Happy New Year! I hate Maroc Telecom.

So wee bit of a catch up: With only two days until 2010 - hello Marrakech! - my house can still be deemed your typical 'major fixer-upper' at the moment. Though it has indeed been painted! L'Hamdullah! But, it's dirrrrrrrty to the max, my stuff is shoved in one room, and there is no electricity. Yes, even after signing off on the house 3 weeks ago, the landlord/city/whoever-wants-to-take-responsibilty has 'I will do it tomorrow'-ed the hell out of this situation. I installed lightbulbs today though, and spent a bloody fortune on a refridgerator. Which is rather comical in and of itself.

I pulled out some dough from the bank, headed to the place that I had decided to buy from, and low and behold he had sold the damned thing already. So we go down the road and got a cheaper deal with a kursi (fridge-chair) included... suckaaaaas. We load the think on a donkey-cart to haul it up to my house and I get there (walking) before it does (naturally...). So my host-sister and I go in to clear the muck outta the way for a clear path, I walk through the kitchen entrance and ooooo shit... is this thing... wide enough? Uh-oh. Spaghetti-o's. Right, so I am of course plotting how to get the door frame off since I don't think a fridge is what I want adorning my foyer for the next two years, when delivery man arrives. My host-dad and him heave the thing up the stairs near my kitchen when the wave of expected perplexion hits them... wtf are we going to do. So they sat there contemplating different angles for a while, and then it hit me, take off the fridge door! And we did, and it fit, and all is merry in the land of Donniell's new flat. Well, almost.

Mother Effing Maroc Telecom is trying to make me pay for an ENTIRE YEAR of internet and telephone upfront for my house since I'm not a national. Bulllllpucky! I sat there arguing with them that no other volunteer has had to do that, and basically they told me to suck it. Or something close in Darija. I'm sure of it. The only way around it is to have a Moroccan co-sign to say that yes I will pay for the next two years, and then I can pay monthly like normal people. Here's to asking host-daddy for help again. (You like how even when I want something from my fake father I call him daddy... oh the extra -dy, how you work magic sometimes.)

In other non-house related news, I've been doing some Edgar Allen Poe action at the Dar Chebab. Little Raven, little Tell-Tale Heart, little House of Usher. Kids are eatin' it up, it's soooo awesome. Might do a little Ray Bradbury next month, we'll see how it goes over.

Christmas was truly delightful here for the record. I was expecting it to totally blowwww as how could one special day make up for an entire month of food and commercialism back home. But it more than sufficed, Nathaniel and Stephanie truly provided awesome company - with a little family phone in from Ami and her fam! as well as my own :) - and some awesome food. We seriously pigged out. Completely comotose while watching the first two epidsodes of Big Love (cuz what says Jesus's Birth better than some good old fashioned Morman polygamy?). We even voted, and Big Love came out over It's a Wonderful Life. I don't know if I'm proud or dissapointed at that. And I pretty much got a normal person's year's supply of coffee! Or, in my case, like a month, month and a half tops. Oh and that brings me to something else you people can send me! A thingy of Starbucks flavoured coffee syrup! I bought some in St Andrews and it lasted forever. Delish. Vanilla or Hazelnut please!!!!

That's all folks! I think. xx

Random Bits and Bobs

I had stingray for lunch Sunday. Yeah, I know. It was super tasty, for the record.

The wind is crazy harsh this week. This is the first time we've had electricity for 24 hours.

It feels absolutely nothing like Christmas, freaks me out a little. But, I'm going to get my bake on this week and cook up some awesome-ness for Friday when make-shift celebrating will commence with my site-mate extraordinare Nathaniel and his girlfriend who will hopefully make it into the country today! Darn you London and your snow! (I'm only playing my dear, I love you London, I'd never talk about you behind your back.)

Speaking of London, if all pans out well, I should be spending the last weekend of May in London! Woo-hoo! Those of you who are UK based had better get your buns down there to see me :).

Went to a wedding Sunday evening. Among the highlights: a fight breaking out mid-ceremony, the freaking, like, 6-inch heels the tiny bride was sporting, and the dog orgy my family and I happened upon on the walk home around midnight. Awkwaaaaaard.

Ah yes, and pick-up line of the week goes to... drumroll... 'I might be in Kech soon and we should make... I mean HANGout :)' Yes, that actually comes from a fellow PCV. Hahahah, I love you Jason. Only just beat out the guy who who was whispering to me in French the entire way home from the Dar Chebab the other night. Oh, or the old wrinkly man with three teeth who winked at me and saved me a seat on the bus on the way home from Kech yesterday; I sat on the floor in the back of the bus. My ass still has burn marks from the engine right below me blasting heat on my rump.

I've been thinking of things you people can send to me by the way! Seriously starting to wish I brought less underwear and more books. Magazines! Rollingstone, Newsweek, and InStyle are top of the list but seriously anything will do! Those of you brits.....somebody please send me a huge bag of Tetley's Tea! And a hot water bottle! Mother of God my feet are cold at night. Fun socks are always appreciated :). Those are pretty much the 'needs' at the moment, but feel free to add what you please! All contributions will be responded to with equally awesome stuff from my current home :). Thanks!

My Latest Love Affair

I'm publicly admitting to the fact that I am having an affair.

I am completely, hopelessly, and pathetically in love.

With Brigitte Bardot.

A dog.

Who, at the moment, is homeless. Here in Sedona-miz. She is about a 4 month old puppy who is cream and browny-orange, with a scrunched up little nose and adorable - yes puppy dog - eyes that have been asking me to take her in since I got here.

I am in a serious predicament for the following reasons:

1. My biggest issue with my new country of residence is the treatment of animals, or lack there of. I even had a discussion with my host-sister last night about this, and even she is slightly repulsed by the lack of respect given to animals here. Dogs roam the streets at night looking for scraps of food, usually from the souq, to stay alive. It seriously breaks my heart everty time I see one of the dirty, and potentially adorable, rabid mungrals, searching for their next meal. And the thing is, they aren't agressive at all. In fact, quite the opposite, they cower, tail between legs, assuming I'm going to swack them or throw a rock at them like everyone else does.

2. Which brings me brings me to point number 2, the fact that they are Haram, or Islamically Illegal, to have in the household. This point was brought up last night when my host-dad was like, um, you're crazy, you can't do that. And I was like I need to see some proof here buddy, and he was like, well it's not in the Qu'ran actually, but it is in the Hadith, and I was like can you find it for me? And he was like crap, this girl wants proof. He said he would look and is now asking the Imam on clarification about this 'rule' of no puppies.

3. The nearest vet is probably in Marrakech, which is indeed pretty close, but let's just picture the blonde girl taking public transport for a little over an hour with a freshly washed puppy in, most likely, a box (at least its not a purse). Like I didn't attract enough attention before.

Anyway, that's my story. Ah right, I forgot to mention, the puppy was originally named Linda (why they picked a mid-thirties soccer mom name for a freaking adorable doggy, I will never know), but when I got home last night whining about how cute she was, my host dad was like ' You're like Brigitte Bardot! She loved animals!' She may have been a vegetarian hottie, but she was also sort of a racist and got fined 5 times for 'inciting racial hatred' in France. ... Brigitte it is!

EDIT: After discussion with some local friends, turns out keeping dogs in the house is not so 'haram', it is 'something that begins with an 'm' that i can't remember right now', ultimately it is more 'frowned upon' than it is 'illegal'. A lot is written about the subject in the Hadith, including reasons why and why not to have them around. There are apparently four different exceptions that do allow someone to have a dog in the house: hunting, herding, land protection, and blindness. Muhammad ordered that they all be killed, back in the day, especially the black ones as they nullify prayers, stop angels from entering the household, and rewards for good deeds will be deducted daily from those who keep dogs as pets. Utensils that had been licked by dogs were to be washed 7 times and rubbed with soil the 8th time in order to be properly cleaned. Around the time of the prophet, obviously modern medicine wasn't functioning so almost all were rabid and feces was deposited at will. Also, a biggie, Gabriel wouldn't enter the household of the Prophet on one occasion, siting the reason as the presence of a dog.

After researching a bit online, reading quite a few articles, and speaking with some Muslim friends I found the subject really interesting as it is indeed quite close to my heart. In the end, I guess I can understand their stance coming from their point of view. From my point of view, however, I couldn't love Gustav and Killer more! (Or little Brigitte for that matter.)

Obama in Oslo

So after sufficiently avoiding reality for 30 minutes after waking up this morning (too cold, didn't want to leave fetal position), I had a glorious shower (ahem, bucket bath), and headed to the tv as it has finally been repaired! Our tilfeza was down for the count for a while there, but made a healthy comeback and bbc news was calling to me. I flipped it on just the moment before the Nobel Peace Prize was being presented, streaming live from Oslo. My host mom was like 'your friend! Our friend! Obama! What are they talking about?' I poorly, and I'm talking very poorly attempted to translate the general idea of what was happening: what the NPP is, the controversy, er debate, surrounding our president's receival of the prize, and where the hell Norway was in respect to Morocco, in shitty Darija. By some act of God, I think she got the general idea. Mental high-five to me!

During the event, a few cousins and kids dropped by from Marrakech and were providing amusing ambient noise behind me while I was of course glued to the screen. Comments included:
'Ahh, mratu zweena!' = 'Wow, Mrs Obama is beautiful!',
'Alash Obama nn3s? Dyalu, yak?' = 'Why is he sleeping, he's getting the award right?'
and, my personal favourite,
'Wesh ddo drrbha? Shuft shar dyalha!' = 'Did she stick her finger in a socket? Look at her hair!' - in reference to the chick playing the cello is the smokin' red dress and gold arm cuff.

This is not to mention the major boob flash I got while breast feeding commenced in the background. Good morning Vietnam!

Anyway, amongst the obvious over-dubbed commentary by the BBC presenter/know-it-all, he was blatently of the camp that Obama was not deserving, the bias exuding from every word coming out of is regionally-indistinct-and-thus-bbc-appropriate diction. What delighted me the most though, was his dialogue with the 2005 recipient of the NPP, in which he said: 'So, ultimately, he's getting this award for... not being George W. Bush?', in which the reply was 'Um, precisely.' (I may or not be paraphrasing.) Good enough reason for me.

No matter what your stance is: totally deservant, ambivolent, complete criticism, you can't deny the goosebumps that appear every time the man has an opportunity to speak. I could ramble on about how much I adore him speaking using far too many, probably food related, adjectives, but hot damn, two thumbs up. Themere fact that he can complete a sentence with less than three grammatical errors is a triumph over our last President. And shout-out to all of my fellow past IR students outta St Andrews, all that Just War talk, and Use of Force, and other rather typical, if not for his flair, political jargon threw me back to four in the morning revising of essays with the ringing of Ian Hall's, Tony Lang's, and Patrick Hayden's voices in my ears. I miss it. Parts of it. Most of it.

Moral of the story is, that little blip of my President receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, made me freaking proud of what I'm doing, have done, and am trying to do. Props to my fellow PCVs. We matter. We are part of a bigger picture. The fact we haven't showered in a week (yay for today!), have no idea what movies or music are popular, let alone relavent, back home and shamefully dream of sushi and corn dogs (wait, just me? shit.) pales in comparison to what we are doing. Maybe not even 'do'ing sometimes, but representing, embodying. Though riddled with nauseating cliché, naivité, and anything else ending in an accent ague, I do believe in peace. I enjoyed the appropriately selected quote Obama chose from Kennedy, in which he said: "Let us focus," he said, "on a more practical, more attainable peace, based not on a sudden revolution in human nature but on a gradual evolution in human institutions." We are a part of one of those institutions. Pat on backs, all around.

Needs more cowbell... in 5 days

I'm a wee bit peeved, my friends. This past weekend, on through this week, is the Marrakech International Film festival. The likes of Jen Aniston and Gwenyth Paltrow were seen last week, even Sir Ben Kingsley is stopping by on Wednesday. But who is coming tonight you ask? Which modern day icon of down right awesome bad-ass-ness is showing face this fine evening? Mother effing Christopher Walken, that's who. And do I have the ability to go? Of course NOT. Gahhhh, the man whose face has haunted me since he was the Headless Horseman back in '99? Whose voice has rung true, pleading only for more cowbell? Who could tolerate Alicia Silverstone long enough to complete the filming of Excess Baggage? Catch Me if You Can? Wedding Crashers? And the creme de la creme - Fatboy Slim's 'Weapon of Choice' video where he triumphantly struts, 2-steps, and flies about that hotel lobby?!?! I wanna gooooo mommyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Earlier this week, Nathaniel and I took a little day trip with our friend... Bob (he's a local who runs a bbq place of sorts)... to some little duars (small villages) near the mountains. We had originally planned to bike the whole trip, but after finding out it was actually 23km... one way... we decided a taxi was our best option. So we successfully taxied 19km of it, and walked the rest. All in all, we were fed too much, took some beautiful pictures, and understood pretty much nothing as they were most comfortable speaking Berber (hi, I'm Donniell, I'm learning Arabic). The best part of the day, however, were delightful little snipits that came out of our friend Bob while walking to and from the taxi stand:

out of the blue - 'I tried your nuts last night' -Bob to Nathaniel
out of the blue - 'huevos..... huevos' -Bob to no one inparticular
in context of chickens making some noise on the side of the road- 'those are some young cocks right there. young cock. cock. young cock.' -Bob to both of us

Good times.

Oh yeah, I think I'm going to start a 'best pick-up line of the week' bit here in blogland, as there is an abundance pretty much everyday, and some are just totally worth the mention. This week's 'best pick-up line of the week' goes to a lucky fella in Marrakech, who, while I walked by with about 8 other Americans and my host sister Ouidad, goes 'Oh, gazelle, in 5 days you will be so beautiful!'... 5 days buddy? You think you're going to get in my pants by telling me I may or may not look good in five days? Douchebag.

Flesh... and lots of it.

And I thought the chicken thing was a big deal... that was only the minor leagues compared to what I was in for on Saturday. Child's play, culinary school for the waspy women of the world. Pre-school for living in the bled. Economy class while travelling the cultural Moroccan skies. I'm running out of shitty metephors...

Just imagine Quintin Tarentino and Alfred Hitchcock got together and used James Bond credit cinematography in order to deliver the scene in all of its gory glory, if you will. I started out with the aerial view; positioned atop my family's roof, watching the slaughter of our first sheep (um, yeah, there was more than one victim in this version) from where its noose was based through the Moroccan version of a skylight leading to the upper balcony. They started with all the family men pinning the little guy to the ground and took a well sharpened knife straight to the neck. Once it bled out from the jugular and had stopped kicking about, they made a small slit on the back ankle, into which they blew air in order to inflate the skin, yes, like a balloon so it's easier to skin, which of course is the next step. Once the sheep was taught and firm from all the... inflating... they started at the back foot and skinned it all the way up to the front. Do I have a video you ask? Why, yes. Yes I do.

I was ready for a commercial break once the entirety of its coat had been removed, but the fun had just begun. The venture into the infinite abyss was still upon us, also known as: the chest and abdominal cavity. We all took bio, so you know what's coming. Formal introductions with all of the internal organs, up close and personal. How personal you ask? Let's just say there were human lips put to sheep butthole in order to best flush the poo out of the large intestine - backwards - so it could then be cleaned up and eventually eaten. Waste not, want not. (It would only become more personal later that day, when we inevitably had an extensive tasting menu of each and every one of the aforementioned appendages.) so after the dismemberment and cleansing was complete, I was ready for a nap, the adrenaline having just finished pumping after witnessing my very first L'3id slaughter. Little did I know we still had another sheep to go, as well as a goat - apparently they have less cholesterol, a necessity for my host dad.

Once the festivities were finished, fat wrapped sheep's liver was the afternoon delight of choice, followed by pacreas (seriously delicious) and then some heart of course (yeah, going to pass on that in the future). We've had meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner since the event. I think I even smell of it. It's freaking me out. I don't know how the few veggie volunteers are handling it. Blood in the streets, entier cities radiating with the smell of cooked flesh, it's intense. Oh, yeah, and the creme de le creme... the Herma...

So every region has its own delightful perspective on how best to get the community to commemorate this pinnacle of religious holidays with appropriate celebrations. Sedona-miz has decided that the most effective portrayal of tradition is to have 5-10 men dressed up in full body costumes made out of around seven goat skins, chasing townspeople - mostly children - around with goat hooves attached to string, threatening to thwack them if they do not pay at least a dirham to ensure their safety. This is not 'trick or treat' my friends, this is 'pay up or your going to have a bruise that lasts at least a week in the shape of my dinner's hoof, got it?' (It's almost as insulting to one's dignity as Jess's swan-beak to the eye in season three of Gilmore Girls. ... Yes, I went there.) Luckily, I have filled my pockets with single dirhams, guaranteeing my well-being for the most part over the last few days. Though beware: the Hermas will haunt your dreams, they will taunt your memories, and the smell of decaying carcasses will follow you, at least until next year, when their presence is sure to return.

In other news, I may have found a house! Woo-hoo for living like a big girl! I be all grown up now. It's a while... block away from my current home-stay. They like me, the really like me, apparently, and wanted to keep me close. So they said they would only help me find an apartment if I promised it would be in the same neigbourhood as them. Fine by me! I get to move in the 1st of January, and I will hopefully have internet set up by then - and a fridge! Modern luxuries of life! - and I will finally feel like a human again. L'Hamdullah.

Thanksgiving... the Moroccan version.

Thank God/Allah Morocco has a Marjane. This unfathomable Oasis located in most of the large cities throughout the country, is basically a Target, Walmart, and Best Buy in one. It's a rather large treasure chest of all things branded and that should come with warranties. It even has cheese! Real, delicious, fatty, sometimes rotting, fantastical cheese. But, for all intensive purposes, on this occasion it had celery, canned and pitted black olives, canned corn and canned peas! All necessary components to the Thanksgiving extravaganza I had been planning for Nathaniel and I. So all that was left to get in Sedona-miz was some taters, onions, and of course... the piece de resistance... the turkey... er, well, chicken as turkey is bloody expensive in this neck of the woods.

So, my lovely host sister comes with me to the chicken guy, we order a 2 kilo bird to go and, low and behold, the butcher yoinks some poor unsuspecting fowl (to be fair... not so unsuspecting as they are in full view of their friend's prior death, they know what's coming to them) out of the shoulder height cage, pins the poor sucker to the ground, and Sweeny Todds the buggers throat and ankles, tosses him into a trashcan with fellow victims, and allows him to drain. Post blood emptying, he pushes the little guy against this quickly rotating metal wheel which de-feathers like none other. Holy crap that thing was magical. Anyways, he gives the birdie a good rub down under the faucet and asks me how I want it chopped up. I let him know I'm cooking the not so lucky duck whole, so he chops the head off, wraps it in some brown paper, and I carry the still warm soon-to-be-dinner off to Nathaniel's in a plastic bag. Delightful.

I get to Nathaniel's house, only slightly still traumatized, and we decide to start cooking around 2, since God knows how long it was going to take in the no-gauge oven. Round about 2ish we busted (that's for you Pete) out Grandma's stuffing and then went for the cleaning of the bird... I knew I had to get the neck off, maybe some of the extra fat, but what awaited me inside of the rather puny-sized cavity, I didn't really anticipate. As I reached in to survey how much stuffing we could in fact stuff into the the little guy, I realized there was still some stuffage present. This is the equivalent of accidentally baking the little plastic bag with the guts inside the turkey. Only without the plastic baggy. I quickly got friendly with the heart, lungs, liver, etc. Still warm and all. My poor Greenpeace friends are stoning me through the computer, I can tell. At the time it was hysterical though, which may or may not have been helped by the wine we had begun to dabble into.

Well, we successfully got our little friend in the oven by at least 230 I reckon.... and didn't eat until around 730. Freaking 2 kilo bird took 5 hours! Moral of the story is, it was worth it. To have a little piece of home in my belly was worth sticking my hand up into our friend's belly... and butt... and other orifices.

Well we are off to make banana bread french toast now, so I will bid you adieu! Will update after this weekends sheep slaughter and l'3id extravaganza, which I'm sure will blow any turkey... chicken story out of the water.

Love ya'll!

Menudo... the soup not the prepubescent mid-80s Mexican boy band.

I have done it, I have finally dipped into my second suitcase and am currently enjoying the glory of my ugg boots... sigh. It's freaking cold here, at least at night. Well, at least when the sun isn't blazing down upon me harder than a saddle... Yeah, moral of the story is, I needed the boots.

In other news, I got a flashback of home today, ironically found in the innards of a poor little cow. That's right, I had the Moroccan version of menudo for lunch, folks. Tripe -both stomach and intestine, lungs, and liver, swirled around with some tasty chickpeas rather than hominy, but still delicious and delightfully reminiscent of our good family friend - Menudo. Tip of the hat to you Dad. Oh, and add one more point to the 'why Morocco is Mexico without the drugs, sex, and alcohol' column.

Tomorrow is thanksgivingggggggggg, also known as 'a day i need to fast until 6 because of the lead up to the l'3id on Saturday'... About that. I'm cooking thanksgiving for my wonderful sitemate Nathaniel and I at Nathaniel's house tomorrow, so I'm officially looking at that as my get out of jail free card. Oh, grandmother's stuffing, how I've missed you... I'm sure to blog tomorrow about my catastrophies of substituting a chicken for turkey and the questionable amount of cooking time that should be allotted in an oven without a temperature gage... but hey, it's a learning experience, one that is sure to produce a buttload of leftovers as I only know how to cook for a group of over 10 people for this particular holiday. Get ready to stuff yourself like our good friend 'chicken posing as turkey' Nathaniel, time to fatten you up for the winter.

It's also been penciled in for some cheesy holiday movie watching... Love Actually definitely being included. Which,by the way, I started to watch with my host sister a few days ago. Thank Allah she is open-minded and not uber-conservative as I conveniently forgot the one of the 10 sweet, naive, heart-warming love stories surrounds a couple who meet on set of a porn shoot. High-five Donya for keeping tact close at hand. Oy.

Anyway, I am wishing you all full-tummies and close-families during this Thanksgiving break. For those of us who shared 4 wonderful Turkey days in St Andrews: I will be eating the stuffing while thinking of you! And my grandma of course. And to my many second families around the world: the Aragons, the Hoxies, the Menegons, the Muirs, the Gees, the Ramsays, and more I'm sure I've momentarily let slip my mind, thank you for welcoming me into your homes over the years and know your definitley in my list of things to be grateful for! And, no, I'm not throwing my own family to the dogs, I'll be talking to you tomorrow, but I wish I were there! Love you guys. Just don't try and be too nice by putting the Turkey leg in the freezer for me like you did for Alex during Basic. I don't think it will hold up for two years like it did for that month. Alex - eat 'em both dude.

Hug!

Love and condolences

So originally I was quite excited to write this blog merely as a relatively hysterical reflection on my mother's reaction to my last entry. Turns out the alias for my new town 'Sedonamiz' too easily reads as 'Sodomize'... and, well, my mom had a field day with that one. Wasted a few bucks in longdistance phone billage just doing that whole silent laugh thing, you know when your ready to start a sentance and it turns out 'I can't believe you wrote thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa -insert section of air gasping here-' Its a sort of donkey guffaw you are always embarrassed to do in public but find yourself trapped in it at the most inoppertune moments. Somewhat synonymous with the church giggles if you will. Anyway, from here on out my town shall be called Sedona-miz. Hello hyphen, how are you today.

Despite my desire to leave it at that delightfully tickling moment of faux pas (fopas! that's for you, you know who you are), I feel a slight need to mention somewhat of a darker trend happening round these parts.

Unfortunately, David Lillie, our truly fabulous country director, had the task of informing us PCVs that one of our own passed away in a Marrakech hospital yesterday. I'll refrain from mentioning names as I'm not sure what protocol is on that, but it was definitely a shock to the system and especially to those that knew her. I just want to send my best to her family and a big hug to everyone who knew her, sincerest condolences.

The worst part about it is that this is only one death among many deaths and serious injuries I have heard about in the past week alone. During our last days in CBT our cook's brother cracked his skull open in a motorcycle accident, a close friend of ours from the town had his dad die the very next day, and mom called with news of a friend having also seriously injured himself in a motorcycle accident. Since leaving CBT, a fellow PCV is attempting to comfort a long distance girlfriend who's grandfather is dying, the PCV mentioned above was brought to our attention just last night, and just before posting this entry facebook informed me that a family friend's father passed away as well. It's tough man, not being able to be around to comfort people, not being able to feel in control of a situation, it only magnifies what all of us newbie-to-sites are dealing with right now. Hamdullah nothing of this sort has hit home, or my home if you will, knock on a big old hunk of wood, but still. Dude. Lots of love to you all nonetheless.

Sedonamiz... or something like that.

So, I made it! I officially swore in, with the help of the US Ambassador among others, at Peace Corps headquarters on Thursday morning. Welcome to the life of a full-fledged PCV ya'll. I've got lots to say (and by that I mean lots to complain slash boast about) so let's get to it.

Swearing in was delightful and all that jazz. Great atmosphere, speeches, canapes post-ceremony, yet there was definitley one thing lacking... a cocktail. I'm pretty sure our program manager wasn't stuttering in Mehdia when he said there would be one provided at the reception, yet, alas, we got kiwi and rasberry juice instead. Which, hey, I'm not complaining, I am alllll about the kiwi folks, just maybe with a splash of some bubbly in order to fully congratulate our accomplishments? No? So maybe my priorities are slightly skewed, I did meet the Ambassador didn't I?

After the ceremony and reception we headed over to headquarters for an aweomely delicious and massive couscous luncheon just before heading to our rumoured swanky hotel. So we petit-taxi it over to this seriously beautiful hotel, marbled floors, framed mirrors, sauna and full bar restaurant on the roof, I mean it definitely had a few stars under its belt. So we are like, woah, Peace Corps has really gone all out in comparison to the expected standard of living we were expecting... can you say youth hostel? So as we begin to check-in, the front-desk staff seem a little apprehensive... a little worried... beads of sweat gathering above the brow. As it turns out, a karate convention of over 4,000 people had taken over the city (exaggeration... Rabat is the capital as it were) and thus, had taken over our hotel reservation. The life of luxery - real matress, hot running water, pillows stuffed with something other than clothes and animal scraps - was slowly slipping between our fingers. With what rooms PC could salvage, instead of two people, our room had eight. Good thing we are all such good friends cuz things got cozy real quick like. Erika, Allie, and I cuddled on a mattress on the floor while another three shared the actual bed, one was even pretzled on the somewhat cushy chair in the corner. We drew the line at sleeping on the coffee table, but that room was all kind of funky in the morning. Most of you are well aware of the digestional issues all of us have been having throughout our stay thus far, and Rabat wasn't an exception. We may have, you know, showered, and looked pretty for Swearing-In, but we sank right back into PCV tendencies that night. Welcome to the next two years of hygiene. Or lack there of.

Around 9 the next morning we booked it from the hotel to the Rabat train station and headed down to Marrakech. There are about a million of us down south, so it was packed with PC people. Leigh, Mari, and I decided to splurge slightly and ride first class since we were exhausted and had shit loads of luggage in tow. We had what seemed to be our own room with 6 seats -sweet!- until we reached Casa, when a Libyan couple on their honeymoon decided to join us. They also decided to makeout for the next 3 hours, completely oblivious to our jaws on the floor and our eyebrow contortion. Oh well, congrats to them, it was entertaining to some small degree.

After arriving in Kech we were greeted by Ami, the lovely volunteer I am replacing, and Colleen, the volunteer that Sarah is replacing down the road from me. We had some lunch then seperated to head to our own sites. Ami and I decided to take a taxi back since I had, again, shit loads of luggage, and we chatted like crazy all the way there. Here I begin my side-note: Okay, so firstly I knew Ami was from California, vaguely the same height, and blonde, so thus, in Moroccan eyes, we were most likely the same person. But after some getting-to-know-each-other chat, we kind of, well, are... Middle names? Both Elisabeth. Omas? Well yeah we both have them firstly, but they were both in the war on the German side. Oh and you know, immigrated to and lived in the same city in California - Huntington Beach, with their husbands. What's her mom's name? The same as my dad's - Terry. There's more, but I think that suffices before I tell you our social security numbers are nearly the same too... Anyway, bizarre, but totally makes me feel some sense of comfort oddly!

And now onto the town itself, we'll call it... Sedonamiz... from here on out. Can't say the real town name for one reason or another in Peace Corps protocal, but boy does this place remind me of Arizona. Firstly, it's bloody hot. It's freaking mid-november and its almost 90 degrees, or at least feels like it. Definitely at least 80 right now. Secondly, I am pushed up right against the foothills of the biggest mountain range south of Marrakech, so the greenery is absolutely stunning. The view from my host-family's house is to die for, and hopefully I will post some pictures soon. One of the note-worthy mountains resembles the 'Lost' mountain - pointed out by the lovely Ami, and another is known to the town as the sleeping woman, as it resembles a a woman, in-profile, laying on her back on a slope. This most significantly parallels Arizona for me in that while growing up my family took many trips to Sedona and Flagstaff, where my Dad was born and raised. This idea of moutain ranges or rock formations resembling other tangible objects is a common community tradition in both locations. Any of you that have been through Sedona must be familar with 'Snoopy and Woodstock' and 'the Mittens' at the very least. It may seem silly, but this small similarity has brought a sense of familiarity for me and connecting to the surroundings is definitely calming my expectedly awake nerves.

Tomorrow a few community members, my host-sister, Nathaniel, Ami, and I are planning a mini-hike through the area to get a bird's eye view of the town and, well, bond with the environment surrounding. Super stoked. Playing some soccer in the morning with the local girls team and the little girls teams their coaching, so should be a great day overall! Glad to have gotten the Gendarme and Mudir meetings out of the way today so I can start settling in to the more enjoyable side of my work here, integration and relationship building. Really excited for the week to come and will keep ya'll posted on how the first week of teaching goes :).

Miss you all and really would love to hear from you, even if it's just a short hello!

xx

Phase one - complete

Setting the scene: tummy full of fish, peas, and potatoes; perfect beachside weather; four of us staring intently at our laptops; some bananagrams action happening to my left; all american rejects 'hope it gives you hell' in surround sound. (though, that last bit I'm struggling not to judge too much, Sam.) We've just arrived back in Mehdia after completing CBT. Apparently, I'm capable of living independently, teaching English, working with NGOs, and clearly ordering lunch in Darija according to the US Government. Boo-ya.

This does mean, however, that I've had to leave the town I've called home for the last two months. Despite my initial reaction of 'holy mother of God this place is a dump,' I've grown to love that town and its people, including their lack of rubbish collection. Well, everything but that I suppose. Those of you who know me well know that I am NOT, I repeat N. O. T. a public cryer. I think I've done it maybe 3-5 times my entire life. Yet saying goodbye to my host mom and grandma made me look like a freaking fire hydrant. They both looked at me with these puppy dog we'll-never-see-you-again eyes and I lost it. Plus, she sent me off with a fantastical chocolate chip bundt cake (in tupperware! yippe!), the woman deserved the tears.

After saying goodbye the fam at 7am, I headed over to where the taxi was meeting us and saying goodbye to the students we've worked with, the friends we've made, and the families we became a part of in just a nine week period of time was hard. Definitely going to visit and all, but I am kind of on the other end of the country. Morocco is roughly the size of California, so it's kind of like making the trek from Orange County to San Francisco. Ballpark. A local proverb states 'lli fat mat' which roughly translates as 'what's done is done,' so I'm looking at the situation fondly, and looking forward to what's coming up 'cus it looks pretty awesome folks.

So now that I have full delightful access to the internet for a couple days, here come some pictures people!!

... or they will be coming as the internet is being poo-poo right now.

Site Announcement!

So you know that month, senior year in high school - if I remember correctly, sometime around March or April - when that all-important college acceptance (one would hope) letter would be arriving in the mail, dictating the next 4 years of your life and ultimately your happiness? I got to live that beautifully anxiety-ridden moment all over again, along with my lovely fellow PCTs of course, Monday afternoon during the - dun, dun, dun - Site Announcement. An event in which we were all given business-sized envelopes with the name of our future town, the one we'll be living and working the next two years in, scribbled inside on a small cardboard tag... actually it kind of resembled a tag you'd put on a Christmas gift bag, but I suppose that's besides the point.

Moral of the story is... my site is freaking awesome, yo. Though I believe I am unable to reveal the actual name of my site to the internet masses, I can tell you it is 45km southwest of Marrakesh. Marrakesh, mother effers. Start planning your vacations now. Also, pretty darned near to the west, not more than an hour or so away, is Agadir - an extremeley gorgeous beach resort town, so get on it. You're coming to see me. Whether you like it or not. And I'm pretty sure you'll like it. Yeah, pretty sure.

So I head off to the land of zween (perty-ness) is about 2 1/2 weeks. We'll be finishing up life in our CBT site in less than two weeks and then head to do some technical trainings and Swearing-in in Rabat after that. All is coming together and it feels right. The PCV I am replacing at my site has been nothing but super helpful, sweet, and full of information and we've only known who each other are for two days! My heads in the right place, despite being super zonked 24/7, and I couldn't be more pleased with my decision to do this. Of course, ask me again in three months when I'm all settled and dealing with the usual bullshit you deal with in work atmospheres, but as for now, I'm going to go with general satisfaction.

We'll I'm off to the lycee with the gang to do a cross-culture activity on Halloween and the like so I'll write to you all later. Oooooo tell me what you're all being for Halloween by the way! I desperately want to live vicariously through you. Oooo I love this crap.

See you Boos and Ghouls later!

... sometimes I want to kick myself in the shins for saying shit like that.

Death by namusa

Wakha... there are these things here... and they stalk me. They follow my every move. They watch me while I sleep and linger just beyond arms reach during the day. They can smell my blood and want to shrb it like they've never shrb-ed before. Back home, we might want to call them mosquitoes. But here, in Morocco, they have a mission, a vendetta, a task that must be completed in Allah's name... to eat me alive. I live with approximately 15 other people in my house, yet, low-and-behold, I am the only one who wakes up every morning itching her forearms with a vengence. I'll give you the current count....12345....17. That's right, seventeen bites on what is exposed beyond my 'Stop Global Warming' t-shirt I frequently sport during sleepy-time. I've tried longsleeves - I heard at least four of you screaming 'hey dumbass' at the screen just now' - I've tried basil in the window, even sleeping completely enveloped within the sheets. Everything short of offending my family by sleeping in the Peace Corps issued mosquito net. The trials and tribulations... of me versus the namusa. Coming to comic book stores near you.

Went to Fez this weekend! So awesome. The Old Medina is very Grand Bazaar-esque f Istanbul. Beautiful shops, narrow passage ways, phenomenal fish for lunch, and a ... nice view of the leather tanneries. Which, by the way, smell like shit. Due to the fact that, well, cow shit is indeed used to colour it. Yum. Sooner or later I'll figure out how to post pictures in a cyber cafe, and when I do, you're in for a treat.

Ah yes, I have a confession... for I have indeed sinned. So I haven't eaten at a McDonald's for... seven years? And well, desperation for both ice cream and a the glory of a western toilet beckoned that I enter the sole Mickey D's in Fez. I will have you know it was worth every moral and Karmic point I sacrificed. I never thought an 18 dirham Mcflurry could taste so good or that sitting while peeing could be so gratifying. But I will have you know that I don't regret a second of it. Plus... I figure I only participated in the exploitation of under-paid workers, false sense of joy with the kid version of 'la bamba' blasting out of the play house, and the consumption of a mass-produced artificial dairy product... however, I am proud to say I did not contribute to the proliferation of methane gas emissions that are caused by the meat industry that inevitabley lead to gross impacts upon the levels of greenhouse gases, by eating a universally named - Bic Mac. So there.

Will update something useful and/or culturally relavent later this week.

Love ya'll

Random McRandom

So after discussing - casually rambling about - this topic with my friend Erika this past hub date... we've decided that Morocco is Mexico... only without the drugs, sex, and alcohol. Or at least in public.

Let me explain... so a natural thing to expect when moving to a different country is culture shock right? Like, omg, there's a donkey over there... Why are there small children everywhere unsupervised... Why are these people dancing like crazy... while sober?... Or something ... like... that. But somehow, this seemed relatively normal to me. Relatively. I mean, I'm not going to pretend I'm expert on authentic Mexican and/or Moroccon culture. In fact, I'm going to straight-up preface this as being a complete generalisation meant for thought-process-documentation and t-shirt production only. It is blatently the complete opposite of what any Peace Corps volunteer should be 'assuming' -roll of the eyes- but I'm calling it like I see it. After all, a decent percentage of Orange County is, indeed, Mexican, my bestfriend is Mexican, and my grandmother darned well acted Mexican, despite an Italian and mixed Latina decent. Not to mention quite a few roadtrips across the border.

We can start with the donkey riding, for one, it's everywhere. Sombrero-esque hats and similar quilting patterns on the make shift saddle. Multiple generations living under the same roof, and despite the 'man' being the head of the household, we all know the grandmother really runs things. Making beans and rice ... and or couscous and potatoes... in mass quantities. Whatever is not eaten goes to the animals out back. Sense of time... or lack thereof. Culture deeply rooted in religious context - though not necessarily practiced as well as one should or as publicly visable - with relics and icons still significantly visible around the home. Again, especially at Grandma's.

I don't know why it occured to me so late - five weeks in - or, at the same time, why it occured to me it all. Is it even occur-able? Am I just digging myself a terrible grave of assumption and mis-interpretation? Either way, I reckon if either country adopted the other's perspective on drugs, sex, and alcohol... I don't know what I reckon yet, I just found it interesting. You might not. Smihuli.

So you know that friend...

The one who can entertain a crowd, has an (huge) opinion on everything, whom you love spending time with up until the point where you want to pull your hair out? That may or may not be my host family, more specifically my host sister. She's the friend that you schedule to hang out with just before an important family outing or business meeting so you can have a secure excuse for an escape route. She's the friend you can only handle in doses. And I live with her. Safi. Really, I love her, though. Edit: as this post was saved prior to posting yesterday, my sister has since apologized for being a crazy psycho last week and has blamed it all on starting haydk... or her period - for lack of tactful synonyms.



This weekend has been a blissful escape to Azrou and Imouzzar for, firstly, Peace Corps safety and security sessions - yes a depressing std/aids video was included - and secondly, a lovely day spent in parks throughout Imouzzar. Good company and a lazy day is seriously what I needed to get motivated for Monday and Darija class. Over the weekend though I think our little group of three realized that we are definitlely ahead of the pack language wise. Which, thank goodness -l'hamdoullah, I needed that to keep me jazzed and focused. We work our butts off in class for 10 hours everyday and its nice to know it's paying off!



I'm realizing more and more everday how diversely beautiful this country is though. Deserts yes, but moutains, waterfalls, rivers, lakes, forests, sunsets, all of it. I love it. And stoked on finding out in 2 weeks what my final site will be. Yippeeee. :).



So word on the street is the Angels and Yankees are both kicking but right now, though. Good to hear! And um, Obama, Nobel Peace Prize? I mean, I like the guy, but really? Already? I need to read the news more. A little difficult to do at the moment, however, so give me some perspective. Also just read he's ending the gay policy in the military?

Two books down and an infinate amount to go. The Art of Crossing Cultures is highly recommended, written by an RPCV, and Kitchen Confidential are crossed off the to-do list. Next victim is yet to be determined but definitely being pondered...

Going to Fez this weekend with the family so definitely excited about that! I haven't purchased anything really since arriving here. I mean, Sim Card obviously, oooo and a coffee maker - a la Katia ;) - and... toilet paper? Yeah, definitely nothing noteworthy. Figure I'll be doing most of my money-wasting when I get my own place in a couple months. Interior decorating here I come! And by that I mean I'm crossing my fingers that I'll be able to afford a mini-fridge and a bed that's actually raised off the ground. (Yes, there are regulations for this... it has to be high enough that scorpions can't eat my alive.)

Sorry I don't have anything riveting to share but that about that there does it. Mmm hmm. Yep.

By the way, I miss my brother. Write me you jerk!!!! And by that, I mean I love you. Barf.

I would kill - possibly even torture beforehand, with no chance escape in the forseeable future - small, cute, and cuddly things for a fall-flavoured latte right now. Just for the record.

Ohhh yeah, I forgot to mention, this lady from DC who was present during our sessions in Azrou brought us... wait for it... candy corn... mother effing candy corn on Friday. - insert giddy explosion here - Mind you I've despised the cornsyrup concoction up till this point in my life, but American commercialism has never tasted so sweet. I savoured it like democracy itself. Delish.

Peace out boy scouts xx

Getting into the new groove.

So you know when you were in highschool and you would come home from school, all tired and nonchalant, and your mom would ask you 'How was your day?' and you'd respond with the ever present 'Fine'. 'What did you do?' ' Nothing.' And you'd trudge up to your room, notebooks and stringcheese in hand, determined to sink into your private sphere of nothingness and video games for a few hours before homework called and pressing conversation around the dinner table ensued?

I think I'm at that stage. Which, actually, I think is a success. After almost a month in country (holy crap by the way) I think I've acheived a sense of routine, of normality, of -gasp, shock, horror- adaptation to my situation here. After class from 8:30 until 6, which includes language, cross-culture lessons and dar chebab meetings, I'm becoming accostomed to the 'What'd you learn in school today' probing by my host mother - and to a larger degree, host sisters - the moment I swing through the door, all tired and nonchalant. Becoming used to the small kids clinging to my legs and molesting my face as I set my things on the bedroom floor. Helping make tagine or couscous in the evening for an approximately 9:30pm dinner time. So when all is said and done, I trudge over to my room, notebooks and l'3nb in hand, determined to sink into my own private sphere of nothingness and Kitchen Confidential for about 5 minutes until I, almost garunteed, crash without covers, book on chest, and beluga on the floor. Usually with homework and studying not even in the picture.

Despite complete and utter exhaustion, I love that I can now at least have a sense of how my day is going to go. The stress of being constantly bombarded with schedule changes and hourly surprises was taking its toll. On my face. Over the course of the last two weeks, my skin has taken on the persona of a peak-pubescent boy. No amount of Neutrogena has helped. But, sigh, the last three or four days have seen a calming trend, both in life and in a dermatological sense, and I'm all the happier for it.

The program staff, during an interview conducted last week in order to help determine my final site, asked what it is that I want to gain skill-wise out of my stay here, as my background and job history speak to what most people look to gain (abroad experience, independence, etc). And we both decided I seriously need to learn flexibility. The fact that my face breaks out due to change in plans seriously needs to be reckoned with. I need to chill the eff out. I need to expect people to not be punctual for the next two years. I need to expect that the taxi will not get there on time. I need to expect that we won't talk about anything relavent until 30 minutes into the meeting. I need to not only expect it, but be okay with it, to roll with it, to somehow even use it to my advantage? Basically, I need to chill the eff out.

Sundays, however, will be host to the aforementioned study periods. After this quick jaunt to the cyber, a buttload of verbs await me back at home. And in the words of an brave llama emporor in the face of a steep drop and sharp rocks... Bring it on.

Side notes -

Best of luck to David and hope to see you in Israel sooner rather than later! The Turtles exist no longer, but the Mustketeers will endure. ... In sha'allah.

Aragons, give me some news!! How is everything? Give Maddie some love for me.

So my mom's update today consisted of P. Swayze dying and good family friends seperating, anybody got some glasshalf full shit - name that movie -? Haha, love you mom, but jeeeeeez.

xoxo (thinking of you Katia!)

Somewhere over the rainbow.

I just witnessed, the single-handedly most fantastical rainbow of my life. More like the three most fantastical rainbows.

Coming out of the dar chebab today, post-torrential rainfall, the glory of colour greeted us against the Atlas mountains and we all pretty much stood there for a few minutes in admiration. I guess Allah heard my previous bitching session about the lack of colour here. Him or Death Cab, that is.

Time is like, flying, dude. Three weeks in. Grammar is whizzing by, host family is freaking lovely, trips to local towns and cities on the weekends. Good times. Ohhh! And I actually exist now, I have a... drumroll please... phone number!! Message me via facebook and its all yours kids.

On a... gross note, had my first bout with food poisoning this weekend. Vom-tastic. All night. Not having eggs for a while, if you get my drift. And the added cultural-experience-bonus of aiming for the mini hole of a Turkish toilet definitely has it's cons. Back-splash, for one. No bueno folks. Though, otherwise, me and the Turkish toilet get on fine. After the oh-so-valueable experience on the overnight train from Istanbul to Sofia - Louisa knows what's up - I can handle the squat. Thighs of steel, man, thighs of steel.

Heading to Azrou on Thursday for some more vaccinations - yay, Rabies! - and staying the night. They have wireless at the Auberge, so I'm told, so I'm sure I will have some news for you all then.

Please let me know what's going on outside my fishbowl!! Heard the Philippines was underwater for a while there, hope all my friends' families are a-okay! Any countries at war? Popstar overdose? Fashion faux-pas? Fill me in! Prize to best update. The prize may or may not be my love. Or a postcard in about three months. SO worth it.

Love and lots of it xx

Across the universe

Busy, busy, busy. Learned how to tell time today. Boo-ya. Along with about 30 new verbs and another couple tenses. And a massive enslaught of environmental vocabulary. After meeting with the association yesterday, they've asked for our help in an effort to cleanup the city... or at least try. The town doesn't have any system or infrastructure on deposting of rubbish. At the moment the gorge on the outskirts has had the pleasure of being the dumping grounds. We are going to be working on environmental presentations at schools, community education, and the ever-present plant a tree day at the dar chebab. Hopefully. A lot of planning and meeting to be done, but it'll be fun! And hopefully leave an impression after we leave this CBT site.

At the end of our work day today, me and my fellow ninja turtles - side anecdote, there are four of us, I'm Donatell-a - jammed. After watching across the universe and feeling rather inspired, David broke out the ukalele and we pumped out some tunes. It was a little sad, if not pathetic, that our Beatles songbook knowledge was far superior to our Disney knowledge. Hakuna Matata was rough ya'll. Nothing at all like kareoke version some of you EF vets will(hopefully not) remember!

This weekend we have off, so we are going to be heading to a local town where another CBT site is in order to visit some friends for some down time. Which is much needed! Loving every minute, but perpetually exhausted.

Couple points that I consider note-worthy:

So mommy just emailed me back - HI MOM - and she said 'it sounds like you're in Alice's wonderland, only without colour'. It's kind of true. It's still kind of surreal that I live here. I'm not a traveller, or even the the stigma of tourist, I live here. A comment I made to my sitemates yesterday was the lack of colour here. Its not a big city, its charistmatic, but beige. In the movie today, Lucy mentions jumping down the Rabbit Hole. Running through the field after taking various hallucinagetics, post-Bono cameo (barf), she suggests jumping right on in. I did. I have. And I'm not even on drugs.

Watched Almost Famous yesterday as well. Those of you who know me well, know I was married to that movie for a few years (thanks Dave). I had completely space cadett-ed on the fact she ends up in Morocco at the end of it all. Things are coming together. Pieces are falling in the right places. I feel contented. Or at least I'm close.

xoxo

Eid

Hello food during daylight hours! How I've missed you.

So it was pretty up in the air as to when exactly Eid was going to happen... We hoped for yesterday but the moon... only in Morocco as it were... decided today was the day I could resume normal meal times. I've been fasting since I arrived at my site and have been aokay with the no eating thought... it's the no water thing that has been slightly difficult. And maybe the impure thought restriction. Ha. No? Okay then. Pete knows what I'm talking about.

Since today was a big celebration and all, I headed to the country side with my massive entourage of a family to their Grandmother's house. We literally went over the river. And through the woods. ... And the tobacco fields. Huuuuuge property with a million animals. Two of which, I believe we ate for lunch. It was also the first time I had what was essentially milk couscous. As in the american concept of milk rice or rice pudding, just made with couscous. Novel idea really. Though my tummy is currently experience the ramifications of that invention.

Rode a horse too. In a dress. May have comprimised some dignity in exchange for cultural experience. C'est la vie.

Ah random thing(s): The grapes here are mindblowing. They taste like vineyard grapes rather than your standered green or red. Which, now that I'm writing this, makes sense. Apparently, Morocco, though not a drinking culture, produces quite a bit of wine. Big export so they say.

Before I head out, I feel like I need to mention some of the music taste oozing out of my village. No, it's not just the delightfully traditional Berber music you may expect. Instead, they think us Yanks listen to nothing but Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, with the occasional splash of Shakira. For real. The Beatles? Never heard of 'em. Stones? Nope. Zeppelin? Can't even pronounce it. Even the shameful Britney Spears mention got a blank stare. I still don't know if I should be amused or concerned about this.

Tomorrow, class resumes and we head to the dar chebab to figure out our plan of action as far as English lessons, drama, sports, and pingpong are concerned. Wish us luck!!!

like woah.

Okay so to preface this, i am on a french keyboard. and due to lack of patience/time, you're getting q's instead of a's, z's instead of w's, and possibly commas instead of m's. deal with it. a3fak.

So those of you who knoz me (this is going to be qnnoying.) I hqve this funnel problem when I'm trying to sqy qbout a billion things qnd don't know which order to sqy them. My brqin is slightly exploding zith informqtion, qnecdotes, qnd 'darija' vocqb. I mqy hqve to do this in list form. Lettermans top 10 list if you will.

10. Turkish toilets. With no TP. A bidé never seemed so appealing.

9. My host family, 14 total, 9 kids, 1 building. Awesome and mental at the same time. GOGOGO. Love them all so much already.

8. My town... lets just say peace corps sent us here for a reason... people are lovely, however.

7. Donkeys. Everywhere. Sitemate hellbent on purchasing one. Hasak.

6. Language lessons. I swear I've learned more Moroccan Arabic in 3 days then French an entire semester.

5. Ramadan is an interesting time to enter a country. Mrmdn to the max. Calm down folks, the couscous is on its way.

4. And thank goodness it is because it is delicious. Holy moly do I love the food here. The get skinny plan is going to take some serious effort.

3. Henna and kaftans. Already been gifted such sweet things and still have visual evidence of the night of power on both my hands.

2. Atay. Atay atay atay. Always.

1. Surviving. Whether it be taxis (dude), bitlma, or ordering coffee (at a cafe I'm not really allowed at, being a girl and all). That's pretty much the aim of everyday right now. Short term goals make the intense transition tangible. And the awesome company I have here. Mamma hen needs the boys' humour to stay sane during the 4 to 6 hours of language lessons everyday.

I feel like I have so much to say but no real way to formulate it; other than the expected daily rundown of schedule which really isnt relavent or interesting in my opinion. It's 24/7 go time. And I'm just trying to hold on.

Will hopefully be getting a cell phone soon, so will send that to you all privately when I have it. Otherwise, my address for mail temporarily is:

Donniell Silva

s/c Corps de la Paix
2, Rue Abou Marauane Essaadi, Agdal
Rabat 10100, MOROCCO

Love yall and would love messages whenever you can send them my way!! Ps mck karl gio, no go on leaving country before the new year. bummed i cant join you for the holidays! grr. Also, sorry to whoevers birthday I have forgotten or will forget. It's going to happen. Don't hate me.

I couldn't make this stuff up.

So let me set the scene: Dinner time. Friday night. 8pm. 63 Americans sat down round 8 or so tables awaiting the now customary feast of some salad, some soup, something slaughtered, and something sweet. We began our descent into a basket of bread when half – the better half? ;) – of one of my favourite couple ever (no, seriously) stands up to mention how it would be kind if we had a moment of silence for the victims and families of September 11^th, given the eight year anniversary. We all nod in empathetic agreement and collectively agree that a minute or so should suffice. The room falls into an emotional silence and for the first time ever I find myself actually reflecting upon images, locations, and victims that could have been and glad weren’t.

Now, this would be a solemn, weighted, almost unnecessary post if that’s where the story ended and/or went down the cultural differences reflection you thought it might. Well, you see, the dining room we eat in has a TV in the corner that entertains staff when they’re not serving us the various culinary schmorgasboards throughout the day. Apparently Moroccans love their TVs, more especially - their Turkish soap operas. Tela Novella has nothing on this ya’ll. However, timing could have been better in this fine episode.

I’m sure Mr. Turkish really loved Miss Turkish, but being emphatically entwined in vocally significant lust during a 9/11 tribute could definitely have been pushed back about thirty seconds.

I swear I tried; I bit my lip, plugged my ears, held my breath; but nothing could stop me snorting myself to embarrassment as I catalyzed the entire room into bouts of terribly – and I mean terribly – inappropriate laughter. A little piece of me dies inside every time I think about it. I have a soul. Really I do. I’m in Peace Corps for goodness sake. But you try holding it in when sexual intercourse is blaring from the back of a room halfway through a moment of silence. You couldn’t pay me to make this stuff up folks.

Anyway, I don’t think I have enough dignity to write anything else after that... Going to ‘town’ tomorrow and leave for CBT site on Tuesday so who knows what internet access will be like after that. Will post if anything else significant or mortifying happens before then.

Oh, and I’d like to give a couple shout-outs as fellow lovely volunteers have mentioned some friends & fam reading. Here’s a ‘what-up’ to Allie’s mom and Sam’s friend Patrick. Oh and Aragons – Paylan sends his regards.

Roger that. xx

Sleep is near...

Holy Macaroni. In the words of a weekly comedy sketch that I, along with many friends across the pond, hold so dearly in our hearts – Have I got News for You. So I get to Philly along with 15 other early arrivals; 9 of whom are also from California. I’m the only so-cal. The rest of the bastards are Frisco kids. It’s fun banter though. Oh, right, and one of the aforementioned went to St Andrews for a year abroad. How bout them apples small-world theory?! Brenden something-or-other. He wears cowboy hats. He’s from San Francisco. The verdict is still out on him. He knows this. Hi, Brenden. Roommate was/is delightful, Yorda is a crack-up. Who also brought pink hair straighteners – oh yes, we did… I know – and matching ballet flats. And fell asleep to Rachael Zoe/Kardashian nonsense for our last American guilt trip TV sesh in the hotel room before takeoff. ‘Whaaaaaat?!?!’ – you ask. No CNN did not get that honor, not MSNBC, not even John & Kate. Rachael, Kim & Kourt got our full heading-to-third-world attention and we loved every minute of it. So sue me Christiane Amanpour. We all start somewhere.

So we then hopped on a bus to JFK. Spent an hour and a bit driving from Philly to New York City. Spent approximately the same driving through Brooklyn. Auto-shops anyone? Get to JFK… about seven hours early. Give everyone their new passports – group leader status, what-what – and we grub until check in time. Last meal = sushi & eggrolls. Delish. So we boarded the plane, embarked if you will, swindled a window seat (and by swindled I mean was kindly offered before I even asked by the dude sitting with me) and awaited the, or rather - what was expected to be, a rather normal flying experience ahead of me. Let me tell you, Royal Air Maroc is anything but normal. Dude, we taxied without the overhead bins closed. Tray tables were down; seatbacks were most definitely not in their upright position; pure mayhem ensued. We had not even arrived at proper elevation, still in obvious vertical assent, and the seatbelt light was turned off. TURNED OFF. wtf mate. Periodically, they decided to up the anti, and give us a bit of a rave effect with some strobe lighting. The guy at the overhead light switch seriously had a nervous twitch or something. And if not, they needed to have an epileptic disclaimer cuz there was some serious retina destruction going on. Apologies, I feel like the airplane protocol nazi. The service, however, was truly delightful. Polite? Yes. Concerned about my safety and well-being? Not so much.

So we air-force-oned it off the plane, glided through customs to be greeted by a bunch of the local staff. Such nice people, seriously. Obviously sincere in wanting to help us, welcome us, guide us. Straight to a 3 hour bus more specifically. Worst ride ever, not that it was anyone’s fault, just no sleep on plane + limited space and no sleep on bus = no sleep in like 48 hours. Dying. Still dying. Yet I still sit here typing. For you people.

Anyways, arrived to delightful little beachside town, was served an unbelievably large amount of delicious food. Scarfed. Had like three hours of orientation which pretty much everyone needed to repeat/hear again. You see, staff is just as zonked as us, they are rocking Ramadan right now. They are starvin’ Marvins if I’ve ever seen any. Energy was low across the board. But after some evening grub, a shower, & like 15 hours of sleep, I think we’ll all be on the same page tomorrow.

So far this trip, Crosby, Stills, & Nash have been the theme music - funnily enough not due to the cliché presence of the Marrakesh Express – but with You Don’t Have to Cry and Helplessly Hoping ringing through the mundanity of our Royal Air Maroc flight. The aim was to send me to sleep, but you now understand why that was not an option – with the addition of our pal Neil, Teach Your Children also sent a rather appropriate prophetic message through my dazed and confused, barely cognizant internal hearing receptors. Yeah, still desperately in need of sleep it appears.

As I listen to my fave CS&N tune Suite: Judy Blue Eyes (so bite me if it’s everyone’s favourite) I figure, what have I got lose on this trip? Time away from home? Culture Shock? Some of my American female independence? Chump change compared to what I’m gaining. In just 48 hours I’ve met 62 new people who could potentially be larger influences in my life than I’m currently giving them credit for. Truly, great group of people, naturally a few oddballs, but they keep things interesting, and obviously have their hearts in the right place. I’m still a bit ‘ahhh’ over intense language submersion, but planning on giving them more than I gave Mr. Neumann back in French class. That’s what she said? Anyways, for anyone out there concerned or worried about me: I’m fine, more than fine, I’m really happy; really full; really tired. And for those who are just curious, you need to get out there, live life uncomfortably. And if you don’t know what that means, that’s just your problem.

24...

Hours. Literally.Until take-off. With a little more anxiety and a little less Jack Bauer.

Nah, I'm getting really excited actually. I've 'started over' quite a few times in my mere 23 years. The self-reboot button is becoming all too familiar. Uni abroad, London job, Home part deux. New surroundings and new relationships are a natural high for me I suppose. I'm a proverbial junkie. Still, I'm hoping like-minded and motivated people are the kind that will show up to this song & dance, so here's to an optimistic and friendly beginning to this 27 month long cultural extravaganza.

Packing is complete, underweight for the first time ever, I think. I've had enough practice so no reason not to I suppose. Still need to finish up registration forms, though, witness signatures and all that jazz. ... It's only quarter to nine, though, and procrastination is my middle name...

I am, however, currently still debating on the 'bring the stuffed animal or don't' front. Yes, I'm a grown woman. Independent, intelligent, strong-willed, logical. Yet, I have a feeling baby beluga is making the trip. Judge if you must folks, but when I'm 6,000 miles away from Gustav and Killer - my two doggies if you aren't familiar - I'm gunna need something soft and cuddly to take their place. I'm afraid a foot long stuffed white whale might have to suffice.

Okay, I've put paperwork off long enough. Time to cross my 'T's and dot my 'I's.

See you across the pond. Again.

xx

7 days

The packing preparations have begun. Slowly, but surely, I have starting compiling anything thought to be completely necessary for the next two years. Underwear... check. Hiking shoes... check. Parisian coral scarf I'm obsessed with to let me feel pretty once in a while... check.

I've decided to stick by my rule of leaving anything behind that falls under the following categories: belonged to either one of my grandmothers; cost me more than I'd like to admit; reveals thigh or cleavage (what little there is to be shown); would make me cry if I and/or United airlines lost it.

That pretty much leaves only jeans, a bunch of t-shirts, and a plethora of gladiator sandals, but I and PC staff deem those appropriate, so be it.

I've also executively decided to leave the hair dying until arrival in Morocco. Give it a try as a blonde and document the reactions. I look forward to posting them here.

Exchange rate looks decent, however. About 8 and a bit Dirhams to the Dollar, so any money spent will be negligible. Especially when I get a... well... allowance - for lack of a better word - from the PC.

Can't believe I'll be on a plane in a week. Well, literally will have landed in Philly by now for staging. Still, won't be back to visit home until Christmas 2010. Yeesh.

Ah yes, fun detail: Ramadan will still be going on when I arrive. Sweet kick start to my Donniell will return home tan-brunette-and-skinny plan. I am, however, a little saddened by the no-pork situation for the next two years. Anthony Bourdain would understand.

Peace x

T minus 2 weeks

Good Evening Folks,

So tonight, August 25th, 2009, marks the moment my anxiety sets in. I've been back home for only a few days since returning from London via a New York vaca, and it seems I have a lot of Arabic to catch up on. And by catch up, I mean begin.

The question I kept getting the whole summer was 'Oh my God, you must be so anxious, what are you most nervous about?' Which was usually followed with a response of 'Not much, after all I have lived abroad for the last four years.' -said with hair flip and arrogant wrist spin of a brandy glass-. Well it's just set in, I'm close to crapping myself over the intensity of language learning to be done. Truth be told, I am quite confident in all other aspects of moving away for the next 27 months: culture adjustment, friend making, climate change, distance from home, etc. I've just never had to submerge myself into being fluent in a foreign language before. Don't get me wrong, I was French Club president in highschool and got nothing but straight As, but this is a different ballgame folks. No cramming for 15 minutes before test time, this is for real and the butterflies are kicking in. Bring on the web-based language lessons. Yee-haw.

In other news, I'm still procrastinating on dying my hair. Simultaneously freaking out and internally combusting with excitment. Such silly emotions surround me and my hair. My hair and I. I've made a packing list, however. Impressed with myself that I've kept the shoe list as short as it is... but I have managed to let 11 cardigans make the cut. What... I'm forced to always waer long sleeves, so I vote it's practical. You forget, I can justify anything. My dad still offers to pay for law school.

Well, I'll let you know what crises come up before take off in 2 weeks. Let's cross our fingers and knock on wood that I don't have to.

Over and out,

Donniell xx