Cover of the Rolling Stone...

So as a direct result of having the best mommy ever, I received a well-stuffed care package last week containing, amongst many other wonderful things - most notably baked alcohol-infused goodness- December's issue of Rolling Stone. Sigh. After having read it cover to cover about 4 1/2 times now, I'd like to share some high-lights and facts I didn't know after being in Africa for five months.

Barack Obama got a slap on the hand by the Editor of RS (fair). Bruce Springsteen is still hot stuff (no kidding). Glee is apparently saving B-list singer's careers (?). People still care about the Jonas Brothers (why?). Dave Grohl and Jack White are demi-gods (fact). Britney lip-synchs in Australia (durrr). Taylor Lautner is hot (durrr). Tom Petty is a brilliant hippie red-neck (the best kind). GAP has really cute clothes (grr adverts you torture me). A kid named Justin Beiber exists (wtf?).

Also... The Dead Weather??? Them Crooked Vultures??? Where have I been??? In Morocco it seems.

(Random interjection - writing this at 10am and just got fresh baked bread delivered to my house by my 8 year old host brother. Speaking of awesome moms, my host-mom is pretty lovely too.)

That brings up a couple other random musical pop-culture references I've associated lately. So my goofy-go-lucky CBT-mate Pete introduced me to the awesome-ness that is A Band of Bees back in September and I've been loving them ever since. Despite not knowing their name, I knew I had heard a couple of their songs before. Being UK based, I figured Radio 1 had something to do with that, but recent epiphonies explain why 'A Minha' is so damned familiar - Citroen and Magners commercials. Go figure. Great tune, however. Give it a go.

Also, as of late, I've been working my way through Tom Robbins' Skinny Legs and All. It's a rather kooky tale full of bizarre-o characters pushing buttons on religion, politics, and family landmarked by random inanimate objects throughout. I love it. So with about 50 pages to go I was like 'What the balls is the background of this book and who is this fella Mr. Robbins?' So turns out he also wrote Still Life with Woodpecker which is something I've been craving to read since a friend at home raved about it. Randomly enough, it's also the book that Drew Barrymore's character is reading in the diner everyday in 50 First Dates. Always been intrigued. Annnnd turns out a beloved band of my brother and I, badass Aussie rockers Wolfmother, also borrowed their name from Skinny Legs and All. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon?

I've kind of had She & Him Volume 1 on repeat this week. Dancing around alone in my house kareokeing the hell out this album is pretty much pure joy by definition.

I booked London this week! No I'm not playing the O2 any time soon, I'm flying out ridiculously cheaply at the end of April for the May Day bank holiday weekend. I absolutely cannot wait and anyone within a two-country-radius had better be there. Eeeeee.

Last weekend the local soccer team and I were interviewed by a Portuguese newspaper, The Record, covering women's football in Morocco. Basically these three, yes good looking, Portuguese dudes are travelling from Portugal to South Africa for the World Cup, discovering and documenting the football culture in every African country they pass through along the way. Sounds like a pretty stellar six months to me. It was truly a great experience for the team. The day of the interview, Saturday, was a huge day for boys soccer in town, so having a foreign newspaper focusing on the few girls there rather than the few hundred boys was such a rush for them. The validation, motivation, and self-esteem boost was greater than anything the journalists could have imagined. It being a small town in Morocco, the entire city knew about them within the hour and my host-sister was star of the show. Couldn't have been prouder.

The guys needed a place to crash that night, so I let them stay in my house instead of blowing money on a more-than-likely crappy hotel-hostel within the town. First instinct was to sit and chat over dinner before crashing at my host-families for the night. They were well travelled dudes with interesting backgrounds, so hi new friends. After five seconds of contemplating said scenario I remembered which country I was in and bolted for the door. Again, it being a small town in Morocco, spending more than two minutes with them in my house would have been Hashuma bizef (seriously shameful) and my reputation would have sunk faster than Ben Affleck's career after Gigli. So I bee-lined it for my host-fam's and basically told the Portuguese - mi casa es su casa. Too bad it's Spanish.

Yesterday, I had a wee trip into Kech to meet up with the regional lady friend volunteers - Kate, Sarah, and Rachel - over some coffee and msimmon (delicious flat fry bread) with cheese. The cafe owner is kind of in love with Kate and gave us a banana chocolate msimmon of sorts on the house. Delish. So over our fried treats we had some work chat (Spelling Bees... Art Newsletters... Volunteer clubs... Moroccan Clue) and normal girl chat (scarves... shaving schedules or lack there of... shopping in Malls). The last topic I found slightly humorous as the mall Kate had shopped in was called the Two Towers in Casablanca. I asked her if she had seen any Orcs running around. Note to self: save Lord of the Rings themed jokes for the company of dudes. Or maybe just my brother.

Yallah, Coachella.

So the last twenty-four hours has been spent mourning the fact I will not be able to attend Coachella this year. I've gone through various stages of grief - shock, denial, pain, anger, and depression included - pretty much everything short of pulling a Sylvia Plath and sticking my head in the oven. Which, actually, would be quite an accomplishment in itself, given the munchkin-sized, butane-powered metal box I'm rockin' in my cuzina. Nevertheless, I have struggled with this discontentment many a year, spending five out of the last six festival seasons on this side of the Atlantic. Pretty much every year I go through the same withdrawal symptoms. This year, so far, it's meant a lot of MGMT, Frightened Rabbit, She & Him, Muse, and La Roux on repeat. I'm living vicariously through you people. Keep in mind I will also be spending that fine April weekend sweating my ass off in 100 degree desert heat. Albeit I'll be surrounded by donkeys and scorpions rather than vegan twenty-something hipster wanna-be actor-models drenched in American Apparel viewing the world through rose-coloured Ray-Bans. Actually, I don't know which is worse. Enjoy the tunes and rock your socks off.

You gotta fight, for your right, to protest.

The current educational climate in Sedona-miz is truly... confusing. On one end students are studying around eight hours a day Mon-Fri with an extra four on a Saturday morning, attending Dar Chebab for another two at night, and getting extra help with tutors when they can fit it in. This evidence contrasting greatly with my expectations of the routine and motivation for teenagers in a country with such low literacy rates. On the other end, however, you have teachers who show up when it fits their convenience, lack of timely or constructive feedback on student coursework, and irreverence given to those teachers who work hard to make their students thrive both in and out of the classroom.

I had been waiting for an opportunity to write about this subject that I am so frustrated with and I have finally been presented with a perfect reason, a city-wide school protest today over the wrongful termination of two teachers at my host-sister's school, I-M.

An English teacher and a Philosophy teacher, both widely loved at the local high-school are appreciated for their teaching styles, support, and personalities throughout the entire student body. Though, apparently, with the director of the school, they aren't the most popular. Earlier this week they were informed that they should stop teaching their classes as they were going to be fired on grounds of frequent absences over the last semester. Seeing as they are two of the few teachers who actually show up to their scheduled classes week after week, this was appalling to say the least. My sister has come home many a time, hours earlier than expected, as one teacher after another has decided they don't feel like fulfilling their teaching responsibilities that day. This gobsmacks me. How can they get away with not showing up just because they don't feel like it?? Her lack of surprise shocked me more; apparently it happens all the time.

Hence why these particular accusations were so astounding. These two teachers actually care about their students. They actually teach them. They are actually doing their jobs. Thus, the entire student body of I-M, and the sister school, Al-F (which is significantly larger than I-M and houses most of the out of town students) has also chosen to suspend classes in response to the wrongful (and illegal? I need to figure that part out in this country) means of termination.

Most of the local and major television networks have been called and at least one is meant to show up this afternoon for the rally. As much as I want to go and show support, it's not exactly the smartest move, as how quickly can you see the headline of 'Peace Corps volunteer condemns Moroccan education system' thrown up on your screens and front pages. Yeesh. Let's avoid that. I did give my host-sister my camera, however, in order to capture some of the action. Will try and relay that one to you all later, hopefully.

It just boggles my mind the audacity of some people within the education system. I mean other than this particular incident, the part that angers me most about this system is the exit exam, and its repercussions, for BAC, or Baccalaureate students. At the end of their high school years, students are required to sit a national exam that accounts for a significant part of their ability to graduate. The thing is, even if the student is intelligent enough and under any other circumstances would have passed, they might not, and probably will not, due to the unspoken quota of those who can pass in order to not overcrowd higher education facilities (or insert any other ridiculous reason here). My host-sister, being among the unfortunate not to pass her BAC exam last year, is one of the many left behind, forced to repeat their second year baccalaureate. Only 27% passed the exam last year, or were 'allowed' to pass. It literally boils my blood as I've never seen anyone work as hard or be as clever as my host-sister is at her age. That girl is a genius by most standards and is forced to be embarrassed on a daily basis as she endures a second round of torturous preparation for this national exam with many of her friends in tow. So when two of her favorite and most motivated teachers have been given the guillotine without just reason, you can see where the frustration and urge to actually do something about it comes from.

Grr. Anyway, I shall update you after I hear from her tonight in class. Over and out.

Update: So after a few hundred students marched around the quad and completed some 'we're on strike' time near the flagpole, regional administration showed up after the director of the school had called to complain about riotous students disrupting school protocol. Turns out the admin new better and had a lengthy discussion with the director rather than the impassioned student body. At the end of the day the teachers were reinstated to their positions and classes resumed. High-fives all around to the kids of Sedona-miz. Yay for successful activism.

Moroccan electronics and I do NOT get along. And other tales.

Okay so remember how I wasn't talking to Maroc Telecom because they were being super lame and trying to make me pay a year in advance? Well after coercing my wonderful host-sister into co-signing I finally got the internet installed at a monthly rate and only waited, you know, two weeks to use it. Installing is one thing, to make the gosh darn thing work is, apparently, entirely another. Internet password no workie. I'm pissed. I tell them. They don't care. They tell me 'someone will come sometime.' 'Can you be more specific?' 'No.'

So after waiting a week for this 'someone' to show up, my friend's brother-in-law comes over, as he's some computer genius, and attempts to find the fault within this crap-tastic system. I wasn't too hopeful as many friends of friends of brothers-in-laws of dudes down the street had been in an out of my bedroom (so much for keeping that a mystery) in attempts to help the poor white girl. To no avail, obviously. But, by some glorious miracle, out of the corner of my eye I saw the google homepage pop up and I freaked. I was like hip-hip-hooraying in the middle of my house in front of these people. I asked my friend if it's seriously hashuma to hug him as I was presently in love with him. To which her response was 'My sister is pretty in love with him too. Please don't hug him.' So I gave them some fresh-baked cinnamon rolls to go.

So 'yay!' right? I have internet, what could be wrong with my world? My 2400 dirham fridge that's what. It decided to work for three days and then it got bored of being cold. I mean, all of Morocco is cold right now, why should it? It wanted to be cool and different. It's an individual. It can't be forced into some mold society decided to put it in? Freedom! I hate it. I'm dealing with it tomorrow. I told my host-dad, and he was just like, seriously? Yes, seriously. Grr.

On Sunday some random boy knocked on my door. I answered and he was like 'Where's the teacher?' And I was like 'Umm, hi, how are you, I teach at the Dar Chebab? Do you mean me?'... Blank stare. 'Can I help you?' 'Where's the teacher??' 'Ask the neighbor, maybe?' 'Why are you here?' 'Umm, what? I live here? I work here? I'm a volunteer? Who's on first? What answer are you looking for?' 'Okay.' And he left. This was entirely in Arabic so I was curious as to if I was really just a retard and didn't understand the language, not him. Instead, I found out later that day that a local primary school teacher lived in the flat before me. Kid probably thought I had her under the floorboards or something. That would require me to have floorboards, however. Stupid kid.

I now own soy sauce! Thank you Marjane. Oh, and slippers. My feet and tastebuds are happy.

I've taken a shower for the first time in a week. It's just too cold to regularly drench myself in water in an apartment I can see my breath in. So sue me. I forgot how perty my hair can be, though. Thank you Pantene Pro-V and somewhat-pathetic-excuse-for-a-blow-dryer.

Today at the souq my vegetable guy gave me his phone number. I had just finished paying for some potatoes and carrots and he slipped me a piece of paper with my change. I was like 'since when does Morocco give receipts?'. Turns out they don't. He digs me. I think it was in direct correlation with my shower taking. Mm hmm. Yep.

I bought a hoodie today at the souq. It's cold here. It reads: 'Mindless ou Love?' Barf. It's warm, though. And cheap.

Finally got to talk to the mom on Sunday via Skype. She was at the Hoxie's with lots of American Football partying happening in the background. They were of course all excited to see me, but more excited to see my toilet. The main question was 'What happens if you miss?'

After re-reading this for spelling errors, I realize I sound like Don Rickles at a celebrity roast towards the end. Apologies.

I am a bad-ass. Or so says my face.

So I am officially an utter retard. It has long been known and recognized in my family that my brother and I have varying degrees of intelligence levels. Me = book-smart. Alex = street-smart. It's just a fact, it's science (mental-high-five Alex... that's a terrible pun on so many levels by the way). I may be able to do calculous at 645 am and get impossibly high marks in political philosophy without attending a single lecture, but he can cross the road without tripping and, as the impending story will reveal, I'm pretty sure he can also manage not to give himself a black-eye.

That's right, folks, I've got a pretty sweet shiner going on. The peripheral vision on my right eye is being significantly obscured by the purple hump I'm rocking on my cheekbone. And just how did I manage to injure myself by myself in a house pretty much void of anything at the moment, besides myself? As much as I would like to insert a sweet Fight Club - esque tale, turns out it's Peace Corps fault. Yes, I said it, for providing me with a smoke alarm that I've been needing to install. Approximately 4-12 inches from the ceiling. Which I thought was a really good idea to do last night around 10pm. Without a ladder. Whilst trying to find a nail from a previous tenant conveniently located in this range. And once finding said nail, attempting to reach on my tippie-toes to pop the sucker on. As it turned out (and as I'm sure you've suspected), the sucker did indeed pop, just not onto the wall and instead right out of my hand on straight onto my eye. Um. Yeah. Ouch.

The thing is I couldn't stop laughing at how much of a complete bafoon I had been thinking that this was the best plan of action. Douche. Bag. To add insult to injury, literally, the only thing I had in my fridge to combat the swelling was half a mika (plastic baggie) of milk. So, there I am, on my back with a sack of milk on my face - which by the way is only closed with a clothes pin and I'm pretty sure was dripping - debating who would have made fun of me more in that moment, my brother or my Dad. Still debating. Thankfully, Nathaniel attempted to cushion my pride by reminding me how bad-ass black eyes are.

(Side-note: Yes, I do realize how many 'that's what she said'-s could have been used in the aforementioned paragraphs... Moving on.)

Spent New Years day in Marrakech visiting some friends I had not seen in foreverrrrrrrr, also known as 6 weeks. We ate. We drank. We were indeed merry. Though I think I was mute for first few hours of interaction due to serious over-stimulation. I did not know what to do with that many Americans and that much English. I was just sitting there with this dumb grin on my face, half-completing un-intelligable sentances about how much I loved them all. I am such a tool sometimes. Thankfully, I eventually emerged from my love-induced coma and had a rockin' time.

Lastly, I am officially moved into my new place! With electricity! Christmas finally came! And Maroc Telecom and I are on speaking terms again. They came today to install everything, but tomorrow is when the connection will finally work. Goodbye Cyber Cafes! Made some spaghetti for lunch (and dinner as it turned out), and might conquer the oven tomorrow with some banana bread. Okay, time to milk my face again. Peace. xx