I’m killing time while I wait for the village shops to open so I can buy eggs to make myself some banana bread for breakfast tomorrow and some rice so I can make my dinner tonight. Having this computer at my house is a great blessing, despite its rather decrepit appearance. One man’s trash… Not that my dad would have ever throw it away. I hope that you all had an excellent Thanksgiving! More on mine later in the e-mail as I try vainly to keep things in chronological order… and a happy upcoming holiday season. I’m sure that I’ll grace your in-box with my presence at least once more before then but you never really know with the way that things have been going.


For those of you that haven’t had the opportunity to check it out yet I culled through the 800+ collective pictures from my parents visit here in October and I put the 15 or so best ones up on my journal page (http://atibbs.blogspot.com) for your viewing pleasure. Some day, when I have unlimited internet time and nothing better to do I may post the other 785 but don’t count on it anytime soon. Since I like having illustrated versions of these letters I’ll try to continue the practice, now that I’ve figured out the best way to post them. Check it out when you can. I’m also going to post some articles that I had published in the latest version of the in country magazine. I figure I won’t subject all of you to 3 multiple page e-mails all at the same time. I actually got some feedback for the Social Malfunction article. Apparently I hit the nail on the head. I’ve been trying to write more now since I expected to have lots of free time… and I do… but I’m still lacking the motivation and I have to spend a lot of time walking back and forth to the next village…


Around the Village…


The reason for that is that I’ve officially signed my life away and taken over financial responsibility for the projects of my former site-mate. He had to go home for medical and personal reasons (and ended up getting diagnosed with diabetes) and left two serious projects in limbo in his wake. I’ve spent the last month and a half catching up with the progress since he left, figuring out the budgets and otherwise picked up and tied off the loose ends. He had gotten them money to dig a new well and run piping to each household, and to re-build a washed out road and put in erosion control barriers. Much to my delight, the village association responsible for the projects really is responsible. This relegates me to the position of collecting and tabulating receipts, taking photos and generating meaningless reports to clutter the desks of my superiors and the donors… Oops… did I say that out loud? Anyway… I generally end up in this other town 2-3 times a week, once I got started. I have to go through it to get to my own town from the road anyway, so its really not that big of a deal.


So… where did I leave off last time. Ah yes… Ramadan and my parents visit. Well, Ramadan finished off with barely a whisper. There is a 2-3 day holiday at the end of the month of fasting which I was keen to observe but practically missed from the lack of excitement. From what I could see strolling through town and from my rooftop vantage point (my roof is a great place to observe the village as I have the highest house up the hillside and look down on almost everyone. Correspondingly my nearest neighbors down the hill have now closed in their courtyard… I honestly hope that this is a coincidence and that they are just closing it in because it makes it warmer in the winter, but one never knows in this culture.) it involved a lot of house to house visiting by the women of the community all dressed up in their holiday finery. For the sisters in my host family this involved matching neon green skirts and tops with hot pink headscarves. Someone call Cosmo magazine! I had a bowl of candy, some banana bread and hot water for tea in case my house was visited but it wasn’t to be. Nor was I invited anywhere else either. I guess that I just haven’t been here long enough… but its no big deal. Even given the snuff I feel much more a part of the community in the new place than I ever did in the old. After it was all said and done I got invited to participate in the “big” holiday at the beginning of January. Count me in!


Been to suq (market) a few more times since I first moved in. I still can’t get over how big and crazy a place it is. It happens on Saturdays and its really the only day that I can be guaranteed transportation to and from town so I try to take advantage of it. Even though it involves riding in a Mercedes van that carries cows and sheep as often as it does humans with 42 other people. You only think I’m joking. Somehow I always miss the memo about when the transit leaves on a given Saturday too and I’m the only one waiting out there for hours in the cold. C’est la vie. We do the 15 kilometers in a bit under an hour with various stops and starts and I’m deposited in a wonderland of beehive-esqe activity where 300+ shopkeepers all try and sell the same 12 things to several thousand other people. I know it doesn’t sound like a sound business principle but somehow it works. My current theory is that all business in Morocco is based on some kind of personal relationships and so, members of each town only go each Saturday to shopkeepers with whom they have done business before. These shopkeepers will extend credit only to members of that town and so… members of another town have to build a relationship with some other guy that sells the same stuff. Or… they could just all be very silly. Who knows? The other interesting factor is that we are so close to the city that there are always tourists flocking to the market on Saturday and its fun to watch them walk around, wide eyed. There is absolutely nothing for sale that any tourist would want… mostly cooking oil, aluminum pots and pans and plastic buckets, but still they come to get a taste of a life less privileged. Little do they know that they are the spectacle. Unfortunately, except for the few shopkeepers that know me, (yes I shop at the same ones as everyone else in the village) I get lumped in with the rest of the odd looking white people despite my much deeper insight. The fact that I speak (sort-of) the language doesn’t count for much.


Other than that I’ve just been kickin’ around the town. I’ve had tea in a few houses and met a few people. Had two community meetings where they presented me with a list of village priorities, voted according to need and desire. Basically my whole job handed to me on a silver platter. Unfortunately, due to time and money restrictions (even here the two are pretty much synonymous) and the fact that my boss doesn’t want me to put any effort into it I won’t be able to do much of what’s on the list… well.. nothing that’s only the list exactly. Instead I’ve been delegated as the “Monitoring and Evaluation” guru and I’ll be looking into the success of all the projects that came before me. I’m also running classes on how to write grants, starting with one to improves schools and education. Its 300,000Dhs (divide roughly by 10 for dollars) and the grant is due in by the 29th of December… Wish me luck. Better yet… wish them luck. They are doing great but, as per usual, the grant is held up by some officials someplace waiting for a stamp. At least my villagers are working on it.


As far as personal projects go I’ve been re-painting some trim in my house, my doors and shutters and making homemade curtains. Now if I could only get the place clean!

My new Curtians! Sewed them myself


For a few days at the end of October just after Ramadan I was graced with a visit from a guy that had just finished volunteering in Ghana named Johannes. I helped him make sense of his maps and figure out a short hike a few days up into the mountains. Apparently there aren’t very many of those in Ghana and he was quite impressed by the scene right in my backyard. Alas, the weather was crap and he spent a lot of time in shepherds huts and roadside guesthouses fighting some German tourists for space to dry his socks… but I think he had a good time still. While he was at my house we did a few short day hikes, made some good food and made fun of a lot of dumb PC rules. More of mine than his unfortunately. He gave me some good tips on what to see for my planned visit to Ghana sometime next fall.


In news from the last village… my site mate Mark had to go to court again for all the same stuff that we got arrested for last year. You think SOMEONE would have figured this out by now. Hello? Anyone? I talked to my host dad from the last village on the phone today and things are good with them. He wanted to know when I was visiting. I made some vague promises and actually do hold out some hope that I’ll make it back up there after service or that I’ll manage to complete the Toubkal circuit hike despite PC not allowing us to camp or hike anymore. (Yes… despite the fact that we are environment volunteers and we “work” in the park.)


At large in Morocco…


I’ve also taken a couple of trips outside the village since my parents visit for both work and pleasure. The first weekend in November I took a trip north to meet up with Carly in a town just east of Rabat on the Mediterranean coast called Kenitra. Its an ok city with not a lot going for it in terms of tourist attraction and yet it still manages to do ok for itself. In doing some pre-trip research I could only find one website and it was dedicated to the Kenitra clubbing scene. The purpose of the visit (other than to socialize) was to see some birds at a lake just in-land from the Med called Sidi Boughaba. Getting there was a bit tricky but we managed it and the park was fabulous. I couldn’t believe the infrastructure. There was a visitors center/environmental education center, picnic tables, pathways, even bird blinds. Of course it wasn’t run directly by the Moroccan version of the park service whom we environment volunteers are supposed to be working for, but is instead contracted out to a British NGO, the Society for the Protection of animals and Nature. (SPANA) The guy in charge of the center was super nice and gave us the educational tour and told us a bit about birds on the lake before setting us loose on our own. We saw some neat stuff including flamingos, and a couple of species of ducks that we hadn’t seen yet in Morocco. Despite the great birds I think that the best part of the outing each day was a fabulous picnic lunch with real turkey sandwiches. (a splurge at the “hypermarche”)!
View of the Lake

Overlooking the Estuary

Carly and I at the Lake


I was supposed to meet the new director of PC on his first official visit to a post the next weekend in Marrakech, but it wasn’t to be. The scheduling got messed up someplace and the Marrakech part of the trip got axed. Carly did get to meet with him though and I guess that her visit was a huge success. She says he’s a nice guy. PC officialdom here in Morocco played paranoid and only people who had been officially sanctioned and briefed and warned not to make any cheese jokes. (the guys last name is pronounced “chedder”) You can check out info from the visit in a not-very-well-written press release on the peace corps website (http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.media.press.view&news_id=1164)


Instead, I ended up getting tapped to go to a conference in the capitol on the usage of biological and bio-mechanical erosion control techniques put on by an NGO promoting the use of Vetiver grass. (http://www.vetiver.org). Its non-native to Morocco and therefore not exactly 100% desirable in every aspect but there is no question that its good at what it does. It’s got an incredible root system that stabilizes roadway embankments and run-off ditches among other things. It acts as its own biological control and is non-invasive in the technical sense of the word. Its grazable, renewable, can be used as thatch on roofs, fuel for cooking, arts and crafts, purifies water, detoxifies old mine sites and quarries and any number of other potential benefits including being the base ingredient in many perfumes and colognes. Too good to be true? Probably… But I’m grateful for the opportunity to exercise the scientific aspect of my brain a bit. I’ve taken some plant samples home to start a nursery because my colleagues projects call for the grass’s use and USAID who is funding the project really wants to see it happen. The conference itself was a really interesting mix of Moroccan government and NGO participants and I spent most of the time trying to translate for the other to PCVs into English from the French. The organizers and presenters all spoke English and were either from Australia or the States though so that helped. We asked a lot of questions during breaks and after the fact and received a lot of promises of support.


Vetiver Grass


About a week after I finished with that it was time to take off for Thanksgiving celebrations being held this year at Carly’s house in Dayet Aoua, a village in the center of Morocco, just south of Fes. Carly had bought us a turkey and it was running around her yard when I arrived. Her host family was fattening it up for us with a bit of corn each day. I had volunteered to kill the bird this year since I hadn’t managed to participate at all last Thanksgiving. We celebrated on Saturday because it was easiest in terms of getting all the participants there and using a minimal amount of vacation time. 4 other volunteers managed to come. The big day rolled around and Carly’s host dad “helped” me do the deed… Ok… Well, actually he did the deed but allowed me to hold the neck and give it a last ceremonial chop. I’m not real sure the way that they kill animals is the most humane. We made sure that we were properly facing Mecca and he prayed first but in the end it took the turkey the better part of 20 minutes to fully bleed out, stop walking/thrashing around and kick the bucket. Carly and I plucked the bird and then her host mom helped us remove the innards. I prepped the bird to go into the tiny sheet-metal oven… We used a stuffing of oranges, onions and herbs and basted with apple juice and broth. Mmm… Fruity… I must say that given the conditions and seeing that it was my first attempt to cook a turkey under any circumstances that it came out fabulous!


Me Holding the Bird

This was the hardest part

Carly and I... Almost there!

The part where everyone else starts

Little Butter, Little spices... Little gross


Not much clearance in the oven but smells delicious!

Carving the Bird


We also managed to use the same oven and a two burner stove to crank out the other necessities of thanksgiving including apple sauce, apple pie, pumpkin pie, sesame green beans, garlic/rosemary mashed potatoes, creamed corn casserole, stuffing, turkey gravy, chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies, and salad w/dressing. All completely from scratch. We even had home made liquor! Ha! Definitely a PC thanksgiving but I couldn’t have asked for better and everything tasted wonderful, just like it would have at home. The only problem is that it made me want to see all my friends.

The Full Spread

Pie, Sweet Pie

Our Thanksgiving Family


Hmm… well I guess that’s about it for me for this edition of my life. I hope to hear from all of you soon. I’ve got a touch of holiday homesickness and PC and Morocco are still managing to get on my nerves quite regularly. Six months left… Got some interesting stuff coming up including a visit from some of my best friends and (hopefully) a ski trip over Christmas. Please (!) write me and let me know how things are. Regular mail or e-mail are both fine!


Till Next time… Stay well
Much love and Luck in Everything
Cheers!
-Andy

Social Malfunction

Social Malfunction
Andrew Tibbs

Living this solitary Peace Corps life has changed me. Certainly I'm stronger now in many ways. More independent, more self-sufficient. Definitely more capable of finding solutions to problems on my own. I'm seriously going to rock the charades tournament at the next block party I'm invited to... provided of course that I feel like going. And there's the catch. All this new strength, independence and self-sufficiency has come at a price. I've forgotten how to be social.
I mean, I'm a hermit now in the most classic sense of the word. I snarl at little kids that play by my front door. I live so far out in the boondocks that I rarely get any visitors and, when I do, I usually can't wait for them to leave. I've forgotten completely how to make conversation for more than five minutes at a stretch, probably in part because any word longer than four letters leaves me tongue tied and gasping for breath. I purposely go out of my way to avoid places where I might see people I know. What the hell is wrong with me? I didn't used to be like this.
I had a blast in college. Joined a bunch of clubs, partied, played random pickup games on the quad with total strangers. My roommate and I were famous for our dry humor and always had quick sarcastic comments and thoughtful turns of phrase on the tip of the tongue. Now whenever I meet up with a friend I haven't seen in a while I find myself staring off into space and inserting long, awkward pauses into the conversation so that I have time to formulate my next thought. I complain about the same things over and over just to kill time.
I don't think that I'm alone in this. I've heard tons of stories of other volunteers who have felt the same way to one degree or another whether they realized it or not. Two days ago I talked to a friend that had had a low key gathering of people at her house. They had a good time but when transit problems delayed the departure of the guests for just an hour or two the hostess admitted that she had been ready to pull her hair out. Over two extra hours? Like me she wonders if she'll ever feel normal social emotions again. Another confession: Talking on the phone with a volunteer who had discovered that a friend of hers had been in her town and yet, had neglected to let her know so that they could meet for lunch or something. You tell me if this is normal behavior given how little time we get to spend together as it is. Shouldn't we WANT to get together whenever chance happens to allow it? Still more evidence; I was in Marjane and spotted another volunteer that I had met once before at the other end of an isle. I waved and she looked right at me, smiled... then turned her back and walked away. Now perhaps there is some innocent explanation for this. Perhaps she didn't have contacts in that day and mistook me for some sleazy red-headed Berber man hitting on her in the supermarket. (because this happens all the time I'm sure... I only wish I was kidding) Perhaps if I had followed up we would have had an opportunity to catch up on what had been going on since we had last seen each other... but I didn't follow up. I didn't feel like it.
I could go on and on but the point is that there is something about Morocco, about living the way we live, that is killing our social instinct. (too much fresh air perhaps?) Here we are, already bound to a common cause and sharing at least some interests by default, yet we rarely seek out chances to discuss them with each other. Why? I wish I knew. I nearly always come to regret the missed opportunities to chat with a friend or acquaintance right after it happens, even if the only conversation I'm capable of having at this point involves my nodding off and drooling on myself in company. Yet I pass up those opportunities all the time. I can only speculate as to the reasons.
Firstly, let me point out that while this is a problem that scares me when I stop to give it some thought, I'm in no danger of becoming the next Ted Kaczynski. (Though I did draft this essay on a manual typewriter in a one room cabin in the middle of nowhere....) I'm not psychotic and I WANT to be social. I am constantly surrounded by people here in the village and I have meaningful relationships of some sort with many of them. There is the bread lady, the egg guy, the shop keeper, the butcher, the guy-that-sits-on-the-rock-all-day, etc. It’s just that, well, they're all Berbers. Don't get me wrong. I like the Berbers. Really. Let’s not kid ourselves here, though, between their worldview and my language skills, conversation with most of them is like talking to pre-schoolers. They are very sharp, friendly, intelligent, often precocious and yet you end up pointing out the obvious a lot and are limited to a very finite number of topics. "How is the weather today?" (Umm... it’s raining) "It’s hot." (Yup, sure is.) "What time did you get up this morning?" (Wouldn't you like to know?) "You married yet?" (Ahh, women. Nothing but trouble yek?) "Will you fast during Ramadan?" (As far as you're concerned. HAHAHA) and my all time favorite... "Can you get me a visa?" (No, and if I could the only reason that I would give it to you would be to strand you in downtown New York alone after dark... OK... I'm really not that mean I swear but I have thought about it. Does that make me a bad person?) So I'm definitely not having regular, deep, meaningful conversation with anyone, which has in turn, negatively affected my confidence when I CAN have them.
Another reason is related but more direct. I live in a news void. At home I'm subject to 24/7 media bombardment and its pretty certain that if something big happens I'll know about it within 25 seconds and be discussing it with friends via phone, e-mail, or in person, pretty much immediately. Here its likely to be 25 days before I hear anything. (with the possible exception of volunteers' social lives, news of which travels at warp speed) Thus, I worry about starting conversations involving current events only to later discover that its actually old news. Add to this the fact that phone calls cost more than food and until recently I lived six hours from the nearest computer and I'm left with a dilemma whenever I do learn something gab worthy; "Do I call someone about this... or eat this week?" (and some weeks it’s been close) None of this is calculated to make me feel less socially inept.
I also feel like the reason that many of us can only barely tolerate visitors long term has to do with our coping mechanisms. We've all developed these. Routine ways of doing things that get us from point A. to point B. Some of these things might come off as a tad OCD and not completely sane in the eyes of a potential house guest and so we are forced to switch out of our comfort zone for the duration of their stay. I'll freely admit that I sing out loud while doing housework and have gotten some strange looks. We have kooky organizational schemes that involve things like leaving a 35cm patch of floor empty, or a certain coat hook unused for no reason, or sweeping the floor only on every third Tuesday. These are things that a house guest might unknowingly violate or tamper with. When life is already as absurd as it is here these little things make all the difference between comfortable insanity and screaming loonity (yes I made this word up). Since we think we can't explain them, the only way to insure their sanctity is to keep people out altogether.
Finally, we live in a society which doesn't understand the concepts of privacy or personal space but come from a society where these things are valued above all others. I don't care what Peace Corps says, that's a hard switch to make. When we do have moments alone we want to capitalize on them to the best of our ability. Having people around might cut down on the number of invitations to drink tea flavored sugar water in the short term, but it also increases visibility and leads to fewer private moments later on. Especially if some of your guests happened to be of the opposite sex. Hard to say which is better sometimes.
So, am I damaged for life? I hope not. I hope that when I get off the plane back home everything will feel perfectly normal and I'll laugh at myself for worrying about it. I hope that I can just slip back in there and guilt-trip all my friends into picking up my tab for a few nights out because I've just spent two years in a dry Muslim country. (HA) In the meantime maybe we can all try to be a little more extroverted so that when we do get home we don't have to wonder what we might have missed while we were busy categorizing flip flops all alone. (This pair for the shower, this one for suq, one for my salon, this one for rock climbing...) It should be easy once we all realize we are in the same boat. (sinking ship?) Next time you're in someone’s neighborhood give them a ring. You don't have to hug them or anything but a little conversation can go a long way. Just make sure you don't hang your coat on the third hook from the left.

In the Beginning

In the Beginning
A Look Back
Andrew Tibbs
I guess you could say that joining the Peace Corps was something of a split second life decision for me. Making split second decisions on what to do with your life for two years may seem somewhat risky, especially when you're considering leaving civilization behind. For me though, it was all a matter of timing. I had more or less finished college but was certainly not ready to make any serious life shaping plans. I had no idea yet what shape of a life I even wanted. So, I went searching for something to do with myself and wound up on my college Peace Corps recruiters doorstep. I liked what I heard there. It was a two year delay on real life, more time to think things over, while at the same time getting me out there, helping people, making a difference. With luck I would make contacts in the international community that could help guide my vague notions of my future and shape them into something feasible. I signed on the dotted line
Or tried to. The Peace Corps application process was a maze of paperwork, interviews and medical clearances that would put astronaughts pre-flight checkups to shame. A year or so after beginning I was ready to give up but pretty much that very same day they called and told me I was going to Morocco. This came as a small shock to me since I had been preparing to go to Jamaica, but hey, I was desperate to get going somewhere... anywhere where I could use my fresh minted, hard earned college degree. Anywhere not Target, where I had been killing time while I waited.
I was definitely excited. At least once I figured out where Morocco actually was. One of my friends wondered if there would even be much need for Peace Corps in a country full of casinos and looked after by a good looking European princess. Ahh, if only. Instead I was off to do environment work in the national park system in a different monarchy on the North West coast of the African continent. Monaco it definitely was not. I tried to find out all I could of course. Travel books and essays, guide books, news articles. Whatever I could get my hands on really. It was all interesting but kind of vague for my purposes. I couldn't find a single thing written by someone who had gone just to hang out with the locals. I resolved to keep my attitude as accepting as possible and my expectations minimal. Ready for anything. World here I come.
Nor was information very forthcoming from Peace Corps. Instead of sending me stuff they asked for still more details about my life so that the "staff could be better prepared for our arrival." The packing list had a million and one items and a note saying that we may or may not need any of it but they can highly recommend at least the underwear. The recurring theme of all correspondence from them was; "Morocco is the cold country with the hot sun." Well, Great... what does that mean exactly and what should I bring? Calls to the information desk never breached the voice mail wall. Clothing was supposed to be "business casual" which left me wondering what type of rural African village this really was. Eventually, I just threw a bunch of stuff into a bag using the "little bit of everything" approach and two rolls of duct tape to cover the contingencies. I could barely lift the thing but in true boy scout fashion I was prepared.
My friends and family were supportive, though now I realize that they no doubt thought I had gone off the deep end. Or at least further off than usual. Here I was packing off to a Muslim country at a time when tensions were high, opinions were hot, and understanding was minimal. I figured that this made my mission more important. Things couldn't be as bad as all that. I exchanged addresses, shot rolls of photos to decorate the walls of my mud hut (see, already a use for the duct tape) and extracted promises from absolutely everyone I knew even vaguely to keep in touch. I must have known subconsciously even then how important these links would be down the line. A few low key (mostly) parties and tearful goodbyes later I began the first leg of my new life. A thirty minute flight to Philadelphia for "staging."
Staging was a crazy experience. I hadn't even left the States yet and I was already in over my head. I had met a new friend at the airport baggage claim (she and I were the only ones with 300 pound bags on the thirty minute flight from Boston. Peace Corps seemed a fairly safe bet.) and was nearly overwhelmed by the relief of finally being able to truly share the experience with someone who was actually doing it. Before that moment I hadn't even realized that I had been so stressed out and nervous. There were two more recruits in the airport van to the hotel and the four of us got lunch together and talked shop as if we actually knew what to expect. It made me happy that I wasn't the only nervous one there.
Activities included myriad ice-breakers and get-to-know-you games which served only to make me jealous of everyone else's qualifications. There were people that had already lived in Morocco, people that had worked at Jane Goodal's field research station, people that fed me homemade chex-mix while calmly relating that this would be their eighth trip to Africa. There were old people and young people, nurses and forest service employees, experienced and inexperienced, published scholars, married couples and single people. I wasn't even the only red-head. 48 people all told, and though I didn't realize it at the time they were all just as clueless as I was. When it came to this experience we were all equally green.
To be honest, I don't even remember what we learned at staging. Only snapshot images of bright colored maps and photos of Morocco and an energetic man (who talked to groups like us for a living) explaining the basic ins and outs of living in a culture that's not even close to anything like you might have imagined, so that hopefully we wouldn't embarrass ourselves or our nation in the first five minutes off the plane. No nose rings, no motorcycles, no pressure. Got it.
Then the long ride over the Atlantic and WAY out of my comfort zone. I think that peer-pressure to be strong was the only thing that kept us all from screaming. It certainly wasn't the in-flight movie. I pretended to sleep but couldn't have actually managed it if someone had shot me up with elephant tranquilizer. When we arrived and walked down the steps to the tarmac it was into the light of the rising African sun. I had a silly urge to commemorate the occasion somehow so when I got to the bottom step I jumped and hit the ground of my new country, my new home, with both feet. Perhaps only the watchful security official noticed my over-enthusiastic arrival but it was still worthwhile. I had cleared the hurdles, stuck with it and made it happen. I had arrived to make my difference.
Now, 18 months and many stories later I realize that those first hurdles were the shortest and the easiest to overcome. Making it here was just the beginning. But I've also learned what adaptability really means. For one thing, it's impossible to have no expectations. For better or worse experience has repeatedly shattered mine. For another, except for the duct tape I packed mostly the wrong stuff, but in my defense I'm not sure there is "right stuff" and I've become an expert at improvising. Of those 48 odd strangers from Philly only 25 remain here and they are all friends. Some great ones. We've all taught each other something by now and none of us probably would have made it alone. Ohh, and Morocco really is the cold country with the hot sun. You'll just have to visit and see for yourself.