Going Out With a Whisper and ¡Ciudad de iglesias!
Note: I neglected to put up this e-mail about my last days in Morocco so in the interests of keeping things in good chronological order I had to poach this space at the begining of the e-mail about my trip to spain This Letter was originally sent out the 11th of Septmeber 2007
Hey All,
I hope that this letter finds you all doing well and taking as much advantage as possible of the last few remaining warm days of the year. I find that I'm about six months behind in my group letters without even really knowing where all that time disappeared to. For that I sincerely apologize.
Those of you who have been following along and counting on your fingers the whole time and realized that I should have finished up my Peace Corps experience about three months ago are correct. I did finish on schedule the first of June and have been putting off writing this letter while I relaxed and recovered from the experience. Contrary to popular belief this isn't because I'm lazy (though I'm sure that this was part of it) or busy but because I feel that I'm responsible for somehow distilling and encapsulating the two years of my experience into some manageable and digestible bit of wisdom before distribution to the masses and I've found the task to be extremely daunting.
Having had the summer to think about it, swimming, sailing, diving, and learning to water-ski and play tennis lakeside at a friends house in Michigan (jealous now aren't you) and visiting school friends in MA I've decided that the reason the task is daunting and unmanageable is because its quite impossible. Despite this discovery or in-spite of it, and due to converging factors (like my mother convincing me that many of my relatives and more than a few friends probably believe me dead or worse) I've run out of time to put off writing something so here goes.
So, essentially, the last you heard from me was the end of February. As I've already mentioned previously PC restrictions on my travel limited my movements in March, April and May – being the last three months of my service in Morocco – to the occasional Saturday night soiree in the big city rather than the vacation-extended trips and long weekends that I managed to insert in most of the other months of my second year there. Unfortunately, this means that I have rather less to report than usual for those months, though I certainly tried to make as good a use of my time as possible and accomplished a great deal more than I might have expected from previous experience.
My forced confinement had its benefits and I spent a lot of time playing with the younger members of my host family. The youngest, Hussein, underwent a radical transformation in his level of awareness in the last few months I was there and it was an interesting study in child development. During my 8 months there he was capable of walking around and making various noises that might generously been considered words by those that spoke the language better than I do and/or were in constant close proximity to him. In the last few months he really gained a command of the language and with it a whole new array of methods to use when begging for candy. I don't think a day went by that he didn't try to beg, borrow, lie, cheat or steal a sweet from me and most of the time he was too cute to resist but at least I made him help with small chores and switched over to yogurt and fruit eventually so I wouldn't contribute too much to rotting his teeth out before he even finishes growing them all in.
My host sisters and my older host brother and I also had several bonding experiences over the Frisbee. After two years of trying I managed to finally teach a Moroccan how to throw and catch the thing properly and we had some interesting games on the rather precarious path that leads up to the house. There is a steep drop off on one side and a steep hill on the other and both sides are fenced of with brambles and prickly pear cactus with spines that punched right through the tough plastic of the disk.(Leaving a nasty surprise for the next person to have to catch it!) In a metaphor of sorts for life in the village any mistakes or variations from the established game were quickly and severely punished by the environment in which we lived and were just as quickly eliminated. I've never played with a group that could throw the disk so straight and level so consistently. I wanted to try and take them someplace more open, like the village soccer field; so that I could teach some more variation but the girls weren't allowed to go farther away from the house and I gave up in protest. I did leave the Frisbee there though in hopes that they will someday discover its true potential on their own.
Ironically, I also managed to finally meet a few of the leading members of my community. Mostly they sought me out because they were annoyed with me for doing projects in the village down the road and I had to explain to them that the reasons I was doing work there and not in my own village had to do with the fact that the development association in the village down the road was organized, had a firm grasp on what it wanted, and had the support of the community to help them get there. In a moment of startling clarity I had the association president of the active village come up and explain the ground rules and the ins and outs of basic proposal writing. Not to be undone by another village and by making it a competition of sorts between the development associations of the two villages I managed to light a spark, albeit a small one, under my own association and whip them into some semblance of an organization. By the time I left they were drafting modest written proposals despite their earlier assertions that no one in the village could read or write well enough to do so. Still a far cry from ideal, especially considering no one is replacing me to follow up and continue the push but its far better than nothing.
I also managed to perk up some local interest in the environment by involving the local tourism leaders. The plan was the combined brainchild of myself and Brahim, the owner of the hotel in the village. He's not around much because he works in London (for Disney of all things) but he has a vested interest in keeping the village and the park clean so his guests can feel immersed in the naturalness and culture of the place without tripping every three feet over a dirty diaper, a plastic water bottle or other debris of a newer (and better?) age. He proposed that I try and organize the local tourism agents and hotel owners to provide incentives in the form of cash prizes of village improvements to the cleanest village in the region. He agreed to do a pilot project by sponsoring a village cleanup day for my village and providing permanent trash barrels and manpower to jump start the initiative. As one of my only environmental education activities during my service it was a great success and I was extremely pleased by the turnout and the level of interest from the villagers. I only hope the understood a bit of the reasons behind the event instead of just making a fun game out of garbage for the afternoon.
It also took me the better part of the three last months to track down all the required paperwork to finish out the projects in the village down the road. Even at their more advanced state of organization they were still Moroccan to the core and unannounced tea parties, weddings and visits by high ranking government officials continued to stall my receipt of the documents for weeks. I can't begin to describe the frustration that comes from needing only a piece of paper from someone and despite many appointments and attempts simply not being able to get it. This is Morocco. Absolutely no sense of urgency in anything… with the possible exception of the kings business.
Speaking of which… in the space of the last month I was there they repaved the major road that runs through my market town and repainted every shop and mile marker, rebuilt every wall, picked up all the garbage in a 10 kilometer radius of the road and replaced all the street signs because the king was supposed to drive through. DRIVE through… not even stop. He didn't end up coming but it's a classic example of how much work CAN get done under the right circumstances. After two plus years there I'm convinced that the only thing that Morocco truly lacks to become fully developed is self confidence and the proper motivation. I, and the other volunteers too, did nothing for Morocco that it couldn't have done for itself both in small and large scales. Yet between laziness, corruption and a misplaced sense of traditional values it doesn't happen.
Moving out of my village was not the heart rending tear-jerk affair that it was for many of the other volunteers. It was simply too conservative a community for me to form that kind of connection. I gave most of my acquired belongings to my host family and the new volunteer down the road in the motivated village and met up with the other volunteers of my group in Rabat for a very un-formal and anti-climactic swearing out and a week long paperwork process. I had my exit interview with the big American boss which went pretty well. I presented my grand scheme to make PC better in Morocco in the future and he at least listened attentively and took some notes. To late to change anything for myself but hopefully it will make a difference for volunteers of the future. I've since found out that his position has been offered to him for an unprecedented third tour of duty and he's thinking about retiring to Morocco. I've decided that he's a perfectly nice guy if a bit socially awkward and tragically overprotective. Instead of actually making us safer it only suffocates us. As if to add insult to injury no one at PC even said thank you to us and the Moroccan staff member refused to come to the goodbye picnic that we organized and paid for ourselves to commemorate the event. Good riddance to him and to all that are like him in the Peace Corps program. If there is an argument for not using host country nationals as staff he's it. In an organization that is designed to promote cross cultural cooperation and understanding he did nothing to understand the trials and frustrations of the Americans who depended on him.
I visited my parents in Bulgaria on the way home and enjoyed two weeks there in their company. We got to see many of the Bulgarian sights and enjoyed the food a great deal. In a bit of pure coincidence President Bush was visiting at the same time we were and we got to meet him and shake his hand twice during his visit. I suppose that most people probably wouldn't make much of this opportunity these days but I find that I can certainly still respect the office he holds and so it was an interesting and unique opportunity. I've now shaken hands with two consecutive presidents.
Since the conclusion of that visit I've been busy doing not much of anything. I've started working now on applications to grad school. I've concluded that the field that combines the largest number of my interests is Global Public health and/or Epidemiology. I'm applying to six schools in early December. Wish me luck. Any tips or hits are appreciated. In the meantime I'm taking another trip; this time to West Africa and the countries of Ghana, Togo and Burkina Faso. I'll be gone from the 12th of September to the 19th of November and I'm very much looking forward to it. The plan is to work on my French Language and get a feel for some new cultures as well as doing some basic surveying work to see how the aid field manifests itself in West Africa. Mostly though it's just a vacation. I'm going to try and be better about the e-mails from there. If you get this and aren't interested in receiving the start of a new chapter in the diary of my life then this is probably a good time to ask to be removed from the list. Just send me an e-mail.
Actually… Everyone should send me an e-mail and let me know how their doing. I would love to hear from all of you. There is no adventure to small to make a good story.
So... If you read this whole thing looking for the bit of wisdom that ties it all together maybe you'll go away from this disappointed. I'm leaving the analysis for another day, a few years down the road when I can sit and reflect and have some more experiences with which to put it all into perspective.
Here's to life, May it always be a work in progress. I'm definitely still working on mine!
Until next time,
(sooner than you think I'll be in Ghana and fishin' for love!)
Go well, Stay well
Much love
-Andy
¡Ciudad de iglesias!
January/February (PART 2 of 2)
Hey All,
Well… Its now the end of March and therefore time for the second installment of my January/February doings in Morocco. As always, thanks to all of you who have kept in touch and who have read and commented on these letters. No matter where you are or what you’re doing in life it always feels good to be connected to other people. I’ve had enough of a taste of the solitary life here to realize that its not something that I would ever want or ever wish upon anyone else. I hope that you are all doing excellent and that this letter finds you all in good health and high spirits in the midst of your own adventures big or small.
Mine continued after the departure of Leo and Jess in the middle of January. I returned to my mountain home and decided almost immediately to take advantage of the mild weather ( I could comfortably pass with just a tee-shirt in the sun and froze to death in the shade) and do a bit more exploring of my surroundings. I hadn’t actually done much hiking or wandering since moving to my new village because I had always been prevented by some outside factor. Either it was 120 degrees, or snowing, or I was busy meeting with village associations, or setting up my house, or traveling or it was possible that I simply wasn’t up for it. I’m tired of exploring alone. Anyway, at the end of January and beginning of February I was presented with a few uninterrupted weeks of village time and a great opportunity to escape above it.
I slung my camera over my shoulder and headed up the trail into the park. The ministry of water and forests (think park service) had recently put up some new signs where the road ends and the trail begins on the outskirts of my village and I stopped to read them. These signs are something that various PC volunteers have been fighting to get or make for pretty much as long as we’ve worked with the Moroccan National Parks because they represent the most basic of infrastructure and a jumping off point for things like marked trails, visitors centers, picnic areas and scenic observation points. Things that we all associate with parks back home but which are totally lacking in the parks here. The fact that there is no structure or organization in the parks to either generate income locally or to prevent tourists or locals from doing damage in random wanderings is one of the major problems we face. Of course, despite all our demands and offers of assistance as far as I know no PCV was involved with these signs, a disappointing but otherwise completely normal fact of life for us.
After reading about it in French I decided on a whim to leave the main trail and take a barely discernable track up into the rock spires of the Takenhourt Mufalon Reserve (RMT). Takenhourt is a sprawling 3800 Meter mountain monolith that towers over the end of the valley in which my village resides (though I discovered that I can only see a false summit from my house). It is a fenceless reserve for Mufalon, or large mountain herd animal more commonly known in English as Barbary Sheep. I specify that the reserve is fenceless because it’s the only one that I know of in Morocco where the animals aren’t fenced in and carefully controlled. Several factors prompted me to go in this direction. Firstly, I had always wanted to see if I could get up to the rock pinnacles about halfway to the top of the mountain since they are one of the most unique and striking geological features that I can see from my courtyard, or indeed, from anywhere in the village. Second, I wanted to see if the reserve was actually a reserve in anything more than name, or if the local villagers grazed their own sheep or goats in the area illegally but totally without consequence as they would (and often do) in other protected regions. And third, I wanted to see if I could find a Mufalon, or signs of them, since a team of park personnel had failed to do so in December on a trip that they failed to tell me about and then berated me for not attending.
The park was amazing. The difference between the protected area of the reserve and the other mountains that I’ve climbed since being here was immediately apparent (Indeed, its apparent from the ground once you know what you’re looking for). The mountainside was covered in full sized trees and green vascular plants. Even the rocks themselves were blanketed with moss and lichens. There was grass and topsoil and flowers. Butterflies flitted by and birds sang from cover as I passed them by. I really felt almost as if I was trespassing since it was so pristine and beautiful. I tried to capture some pictures of it but the sun was intense and not good for photos and I’m not sure that they would have done the place justice anyway. After some serious boulder hopping I managed to seat myself on the biggest of the rock spires that overlook the valley that contains my village. It was no where near the actual summit of the mountain, which was still caked in its wintertime snow layer, but it was no less spectacular for that. It was a fun way to spend the afternoon and while I didn’t see any Mufalon I did see evidence of them!
A view of my valley from the spires of the mountain that overlooks it.
A view of my village from on high.
A rock-assisted self portriat on top of the spires of Tackenhourt.
I’m glad that I went when I did because for the next week or so I was laid out with a sinus infection. If its not one thing its another.
The first weekend in February I had managed to put myself back together and headed to Rabat to meet up with Carly and some other people that were hanging around there for Superbowl parties. Rabat is one of the only places in Morocco where you can manage to watch the game at all on Armed forces television. I wasn’t terribly interested in the game and didn’t even really know who was in it until the day of but it was nice to see people. I spend some time de-stressing and then went to the party that was thrown by the Marines who guard the embassy for the first quarter. Since the game started at 11:30PM it would have been a bit rough to watch the whole thing considering it wasn’t really why I was there in the first place. As weekends tend to do, this one came to an end all too soon and I caught a ride back to my site with my Program staff, who were visiting the region to do some site development in the village below mine where I have some projects going on for a volunteer who left early.
During that next week I managed to finish one of these two projects and collect all the paperwork I needed to submit to PC to get me off the hook financially. This is not as easy as it sounds since I need receipts for all the materials and labor used to complete the project. In the end though it all worked out and 130 new households in the village have clean running water in their homes and all the mechanisms were in place for the sustainability of the project for future generations of villagers. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet gotten to properly celebrate this because the second project concerning the re-building of a road and the construction of erosion control barriers to protect it is not progressing nearly as satisfactorily and I’m worried about getting it finished in the few short months that I have left because no amount of pressure that I apply seems to be working. Instead of helping me PC seems more interested in threatening to dock the amount from my already small readjustment stipend. I guess that’s easier for them. Wish me luck.
In the middle of February the whole group of Environment and Health volunteers that I came to the country with (those of us that are left anyway) went to Rabat to attend our Close of Service Conference that will prepare us for wrapping up any loose ends and teach us what steps to take to better prepare ourselves for the transition back into “normal” society at home. Though this conference was perhaps the most useful of the three times we’ve all gotten together during our service and contained the most relevant information as usual it was mostly just good to see everyone. I don’t know many other circumstances where people that were thrown together originally for three months and then only see each other once or twice a year for a few days can be as good friends as we are. I haven’t met many people who volunteer for PC that I wouldn’t want to know as a friend. We reviewed our service during the day and ate sushi, watched movies and went out to the clubs at night. Who needs sleep anyway?
We stayed at the hotel Chellah, the same hotel where we had all stayed for the first three days of our time in Morocco and a really nice 4 star place. It all seems like forever ago now… and I feel like the food was better that first time but maybe its because I’ve had two years of fond memories to hype it up to myself. I remember thinking that COS conference felt so very far away then.
Everything went very smoothly and it was a lot of fun. In one of the sessions we got to talk to a panel of former volunteers from various posts and times that had managed to make it back overseas to Morocco for some reason or another. It was very useful to get their mixed perspectives on what I should be doing and how I should be feeling about my future plans.
When the conference wrapped up and people began to go their separate ways Carly and I traveled to Tangier at the northern tip of the country by the Straits of Gibraltar in order to prepare to blow the last of our vacation time (It all had to be used up by the end of Feb) on a week long trip to Sevilla, Spain. I was amazed by how close the Spanish mainland actually is. You can see the closest towns along the coast down to the windmills that generate their electricity. Buying tickets for the ferry ride from Tangier to Algeciras, a Spanish port city on the Med was quite easy but ease ended there. At first we couldn’t find the embarkation cards we had to fill out to clear passport control and then we got all the way to the boat before anyone told us that we needed to exchange our tickets for boarding cards before we could get on. Luckily, we managed and were soon on our way. The crossing was smooth and about 2 hours long, followed by another two hours on the bus to Sevilla, which we lucked out and caught right away.
After taking a taxi to our Hostel from the bus terminal we set out to explore the sights and sample the Tapas (think glorified snack food) bars that the city and the region is famous for. I found the city to be amazing for many reasons. First, and not to be under-rated in importance, it was so…. western. Despite being slightly chilly there were people dressed much more scantily than I have seen in years outside the very center of the touristy parts of Marrakech, men and women going hand in hand, or arm in arm or *gasp* even kissing in public. Drinking was not only allowed but almost worshiped with just about every restaurant, including the coffee shops, willing to serve you something with a little kick. (and yet they handle their booze so much better than most Moroccans I’ve seen drunk). The shape and variety of the food was sublime and you could get pork products… In fact, in an area famous for its Iberian pork its about all you could get. The history and the architecture was gorgeous and the center of the city was dominated by a massive cathedral that I couldn’t really get enough of. (much to Carly’s dismay I’m sure). I must have taken a hundred pictures of the place in all different weather’s while I was there. Every time I walked past it some new angle of the place would strike me, or some new subtle shadow…
It was rather difficult to get inside actually, because it was the run up to lent the week we were there and the order of monks that runs the place and cares for it had other things on their mind than appeasing the early season tourists. Actually, we got our first glimpse during Sunday morning Mass, which I attended with Carly. We had Mass in a small side chapel having just missed the service in the main part of the cathedral. It was very nice none the less despite my nervousness in participating in a strange religious service in a strange language. At least I’ve gotten somewhat used to not knowing what’s going on. And at least I was there in the proper spirit of worship. A girl in the front row was taking flash pictures throughout the service and videotaped communion. Later on in the week we managed to get inside the building and visited its numerous privately donated chapels and tombs, including that said to be of Christopher Columbus but actually containing on of his sons. The cathedral itself is actually a combination of Gothic and Renaissance with more than a dollop of Arabic mosque thrown in because the original church was not a church at all. The main bell tower could be easily and without much alteration be substituted for the main mosque tower in Marrakech without anyone noticing. It was kept from feeling more open by the biggest organ that I’ve ever seen placed right in the middle of the sanctuary. I’m not sure why they did this because, as Carly pointed out, it severely limits the number of people that can see the main altar at one time. Not that there are enough people in Sevilla to fill the space anyway.
This is about as much of the Cathedral as you can fit into one photo these days. We saw paintings of the city during a parade during a museum visit where the entire thing was visible but today its blocked by buildings.
I shamelessly copied someone else who I saw taking this picture. I like it anyway. :-)
A statuary representation of the patron of the Cathedral of Sevilla. (I forget the name unfortunately)
A tabeau over one of the doors of the cathderal. I wanted to get some example shots of the amount of work that went into the place.
This bell tower was a converted mosque tower originally and would still fit in pretty easily in Marrakech. Providing you removed the bells.
An example of the butressing required to keep everything in place. As seen from a window of the bell tower on the way up. The tower itself was interesting as it had a ramp instead of stairs to facilitate an officer of the guard riding his horse up the 37ish floors.
A look down at the cruciform pattern of the cathedral from its bell tower.
A view of the bullring from atop the bell tower.
There was no flash photography inside the cathedral so all the interior pictures required a steady hand. I hope you appriciate it! It was a very impressive place.
This is the main alter. I think that it would have been much more impressive had it not been guarded by the big cast iron fence.
The place did have an amazing organ. It took up a ton of the floorspace inside the sanctuary. This is as much of it as I could get in one picture
A closer view of one half of the organ. Its carved out of wood.
One example of the beautiful stained glass windows. I found that they were mostly historical pictures rather than strictly religious ones.
A view of the statues holding up the Crypt box of Christopher Columbus (actually one of his sons)from the front.
A view of the Crypt of Columbus from the side. It is an impressive monument even if he isn't actually in it.
Other sight seeing highlights included the gardens of Alcazar, which we visited on a rainy afternoon. They were still quite beautiful, converted to a Renaissance garden of hedge mazes and statuary from the original Arabic food and fruit garden that occupied the site when the Arabic rulers of Andalusia held sway. There was also much of the same arched windows and plasterwork that have become so very familiar to us in Morocco as the decorative taste of the historically rich and famous. As you walked room to room it was much like stepping back and forth across the Strait, the Spanish court’s influence heaviest in some places and Arabic prayer fountains dominant in others.
One of the original rooms of the Alcazar palace from when the Arabs ruled southern Spain. Note the same intricate plasterwork that marks important buildings in every Moroccan city.
More examples of the Arabic influence in the Alcazar palace. Cool arches and more plaster.
All carpets should be as intersting as this one with a naval scene at the Alcazar palace. There was a giant room with these covering the walls.
I really liked this picture of the former public baths in the basement of the Alcazar palace (again dating from the arab times... europeans probably didn't bath much in the dark ages that followed)
These gardens were converted to a european style from former arabic fruit/vegetable gardens. Now its all statuary and hedge mazes.
Another photo of the Alcazar Gardens.
We also visited the bull ring, one of the first and the biggest in the nation. Unfortunately, the bullfighting season began about two months after our visit with the culmination of festivities of Sevilla’s famous holy week and we didn’t get to see action. The museum and the short tour was still worth the visit though. We saw many other parks and gardens on our strolls around the town and spent a great deal of time simply relaxing and visiting various cafes and restaurants, lounging about and looking at other churches (of which there was an impressive example just about every block) and architectural marvels of southern Spain. I think that we probably went into just about every supermarket that we saw and just let the amazing variety wash over us. And these were small family operations compared to those in the US!
A photo of the interior of the bullring. Empty at the moment but I read that the sport is more popular than soccer during the Bullfighting season despite the protests of animal activists.
A monestery behind the modern opera house was just one of many beautiful catholic churches in Sevilla. You can see the cathedral tower in the back left of the photo
I'm pretty sure that this is the facade of the library of the indies where all the records of the discovery and conquest of america are kept. I hope to get back here someday.
Front door of the impressive semi-circular city/province headquarters. It was too big to get into one photo so this is the best I can do.
One of the towers on teh end of the same building. I really liked the arcitecture of these spires
Culturally, we visited the Flamenco dancing museum and went to a demonstration of the performing art itself. The museum was a brand new ultramodern affair with touch screen computers and various videos of all the different dance styles and costumes and interactive interviews with past performers. Unfortunately all those hundreds of projector bulbs made the place rather stuffy and hot and the museum was a bit light on actual historical or technical information about the dance or the musical style. The dance performance on the other hand was located in a small but beautiful venue in the courtyard of an old Jewish house that has become a center for Sephardic and Andalusian culture. I only wish that the performance had been slightly longer but what it lacked in length it made up for in the intensity for which it is so famous. Not only the dance but the singing… and the guitar work was simply amazing. If we could have afforded it we probably would have tried to go see one of the actual theatre shows as well.
I was, of course, sad that the trip eventually had to come to an end. I would have happily stayed in the city for longer and probably wouldn’t have run out of things to do for quite some time. Sevilla was the main port city during Spain’s discovery and subsequent capture and colonization of the American continent and there are many libraries and relics to this time there that we didn’t even begin to touch upon. Then there is bullfighting and holy week… neighboring national parks and much else to see in the surrounding countryside. Too much! Ahh well, just an excuse to come back again sometime in the future! Preferably knowing a bit more Spanish…(what I did know I learned through American movies and other media and pronounced with a Latin American accent I’m sure… not the slurred lispy accent of true Spanish Spanish.) though most people were happy to try English with us, save for the woman at the Laundromat (thank goodness for clean clothes again!). She was patient and Carly’s Spanish is better than mine thankfully! The place was also crowded with other Americans doing university studies in Starbucks (yes we went) and jogging through the historical district. Just looking around from any downtown spot its not hard to see why its such a popular destination.
The return across the Med was in a smaller boat over much choppier waters and I must admit to being slightly under the weather but it was survived without incident and we were back in the very different world of Morocco once again. After a night we were on our way home to spend the last few February days daydreaming. At least for me… between bouts of battling with one association or another in this or that village over something or another. I was both re-energized and more ready to head out for good. Soon now…
Well, that’s it form this end until the March letter hits newsstands near you. You’ll have to wait a bit longer for that though… some of the writers have missed their deadlines. Until then, I hope that you are all amazingly well. I miss you all and please do send me an e-mail or a letter. Not much time left for the snail mail so tell me what’s up!
Love and luck in Everything
CHEERS!
-Andy
Hey All,
I hope that this letter finds you all doing well and taking as much advantage as possible of the last few remaining warm days of the year. I find that I'm about six months behind in my group letters without even really knowing where all that time disappeared to. For that I sincerely apologize.
Those of you who have been following along and counting on your fingers the whole time and realized that I should have finished up my Peace Corps experience about three months ago are correct. I did finish on schedule the first of June and have been putting off writing this letter while I relaxed and recovered from the experience. Contrary to popular belief this isn't because I'm lazy (though I'm sure that this was part of it) or busy but because I feel that I'm responsible for somehow distilling and encapsulating the two years of my experience into some manageable and digestible bit of wisdom before distribution to the masses and I've found the task to be extremely daunting.
Having had the summer to think about it, swimming, sailing, diving, and learning to water-ski and play tennis lakeside at a friends house in Michigan (jealous now aren't you) and visiting school friends in MA I've decided that the reason the task is daunting and unmanageable is because its quite impossible. Despite this discovery or in-spite of it, and due to converging factors (like my mother convincing me that many of my relatives and more than a few friends probably believe me dead or worse) I've run out of time to put off writing something so here goes.
So, essentially, the last you heard from me was the end of February. As I've already mentioned previously PC restrictions on my travel limited my movements in March, April and May – being the last three months of my service in Morocco – to the occasional Saturday night soiree in the big city rather than the vacation-extended trips and long weekends that I managed to insert in most of the other months of my second year there. Unfortunately, this means that I have rather less to report than usual for those months, though I certainly tried to make as good a use of my time as possible and accomplished a great deal more than I might have expected from previous experience.
My forced confinement had its benefits and I spent a lot of time playing with the younger members of my host family. The youngest, Hussein, underwent a radical transformation in his level of awareness in the last few months I was there and it was an interesting study in child development. During my 8 months there he was capable of walking around and making various noises that might generously been considered words by those that spoke the language better than I do and/or were in constant close proximity to him. In the last few months he really gained a command of the language and with it a whole new array of methods to use when begging for candy. I don't think a day went by that he didn't try to beg, borrow, lie, cheat or steal a sweet from me and most of the time he was too cute to resist but at least I made him help with small chores and switched over to yogurt and fruit eventually so I wouldn't contribute too much to rotting his teeth out before he even finishes growing them all in.
My host sisters and my older host brother and I also had several bonding experiences over the Frisbee. After two years of trying I managed to finally teach a Moroccan how to throw and catch the thing properly and we had some interesting games on the rather precarious path that leads up to the house. There is a steep drop off on one side and a steep hill on the other and both sides are fenced of with brambles and prickly pear cactus with spines that punched right through the tough plastic of the disk.(Leaving a nasty surprise for the next person to have to catch it!) In a metaphor of sorts for life in the village any mistakes or variations from the established game were quickly and severely punished by the environment in which we lived and were just as quickly eliminated. I've never played with a group that could throw the disk so straight and level so consistently. I wanted to try and take them someplace more open, like the village soccer field; so that I could teach some more variation but the girls weren't allowed to go farther away from the house and I gave up in protest. I did leave the Frisbee there though in hopes that they will someday discover its true potential on their own.
Ironically, I also managed to finally meet a few of the leading members of my community. Mostly they sought me out because they were annoyed with me for doing projects in the village down the road and I had to explain to them that the reasons I was doing work there and not in my own village had to do with the fact that the development association in the village down the road was organized, had a firm grasp on what it wanted, and had the support of the community to help them get there. In a moment of startling clarity I had the association president of the active village come up and explain the ground rules and the ins and outs of basic proposal writing. Not to be undone by another village and by making it a competition of sorts between the development associations of the two villages I managed to light a spark, albeit a small one, under my own association and whip them into some semblance of an organization. By the time I left they were drafting modest written proposals despite their earlier assertions that no one in the village could read or write well enough to do so. Still a far cry from ideal, especially considering no one is replacing me to follow up and continue the push but its far better than nothing.
I also managed to perk up some local interest in the environment by involving the local tourism leaders. The plan was the combined brainchild of myself and Brahim, the owner of the hotel in the village. He's not around much because he works in London (for Disney of all things) but he has a vested interest in keeping the village and the park clean so his guests can feel immersed in the naturalness and culture of the place without tripping every three feet over a dirty diaper, a plastic water bottle or other debris of a newer (and better?) age. He proposed that I try and organize the local tourism agents and hotel owners to provide incentives in the form of cash prizes of village improvements to the cleanest village in the region. He agreed to do a pilot project by sponsoring a village cleanup day for my village and providing permanent trash barrels and manpower to jump start the initiative. As one of my only environmental education activities during my service it was a great success and I was extremely pleased by the turnout and the level of interest from the villagers. I only hope the understood a bit of the reasons behind the event instead of just making a fun game out of garbage for the afternoon.
It also took me the better part of the three last months to track down all the required paperwork to finish out the projects in the village down the road. Even at their more advanced state of organization they were still Moroccan to the core and unannounced tea parties, weddings and visits by high ranking government officials continued to stall my receipt of the documents for weeks. I can't begin to describe the frustration that comes from needing only a piece of paper from someone and despite many appointments and attempts simply not being able to get it. This is Morocco. Absolutely no sense of urgency in anything… with the possible exception of the kings business.
Speaking of which… in the space of the last month I was there they repaved the major road that runs through my market town and repainted every shop and mile marker, rebuilt every wall, picked up all the garbage in a 10 kilometer radius of the road and replaced all the street signs because the king was supposed to drive through. DRIVE through… not even stop. He didn't end up coming but it's a classic example of how much work CAN get done under the right circumstances. After two plus years there I'm convinced that the only thing that Morocco truly lacks to become fully developed is self confidence and the proper motivation. I, and the other volunteers too, did nothing for Morocco that it couldn't have done for itself both in small and large scales. Yet between laziness, corruption and a misplaced sense of traditional values it doesn't happen.
Moving out of my village was not the heart rending tear-jerk affair that it was for many of the other volunteers. It was simply too conservative a community for me to form that kind of connection. I gave most of my acquired belongings to my host family and the new volunteer down the road in the motivated village and met up with the other volunteers of my group in Rabat for a very un-formal and anti-climactic swearing out and a week long paperwork process. I had my exit interview with the big American boss which went pretty well. I presented my grand scheme to make PC better in Morocco in the future and he at least listened attentively and took some notes. To late to change anything for myself but hopefully it will make a difference for volunteers of the future. I've since found out that his position has been offered to him for an unprecedented third tour of duty and he's thinking about retiring to Morocco. I've decided that he's a perfectly nice guy if a bit socially awkward and tragically overprotective. Instead of actually making us safer it only suffocates us. As if to add insult to injury no one at PC even said thank you to us and the Moroccan staff member refused to come to the goodbye picnic that we organized and paid for ourselves to commemorate the event. Good riddance to him and to all that are like him in the Peace Corps program. If there is an argument for not using host country nationals as staff he's it. In an organization that is designed to promote cross cultural cooperation and understanding he did nothing to understand the trials and frustrations of the Americans who depended on him.
I visited my parents in Bulgaria on the way home and enjoyed two weeks there in their company. We got to see many of the Bulgarian sights and enjoyed the food a great deal. In a bit of pure coincidence President Bush was visiting at the same time we were and we got to meet him and shake his hand twice during his visit. I suppose that most people probably wouldn't make much of this opportunity these days but I find that I can certainly still respect the office he holds and so it was an interesting and unique opportunity. I've now shaken hands with two consecutive presidents.
Since the conclusion of that visit I've been busy doing not much of anything. I've started working now on applications to grad school. I've concluded that the field that combines the largest number of my interests is Global Public health and/or Epidemiology. I'm applying to six schools in early December. Wish me luck. Any tips or hits are appreciated. In the meantime I'm taking another trip; this time to West Africa and the countries of Ghana, Togo and Burkina Faso. I'll be gone from the 12th of September to the 19th of November and I'm very much looking forward to it. The plan is to work on my French Language and get a feel for some new cultures as well as doing some basic surveying work to see how the aid field manifests itself in West Africa. Mostly though it's just a vacation. I'm going to try and be better about the e-mails from there. If you get this and aren't interested in receiving the start of a new chapter in the diary of my life then this is probably a good time to ask to be removed from the list. Just send me an e-mail.
Actually… Everyone should send me an e-mail and let me know how their doing. I would love to hear from all of you. There is no adventure to small to make a good story.
So... If you read this whole thing looking for the bit of wisdom that ties it all together maybe you'll go away from this disappointed. I'm leaving the analysis for another day, a few years down the road when I can sit and reflect and have some more experiences with which to put it all into perspective.
Here's to life, May it always be a work in progress. I'm definitely still working on mine!
Until next time,
(sooner than you think I'll be in Ghana and fishin' for love!)
Go well, Stay well
Much love
-Andy
¡Ciudad de iglesias!
January/February (PART 2 of 2)
Hey All,
Well… Its now the end of March and therefore time for the second installment of my January/February doings in Morocco. As always, thanks to all of you who have kept in touch and who have read and commented on these letters. No matter where you are or what you’re doing in life it always feels good to be connected to other people. I’ve had enough of a taste of the solitary life here to realize that its not something that I would ever want or ever wish upon anyone else. I hope that you are all doing excellent and that this letter finds you all in good health and high spirits in the midst of your own adventures big or small.
Mine continued after the departure of Leo and Jess in the middle of January. I returned to my mountain home and decided almost immediately to take advantage of the mild weather ( I could comfortably pass with just a tee-shirt in the sun and froze to death in the shade) and do a bit more exploring of my surroundings. I hadn’t actually done much hiking or wandering since moving to my new village because I had always been prevented by some outside factor. Either it was 120 degrees, or snowing, or I was busy meeting with village associations, or setting up my house, or traveling or it was possible that I simply wasn’t up for it. I’m tired of exploring alone. Anyway, at the end of January and beginning of February I was presented with a few uninterrupted weeks of village time and a great opportunity to escape above it.
I slung my camera over my shoulder and headed up the trail into the park. The ministry of water and forests (think park service) had recently put up some new signs where the road ends and the trail begins on the outskirts of my village and I stopped to read them. These signs are something that various PC volunteers have been fighting to get or make for pretty much as long as we’ve worked with the Moroccan National Parks because they represent the most basic of infrastructure and a jumping off point for things like marked trails, visitors centers, picnic areas and scenic observation points. Things that we all associate with parks back home but which are totally lacking in the parks here. The fact that there is no structure or organization in the parks to either generate income locally or to prevent tourists or locals from doing damage in random wanderings is one of the major problems we face. Of course, despite all our demands and offers of assistance as far as I know no PCV was involved with these signs, a disappointing but otherwise completely normal fact of life for us.
After reading about it in French I decided on a whim to leave the main trail and take a barely discernable track up into the rock spires of the Takenhourt Mufalon Reserve (RMT). Takenhourt is a sprawling 3800 Meter mountain monolith that towers over the end of the valley in which my village resides (though I discovered that I can only see a false summit from my house). It is a fenceless reserve for Mufalon, or large mountain herd animal more commonly known in English as Barbary Sheep. I specify that the reserve is fenceless because it’s the only one that I know of in Morocco where the animals aren’t fenced in and carefully controlled. Several factors prompted me to go in this direction. Firstly, I had always wanted to see if I could get up to the rock pinnacles about halfway to the top of the mountain since they are one of the most unique and striking geological features that I can see from my courtyard, or indeed, from anywhere in the village. Second, I wanted to see if the reserve was actually a reserve in anything more than name, or if the local villagers grazed their own sheep or goats in the area illegally but totally without consequence as they would (and often do) in other protected regions. And third, I wanted to see if I could find a Mufalon, or signs of them, since a team of park personnel had failed to do so in December on a trip that they failed to tell me about and then berated me for not attending.
The park was amazing. The difference between the protected area of the reserve and the other mountains that I’ve climbed since being here was immediately apparent (Indeed, its apparent from the ground once you know what you’re looking for). The mountainside was covered in full sized trees and green vascular plants. Even the rocks themselves were blanketed with moss and lichens. There was grass and topsoil and flowers. Butterflies flitted by and birds sang from cover as I passed them by. I really felt almost as if I was trespassing since it was so pristine and beautiful. I tried to capture some pictures of it but the sun was intense and not good for photos and I’m not sure that they would have done the place justice anyway. After some serious boulder hopping I managed to seat myself on the biggest of the rock spires that overlook the valley that contains my village. It was no where near the actual summit of the mountain, which was still caked in its wintertime snow layer, but it was no less spectacular for that. It was a fun way to spend the afternoon and while I didn’t see any Mufalon I did see evidence of them!
A view of my valley from the spires of the mountain that overlooks it.
A view of my village from on high.
A rock-assisted self portriat on top of the spires of Tackenhourt.I’m glad that I went when I did because for the next week or so I was laid out with a sinus infection. If its not one thing its another.
The first weekend in February I had managed to put myself back together and headed to Rabat to meet up with Carly and some other people that were hanging around there for Superbowl parties. Rabat is one of the only places in Morocco where you can manage to watch the game at all on Armed forces television. I wasn’t terribly interested in the game and didn’t even really know who was in it until the day of but it was nice to see people. I spend some time de-stressing and then went to the party that was thrown by the Marines who guard the embassy for the first quarter. Since the game started at 11:30PM it would have been a bit rough to watch the whole thing considering it wasn’t really why I was there in the first place. As weekends tend to do, this one came to an end all too soon and I caught a ride back to my site with my Program staff, who were visiting the region to do some site development in the village below mine where I have some projects going on for a volunteer who left early.
During that next week I managed to finish one of these two projects and collect all the paperwork I needed to submit to PC to get me off the hook financially. This is not as easy as it sounds since I need receipts for all the materials and labor used to complete the project. In the end though it all worked out and 130 new households in the village have clean running water in their homes and all the mechanisms were in place for the sustainability of the project for future generations of villagers. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet gotten to properly celebrate this because the second project concerning the re-building of a road and the construction of erosion control barriers to protect it is not progressing nearly as satisfactorily and I’m worried about getting it finished in the few short months that I have left because no amount of pressure that I apply seems to be working. Instead of helping me PC seems more interested in threatening to dock the amount from my already small readjustment stipend. I guess that’s easier for them. Wish me luck.
In the middle of February the whole group of Environment and Health volunteers that I came to the country with (those of us that are left anyway) went to Rabat to attend our Close of Service Conference that will prepare us for wrapping up any loose ends and teach us what steps to take to better prepare ourselves for the transition back into “normal” society at home. Though this conference was perhaps the most useful of the three times we’ve all gotten together during our service and contained the most relevant information as usual it was mostly just good to see everyone. I don’t know many other circumstances where people that were thrown together originally for three months and then only see each other once or twice a year for a few days can be as good friends as we are. I haven’t met many people who volunteer for PC that I wouldn’t want to know as a friend. We reviewed our service during the day and ate sushi, watched movies and went out to the clubs at night. Who needs sleep anyway?
We stayed at the hotel Chellah, the same hotel where we had all stayed for the first three days of our time in Morocco and a really nice 4 star place. It all seems like forever ago now… and I feel like the food was better that first time but maybe its because I’ve had two years of fond memories to hype it up to myself. I remember thinking that COS conference felt so very far away then.
Everything went very smoothly and it was a lot of fun. In one of the sessions we got to talk to a panel of former volunteers from various posts and times that had managed to make it back overseas to Morocco for some reason or another. It was very useful to get their mixed perspectives on what I should be doing and how I should be feeling about my future plans.
When the conference wrapped up and people began to go their separate ways Carly and I traveled to Tangier at the northern tip of the country by the Straits of Gibraltar in order to prepare to blow the last of our vacation time (It all had to be used up by the end of Feb) on a week long trip to Sevilla, Spain. I was amazed by how close the Spanish mainland actually is. You can see the closest towns along the coast down to the windmills that generate their electricity. Buying tickets for the ferry ride from Tangier to Algeciras, a Spanish port city on the Med was quite easy but ease ended there. At first we couldn’t find the embarkation cards we had to fill out to clear passport control and then we got all the way to the boat before anyone told us that we needed to exchange our tickets for boarding cards before we could get on. Luckily, we managed and were soon on our way. The crossing was smooth and about 2 hours long, followed by another two hours on the bus to Sevilla, which we lucked out and caught right away.
After taking a taxi to our Hostel from the bus terminal we set out to explore the sights and sample the Tapas (think glorified snack food) bars that the city and the region is famous for. I found the city to be amazing for many reasons. First, and not to be under-rated in importance, it was so…. western. Despite being slightly chilly there were people dressed much more scantily than I have seen in years outside the very center of the touristy parts of Marrakech, men and women going hand in hand, or arm in arm or *gasp* even kissing in public. Drinking was not only allowed but almost worshiped with just about every restaurant, including the coffee shops, willing to serve you something with a little kick. (and yet they handle their booze so much better than most Moroccans I’ve seen drunk). The shape and variety of the food was sublime and you could get pork products… In fact, in an area famous for its Iberian pork its about all you could get. The history and the architecture was gorgeous and the center of the city was dominated by a massive cathedral that I couldn’t really get enough of. (much to Carly’s dismay I’m sure). I must have taken a hundred pictures of the place in all different weather’s while I was there. Every time I walked past it some new angle of the place would strike me, or some new subtle shadow…
It was rather difficult to get inside actually, because it was the run up to lent the week we were there and the order of monks that runs the place and cares for it had other things on their mind than appeasing the early season tourists. Actually, we got our first glimpse during Sunday morning Mass, which I attended with Carly. We had Mass in a small side chapel having just missed the service in the main part of the cathedral. It was very nice none the less despite my nervousness in participating in a strange religious service in a strange language. At least I’ve gotten somewhat used to not knowing what’s going on. And at least I was there in the proper spirit of worship. A girl in the front row was taking flash pictures throughout the service and videotaped communion. Later on in the week we managed to get inside the building and visited its numerous privately donated chapels and tombs, including that said to be of Christopher Columbus but actually containing on of his sons. The cathedral itself is actually a combination of Gothic and Renaissance with more than a dollop of Arabic mosque thrown in because the original church was not a church at all. The main bell tower could be easily and without much alteration be substituted for the main mosque tower in Marrakech without anyone noticing. It was kept from feeling more open by the biggest organ that I’ve ever seen placed right in the middle of the sanctuary. I’m not sure why they did this because, as Carly pointed out, it severely limits the number of people that can see the main altar at one time. Not that there are enough people in Sevilla to fill the space anyway.
This is about as much of the Cathedral as you can fit into one photo these days. We saw paintings of the city during a parade during a museum visit where the entire thing was visible but today its blocked by buildings.
I shamelessly copied someone else who I saw taking this picture. I like it anyway. :-)
A statuary representation of the patron of the Cathedral of Sevilla. (I forget the name unfortunately)
A tabeau over one of the doors of the cathderal. I wanted to get some example shots of the amount of work that went into the place.
This bell tower was a converted mosque tower originally and would still fit in pretty easily in Marrakech. Providing you removed the bells.
An example of the butressing required to keep everything in place. As seen from a window of the bell tower on the way up. The tower itself was interesting as it had a ramp instead of stairs to facilitate an officer of the guard riding his horse up the 37ish floors.
A look down at the cruciform pattern of the cathedral from its bell tower.
A view of the bullring from atop the bell tower.
There was no flash photography inside the cathedral so all the interior pictures required a steady hand. I hope you appriciate it! It was a very impressive place.
This is the main alter. I think that it would have been much more impressive had it not been guarded by the big cast iron fence.
The place did have an amazing organ. It took up a ton of the floorspace inside the sanctuary. This is as much of it as I could get in one picture
A closer view of one half of the organ. Its carved out of wood.
One example of the beautiful stained glass windows. I found that they were mostly historical pictures rather than strictly religious ones.
A view of the statues holding up the Crypt box of Christopher Columbus (actually one of his sons)from the front.
A view of the Crypt of Columbus from the side. It is an impressive monument even if he isn't actually in it.Other sight seeing highlights included the gardens of Alcazar, which we visited on a rainy afternoon. They were still quite beautiful, converted to a Renaissance garden of hedge mazes and statuary from the original Arabic food and fruit garden that occupied the site when the Arabic rulers of Andalusia held sway. There was also much of the same arched windows and plasterwork that have become so very familiar to us in Morocco as the decorative taste of the historically rich and famous. As you walked room to room it was much like stepping back and forth across the Strait, the Spanish court’s influence heaviest in some places and Arabic prayer fountains dominant in others.
One of the original rooms of the Alcazar palace from when the Arabs ruled southern Spain. Note the same intricate plasterwork that marks important buildings in every Moroccan city.
More examples of the Arabic influence in the Alcazar palace. Cool arches and more plaster.
All carpets should be as intersting as this one with a naval scene at the Alcazar palace. There was a giant room with these covering the walls.
I really liked this picture of the former public baths in the basement of the Alcazar palace (again dating from the arab times... europeans probably didn't bath much in the dark ages that followed)
These gardens were converted to a european style from former arabic fruit/vegetable gardens. Now its all statuary and hedge mazes.
Another photo of the Alcazar Gardens.We also visited the bull ring, one of the first and the biggest in the nation. Unfortunately, the bullfighting season began about two months after our visit with the culmination of festivities of Sevilla’s famous holy week and we didn’t get to see action. The museum and the short tour was still worth the visit though. We saw many other parks and gardens on our strolls around the town and spent a great deal of time simply relaxing and visiting various cafes and restaurants, lounging about and looking at other churches (of which there was an impressive example just about every block) and architectural marvels of southern Spain. I think that we probably went into just about every supermarket that we saw and just let the amazing variety wash over us. And these were small family operations compared to those in the US!
A photo of the interior of the bullring. Empty at the moment but I read that the sport is more popular than soccer during the Bullfighting season despite the protests of animal activists.
A monestery behind the modern opera house was just one of many beautiful catholic churches in Sevilla. You can see the cathedral tower in the back left of the photo
I'm pretty sure that this is the facade of the library of the indies where all the records of the discovery and conquest of america are kept. I hope to get back here someday.
Front door of the impressive semi-circular city/province headquarters. It was too big to get into one photo so this is the best I can do.
One of the towers on teh end of the same building. I really liked the arcitecture of these spiresCulturally, we visited the Flamenco dancing museum and went to a demonstration of the performing art itself. The museum was a brand new ultramodern affair with touch screen computers and various videos of all the different dance styles and costumes and interactive interviews with past performers. Unfortunately all those hundreds of projector bulbs made the place rather stuffy and hot and the museum was a bit light on actual historical or technical information about the dance or the musical style. The dance performance on the other hand was located in a small but beautiful venue in the courtyard of an old Jewish house that has become a center for Sephardic and Andalusian culture. I only wish that the performance had been slightly longer but what it lacked in length it made up for in the intensity for which it is so famous. Not only the dance but the singing… and the guitar work was simply amazing. If we could have afforded it we probably would have tried to go see one of the actual theatre shows as well.
I was, of course, sad that the trip eventually had to come to an end. I would have happily stayed in the city for longer and probably wouldn’t have run out of things to do for quite some time. Sevilla was the main port city during Spain’s discovery and subsequent capture and colonization of the American continent and there are many libraries and relics to this time there that we didn’t even begin to touch upon. Then there is bullfighting and holy week… neighboring national parks and much else to see in the surrounding countryside. Too much! Ahh well, just an excuse to come back again sometime in the future! Preferably knowing a bit more Spanish…(what I did know I learned through American movies and other media and pronounced with a Latin American accent I’m sure… not the slurred lispy accent of true Spanish Spanish.) though most people were happy to try English with us, save for the woman at the Laundromat (thank goodness for clean clothes again!). She was patient and Carly’s Spanish is better than mine thankfully! The place was also crowded with other Americans doing university studies in Starbucks (yes we went) and jogging through the historical district. Just looking around from any downtown spot its not hard to see why its such a popular destination.
The return across the Med was in a smaller boat over much choppier waters and I must admit to being slightly under the weather but it was survived without incident and we were back in the very different world of Morocco once again. After a night we were on our way home to spend the last few February days daydreaming. At least for me… between bouts of battling with one association or another in this or that village over something or another. I was both re-energized and more ready to head out for good. Soon now…
Well, that’s it form this end until the March letter hits newsstands near you. You’ll have to wait a bit longer for that though… some of the writers have missed their deadlines. Until then, I hope that you are all amazingly well. I miss you all and please do send me an e-mail or a letter. Not much time left for the snail mail so tell me what’s up!
Love and luck in Everything
CHEERS!
-Andy
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