Progress Report for the parentals

Although I'm sure I'll be winning a Pulitzer any day now for my accounts of a stinky, sub-par bus ride, most of you readers (read: my parents and/or extended family members) are probably looking for more of what I'm actually doing lately, a progress report if you will. (Man, I hated those things... every time they arrived I had to give an oh-shit off-the-cuff middle school speech of 'but that was before I turned in my report and got an A on that test, it'll be at least a B by the time the quarter ends!'' And it was... usually an A actually.)

And I give you, what my google calendar looks like:

The kid's club - a project I was working on with some of the local ex-pats - finished up last week and was a really successful pilot project that will hopefully continue during the next school year. Each week we held two three-hour sessions that consisted of two activities and one talk/lecture/discussion. The day would start with something like games, arts & crafts, or songs, we'd have a 20 minute talk on something like 'how to admit when you're wrong' or some other lesson/moral, and then finish with an activity on the environment, language (tash, tam, or english), or chess. We invited the sixth year students from each of the three primary schools in Sedona-miz and with each school on a four week rota, the project lasted a total of three months. It was a great way to meet a lot of the younger kids throughout town and brought me closer to some of the other development workers in town, friendships I am currently very thankful for.

English classes at the Dar Chebab are also slowly coming to an end. As I leave for IST (inter service training) in Rabat next week, today is actually my last class with the Baccalaureate students in preparation for the big exam in June. When I get back to site about half way through June, temperatures will be well into the 100s and people will be starting to vacate my village, making it relatively pointless to hold classes on a daily basis. I'll be continuing my adult classes, as they are super keen, but won't be resuming regular DC duties until September. And though part of me is sad to lose routine, the other half is screaming 'ALHAMDULILAH!' as I really am burnt out from the redundancy of the DC at the moment. A change of pace is welcome, and I'm looking forward to what the summer brings.

So what is going to be brought by this delightful season? Firstly, IST as I mentioned. A week long PC extravaganza in which we meet up with some NGOs, get some grant writing education, and most people will be meeting with their Mudirs in an organized group-like fashion. My site has had like a kajillion volunteers (five YD I believe... so in PC terms... a kajillion), so my Mudir pretty much knows what's up and was not exactly invited... one of 5 Mudirs not invited. He's a little butt hurt, but mashi mushkil. Anyway, IST is going to be awesome as it's the first time we'll be in a fabulous hotel with both with YD and SBD. Sweet deal. Actually, if you recall from an earlier post (yes, about 7 months ago), that gorgeous hotel we all stayed at after swearing in... the one where staff effed up and we had 8-9 people in a 1 bedroom room?? Mmm hmm, yeah we are back there, and insha'allah, we will actually have a bed, if at least a pillow, to ourselves. Not that I didn't enjoy spooning with half of my female stage on the floor... Love you girls.

I'll return from IST for about two weeks before heading off to Gnaoua, that epic music festival I had mentioned previously in Essaouira. SO STOKED. I'm taking a couple vacation days for it even. Yay for relaxing beach side and dancing my tuchas off for a weekend. Much needed. Especially as it will be roasting in my site by then, the salty off shore breeze will be more than welcome.

July will be mostly in site, doing a couple classes a week at DC and... balls if I know. This is my call to you people: find me a new hobby. Crocheting? Nah. Reading? Do that already. Sports? Not in 120 degree heat folks. Underwater basket weaving? If I can find a water source deep enough. I plan on attempting to paint more... and better (read: I suck), start running (read: jogging... it may be pronounced yogging... apparently you just run, for an extended period of time...) with my host sister at like 6am a) so it's not too freaking hot out yet and b) so the creepers in Sedona-miz don't stare. Also mid-month we'll be having a soccer team from America heading into site for a bit. We'll be setting up a day camp for the girls we did the kitty league with in which they rotate between booths, manned by both Moroccan and American players, focusing on various football skills and techniques. Should be awesome. I've also recently completed a grant application to pay for uniforms and equipment for next year's season, so let's hope that comes through as well!

August will be... dun dun dunnnnnnn... Ramadan. I'll be fasting folks, so prepare for a lot of bitchy rants on this here blog about how hungry I am. Or, well, I'll be fasting until I go to Portugal at the end of the month! Or at least that's the plan. A fellow PCV has family there who are ducking out back to America for a bit and have thus bestowed crashing rights to us during the super skhoon (hot) month of August. Lisbon is going to be AWESOME.

Also at some point late July/early August I'll be doing summer camp for a few weeks. We'll find out at IST when exactly our region's dates are, but should be wonderful. Back up in El Jadida, along the beach, and we get to bring three kids from our sites for free, so super happy about that :). Looking forward to it as I really loved Spring Camp and can only imagine this being even better as the Atlantic Ocean is involved.

That about sums up my to-do list this summer, along with cuddling with the kitten, hanging out with the sitemate as much as possible before he leaves (wahhhhh), and (oh yeah!) meeting up with the new region mate 30 min down the road from us in a beautiful site containing a lake (yippeeeee). Felicie is the new (read: only) environment volunteer in the region and (alhamdulilah) is seriously awesome. French born, Ohio raised, PC Benin, Miami, now here. Chick wrote a book too. She is definitely a more than welcome addition to the Marrakech region.

Ttttthat's all folks.

Birthday Dinner at the Sushi-Thai place in Marrakech

Felicie and I at the Almazar shopping mall

Relaxing at our Riad during Alex's, Juan's, Cynthia's, and my birthday weekend

Anecdote in need of an Antidote.

So there I am, minding my own business - ipod in, sunglasses on - waiting for take off to commence towards Sedona-miz from Marrakech after a consolidation drill this weekend. An unveiled young lady comes and sits next to me with a welcome smile and in the back of my mind I'm thankful for a female seat mate for the duration of the ride. My mind wanders out the window and for a moment I'm blissfully unaware of the nuclear strike that is about to commence against my nasal passage.

These two, obviously troubled and possibly homeless, young teenagers - tweens if you will - are the last of the stragglers hopping on board before we pull out of the bus stop. No seats are left vacant, so they are forced to park their rears directly in front of myself and my soon to be bff, just beside the exit doors of our fine bus. In that very moment a wave of absolutely, deliriously, bitingly sour nausea passed over me. The little receptors on the interior of my nasal passageway were literally screaming 'WTF?!?!' And pushing through the vomit inducing fumes, I tried to figure out what the hell was creating this plume of epic disgust.

The source of my current dry heaving was obviously a direct result of these two youngsters in front of me, but the act of pinpointing exactly the cause of my imminent fainting proved difficult to say the least. The kids blatantly hadn't showered for... Allah knows how long, but the smell was much more pungent than that alone. Pee? Their own mixed with any other domestic or otherwise wild animal? Skid marks left from an ineffective bitlma run? Souvenirs of vomit-packed mikas? Possibly... But there had to be something else... It did occur to me that it was a hot, damp summer day... could it just be an extreme case of swamp-ass? Or worse, genital sweating in combo with poor hygiene? We were too early in the ride for that to have developed, I was sure, though to some degree there had to be something awry with either their perspiration levels and/or junk. Lil' Johns timeless prose of 'til the sweat drop down my balls' internally programmed on repeat despite the omnipresence of my ipod.

While all these various options were further dizzying my lightheaded brain, I bonded with smiley lady next to me. I gave her some intensely minty gum, two pieces to be factually accurate, in order to relieve some of the stress upon our nasal cavities. She in turn hosed me down with her spray deodorant - focusing mainly upon my fingers and palms so as to suffocate myself with the fumes in order to best override the road to unconsciousness lying before me. Our strategies were mediocre at best. The thirty minute travel time with Stinky and the Pain exhausted any power the aerosol can may have once had.

It was upon their exit, however, that we discovered the mystery of the Moroccan stink bomb - glue huffing mixed with hash out of some sort of pipe device they each had up their sleeve (literally). Gag worthy to say the least.

There's no place like London

Though Stephen Sondheim once argued that it's a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it... I still vote London pretty much rules. After eight long, albeit rewarding, months I managed to vacate Sedona-miz for greener, er colder, pastures. In a matter of three airborne hours, I went from 38 degree weather to 9. Though this happened to be the least of my problems that day.

I'll spare you all the details but the twelve hours prior to take-off consisted of: ipod headphones breaking, at least 40 seriously rambunctious school boys destroying public property - aka dismantling the bus i was on - en route to Marrakech, making a new friend on the aforementioned bus due to much needed distraction, sleeping in the cafe of the Marrakech airport, getting kicked out from 2am -4am and sleeping on a bench, wanting to kill myself during takeoff/descent due to the congestion I had accumulated during my stay in the airport, and haiving my ears plugged for the first 12 hours in country and perpetually sounding like I was a prisoner on the inside of a muffler. Joys.

Once in good old Angleterre I couldn't have been happier. Though I had pretty much lost my voice for most of the weekend and wasn't exactly prime partying material, it didn't stop me from eating my body weight in pork and taking at least two showers a day. It was a dream. All of you know the foodie inside me wants to take you through a far too descriptive play by play of my grazing habits during the calorific four day stay, but I'll just mention the highlights: Bodean's BBQ, Hummingbird Bakery, HK Diner, Snog, The Hoxton Pony, Nude Espresso, Insert nondescript Curry delivery here, Zizzi's, and Itsu, in chronological consumption order. It truly was a culinary tour de force for someone who has pretty much been eating tagine as a religion for the past eight months. Not to mention the fact that my friends paid a micro-country's GDP for our marathon feasting extravaganza. No regrets. Let's just hope my souq has celery, and nothing but, next Tuesday. And the Tuesday after that.

On a more 'blog-worthy' note I suppose, I was happy to find out I was still me there, as I am still me here. Part of me was legitimately concerned I would all of a sudden find myself wanting to stay in London and having some sort of out-of-body freak-out while some officially dressed officials dragged me by my heels through customs to make sure I got on a plane back to Morocco. Part of me was equally as worried I wouldn't fully connect with my dearest friends in London over lifestyle changes, priorities, personal hygiene... etc, and that I'd be preaching some pompous save-the-world dogma while we ate our crudités. Thankfully, both worries were not present in the slightest - well maybe slightest, as in my friends didn't fully appreciate my donkey side-swipe anecdotes amongst their 'screw people and their baby buggies in stores' conversations - and I was as happy to be there as I was to return here. It made me realize how much I do love about my life here in Sedona-miz and how much I will love returning to somewhere like London or New York afterward. Time and a place, insha'allah. And just for the record though, I kind of have the best friends in the world by the way. Like, seriously.

On another side note, the broski is officially off to Kuwait in June for a year's tour. And apparently he's thinking of not going home for Christmas... Now this puts me in quite the predicament. Now I can see why he's thinking of not doing so, abroad for the first time, seriously different surroundings, keeping a certain mindset while there, having a chance to travel, etc. The same things I faced to some degree in deciding to return home for the holidays. However, last year's miss of xmas was not by choice but by PC policy. I have been planning on flying home this Christmas as to hopefully get another point in the 'not going to hell in a handbag' column, but with the brother not going... do I go? I seriously cannot be held responsible for my mother ODing on Scotch and Sodas before sticking her head in the oven if both of her kids are in the Middle East during this joyful holiday season. This brings options to the table: home for just a week? Meet in the middle and do a New York celebration? Get thrown out of the will and take advantage of some travel during the time period in question? All things that will be discussed tomorrow during our Skype date I'm sure. Oh, am I posting this on the interwebs before chatting with the mumsie about my ditching her on Christmas? That would be correct. Wish me luck.

Edit: So while talking to the mom tonight did I lead with anything optimistic? No. Did I mention I wasn't thinking of coming? Yes. Did I eventually say I promise to come for at least 5 days around Christmas only after tears? Yes. Did I forget to say happy mother's day even after having her hint at least three times? Yes. Do I seriously fail as daughter of the year today? Yes.

Say what you want, but hotdamn that tasted good.

Heather, Me, and Mckinley. I need to start wearing a new cardigan. Oy.

Giovanni and myself with a pretty fantastic cupcake in the foreground.

God's gift to international pastry culture: the cheesecake brownie.

Eyjafjallajoekull - my current arch nemesis.

Eyjafjallajoekull Volcano - Iceland

This is not a bluff, so don't bother calling it. I will be kicking ass and taking names if this volcano malarkey continues through the end of the month. I have 12 days until my trip to London and no amount of ash, rubble, or glass shard is going to keep this tuchas out of the UK.

YA HEAR?

My best friend used to have to travel through Reykjavik airport nearly every time she came to and from St Andrews and her home in Manhattan. She used to swear that no good has ever come out of that place, it was the purgatory of all airports, and she loathed each layover more than the last. So far, her theory is correct in my eyes. You've got a lot of ass-kissing to do Iceland. Do work.

Photo courtesy BBC News.

Football and the MALL

So I don't know if I've recently just hit my stride or something, but hot damn I'm loving this whole Peace Corps experience more and more every day. I mean, I'm definitely counting down the days until my vacation in London at the end of the month (17 days!) but that would occur in any situation when I hadn't had a vacation for over seven months.

Anyway, the last three days have been relatively noteworthy. Sunday was the culmination of the girls' soccer league here in Sedona-miz. I felt a tad bit arsey on my way to the pitch Sunday morning as I hadn't shown much face during the month of March with all the travelling I had been doing for PC - VSN, Spring Camp, etc. So, my first day back in eons (or epochs... a word which was on my host-sisters practice BAC exam this monday... wtf?) happened to coincide with the playoffs and closing ceremonies. The final match was decided by a shoot-out, we had music and dancing, trophies, medals, new shirts and shoes, and certificates to boot. It was an all out extravaganza. Total success and will definitely be happening again next year! Insha'allah I'll be able to wrangle some team uniforms together during the summer through one avenue or another...

Ouidad, Me, and Sana - my favourite girls in Sedona-miz

Silver medalists proudly displaying their new swag

Handing out some certificates

Nearly all of the girls playing in this year's league

After returning home from the blistering heat of the football terrain - hello sandal tan in a matter of four hours - I quickly shifted into cooking mode as I had a few guests coming around for lunch. My spectacular sitemate Nathaniel, another PCV in town Jonathan, and a British couple who also live in Sedona-miz. The plan of action was to get the stuffed peppers actually stuffed with the stuffing and into the oven to cook before the folks arrived. I manically attempted to get the timeline right but when you've only got two burners and around the same number of pots, rotations don't always go down as planned.

Thus, the knock at the door came just as I was heading into assembly mode, aka, all hell broke loose in my kitchen and I looked like the Swedish Chef on crack. The kitten was running a muck, water was boiling over pans, the stove top was lit with nothing on top, I was in full crunch time mode, and made a really shitty host for about 3 minutes there. Nathaniel, having cooked with me on numerous occasions, knew I could pull a decent meal off so he was happily entertaining my cat, while the other three, I'm sure, we're heavily doubting my cooking abilities and most likely contemplating which sandwich stops were on the way home. Alhamdulilah, I popped the trays in, had some lovely conversation, and a pretty decent meal about 20 minutes later. Self high-five.

Later that evening I got a chance to speak to two of my dearest friends on skype which was a lovely end to a day I thought that couldn't be topped anytime in the near future... and then Monday came.

Okay so, there had been this relatively tame drum roll, a mild tremble if you will, leading up to Monday's outing to Marrakech. Only a mere week ago, a new outdoor, multi-level mall... ahem... MALL opened a few minutes drive outside of the Medina. There is a... Cinema. TGI Fridays. Sushi. Some Chain Coffee Shop. Steve Madden. United Colours of Benetton. Virgin Megastore. A Virgin Freaking Megastore. Among hundreds of other shops.

A complete state of utter shock is an understatement.

Sarah spent more than her monthly in-country stipend I'm sure, just in complete awe of the options available. Countless stores now at our fingertips. This is the first opportunity in-country I've even had to even try on clothes before buying them. This place nearly imposed internal combustion upon me. Holy mackerel.

I definitely don't think I can go more than once every few months. The reaction was just too intense. Not to mention the hit on my pocket book (though you would be proud, I only spent money in the grocery store, none in the clothes shops!). Wow, I didn't even mention the huuuuuuuumongous Carrefour super marche that is the basement floor of this place. I know I've written about Marjane before - the target meets sears meets supermarket of Morocco - this place is Bigger. Better. Cheaper. It's Marjane squared.

And that's why I can only allow my blood pressure to cope with it bimonthly. I really have a hard time balancing my 'I'm in Peace Corps look how badass I am' image, with having this utopia available just a mere two hours away. My reputation will take a significant blow each time I allow myself pure, undiluted, consumer-driven joy. It's a risk I just can't (afford not to) take. Shiver. I promise to use it in moderation ya'll. Pinky promise.

After a day of window-shopping bliss, I returned to my lovely Sedona-miz and felt way more at home than I did in any of those stores, including Steve Madden (as blasphemous as that is). I love my little rural routine. I like running downstairs for yogurt at 7am. I like the donkeys outside cutting through my Beach Boys during dinner prep. I like how I get realllllllllly excited when it's melon season (honeydews came today!) at the souq. I like that my weeks worth of fruits and veggies cost as much as my iced coffee did at that mall. I'm starting to really embrace the simple life. That ridiculous kitten of mine included.

I am still, however, over the moon about leaving for London at the end of the month. Much needed and overdue vacation time! Mostly, I just miss my best friends in the world terribly. I was telling another PCV on the phone tonight (yay Maroc Telecom landlines free after 8pm!) that it never occurred to me that they could miss me as much as I'm missing them. And a few delightful skype dates later, it turns out they do. Much love to all of you.

Now it's Essaouira not Mogador... not so catchy

The gang at sunset - the cannons in Essaouira

Okay so post Spring Camp Extravaganza Marrakech 2010, I was (easily) convinced to head towards the coast with about a kabillion other PCVs in search of some serious R&R after a week of teenage camper insanity.

First on deck was El Jadida, which is a pretty sweet port city just south of Casablanca. It was run by the Portuguese for about 250 years, so there is a beautiful area which is completely dominated by Portuguese architecture. The 'Portuguese Fortified city of Mazagan' is a UNESCO world heritage site and even includes a cistern which is available for viewing. Didn't get a chance to see that on this trip, but apparently it's the scheduled field trip for summer camps in El Jadida, so really looking forward to it. The Cistern in Istanbul is one of my favourite places on earth, so this one has got a lot to live up to.

After staying in El Jadida for one night we made an impromptu decision to move the convoy south to Essaouira, a beautiful city along the coast, three hours south of El Jadida and three hours west of Marrakech. This city was orginally called Mogador (or Mordor depending on level of interpretation and imagination) and was run by Portuguese, Spanish, English, and Dutch throughout the 16th century. Apparently the name means 'the beautifully designed', which is totally appropriate as the medina is truly stunning. This place is officially my favourite city in all of Morocco.

There's a gorgeous beach with warm water (though the boys may argue with me on this one), soft sand (which we definitely had a sand fight with), and sea-side seafood huts (can I get three cheers for fried fish, please?). I not only got to swim for the first time in seven months, but I freaking got to boogie board too. Blew my mind. I was euphoric. God, I missed the beach. Among the other highlights: shopping, gelato, schwarma, more fried fish, sangria, tanning, sunset watching, exploring, not to mention the naturally obvious dance party that concluded our trip. (Which immediately followed a highly competitive Easter Egg Hunt I mandated we do.) We stayed in a phenomenal riad, which was 4 stories and could easily house triple the 12 people that had stayed in it this past weekend. Which is why it's perfect for renting during the Gnaoua Festival in June. Apparently, word on the street is it's pretty much 'Morocco's Woodstock'. Like half a million people descend upon Essaouira for a long weekend of rock, jazz, reggae, and gnaoua music. I'm more excited for this than you know.

Sunset along the beach in Essaouira

A few of the ladies striking a pose from the cannons

The interior of our gorgeous house

The boogie boards that helped make my pipe dream come true

Spring Break Marrakech! ... Er, Spring Camp

After hibernating in my house for the last 24 hours (with intermittent breaks working at the dar chebab), I feel rested enough to relay the past weeks adventures at spring camp.

Not to be repetitive of other PCVs posts, but the schedule went a little something like this:

I'll be using italics to differentiate Marrakech camp's idiosyncrasies from the other camps.

7:00 am - Wake up call and shower time

This involved the Mudir's freaking cute but super obnoxious 8 year old blowing a whistle and knocking on every door until a quarter to 8.

Showers consisted of either coldstream or lukewarm chugging.

Awkward.

8:00 am - Breakfast

8:00 really meant line up in militaristic fashion singing at least a handful of clap-based songs before a ear-drum destroying rendition of the Moroccan National Anthem. Breakfast actually happened around quarter to 9 and consisted of dense baguette with jam and diabetes inducing coffee, for which there was only 4 glasses to a table of 10.

9:00 am - 11:00 am - English Classes

They usually started around quarter past but were great fun once they started. I was a drifter during this time so spent each day with a different level which was a great way to get to know all the kids at camp and not just one class. Activities included poetry writing, short story reading, superstition discussion, tongue twisters, and the like.

11:15 am - 12:30 pm - Sports

Being in Kech offered the unique and pretty badass opportunity to use the El Harti Stadium as our place of recreation. It was located just next to the Centre D'Accueil, where the camp was held, so we spent each day playing soccer, frisbee, and American football at the professional field.

1:00 pm - 3:30 pm - Lunch and Siesta

Lunch time was generally the tastiest meal of the day, but as we had 75 kids and around 15 staff, the food was stretched and pretty repetitive. We had a starter of 'smida', the English equivalent being 'gruel', and a main of some sort of questionable meat product and rice. The redeeming factor was the tastiest apples I've had in country. Massive, juicy, and not mushy. Thus, most likely imported. Siesta time usually involved the six of us PCVs huddling around a mini-comp watching The Office with questionable volume control. I'm so happy PB&J are finally together!

3:30 - 5:30 - Club Time

Our camp offered the following choices: dance, theatre, trust games & oragami, and the environment. Now, as you've probably guessed, I manned the environment club, yet not by choice, I was 'Brendaned'*. Our entire camp was environment themed, our field trip was to a water treatment plant, and we had two viewings of environmentally themed movies. I freaking worked for Greenpeace and I was over the environment by the end of the day. Though 9 very sweet kids were down for my club and we had a good time. Yay for the water cycle song!

5:30 - 7:00 - Insert random activity here

In Kech this usually meant the Moroccan staff took over and did some sort of trivia game in Arabic, or a walk in the park, or one day, much to the surprise and bafflement of the PCV staff, they began to circle up on the floor and place a bottle at the centre... now what would you think was going down?? Apparently 'spin the bottle' takes on more of a truth or dare without the dare type model in Morocco. The person who spins asks the person who it lands on some silly teenage giggle-induced question. Still relatively inappropriate and staff stepped in to set some ground rules after one girl answered she has had 16 boyfriends. Awkward.

7:00 - 9:00 - Dinner and general chill out time

Dinner sometimes made it out by 8 or 8:30, but it was always a surprise. Dinner was generally as lack luster as lunch, but on the last day we definitely had some couscous and hariria. Totally made up for the carb overload we ingested earlier in the week.

9:00 - 11:00 - Fun activity time

Okay, so, as I mentioned start times were totally up for interpretation in Kech, most of the activities scheduled for a start at 9, usually started at like 11. So talent shoes, movie nights, closing ceremonies, usually continued until around 12 or 12:30 am. Kill me. Around the midnight mark I was already cursing the little boy's presence with the whistle the following morning.

All in all, our camp ran pretty damn smoothly. No arms were broken, no alcohol drunk, no girl's got pregnant... insha'allah. One girl got her laptop stolen, but apparently the room was left unlocked, so whoopsie. Saturday morning was definitely a sob-fest, however. I've never seen that many people simultaneously weep outside of a funeral. The most ridiculous part is that most of the kids live in Marrakech. I mean, suck it up. She lives like 15 minutes across town honey, invite her over for dinner next week. The kids were great though, some of them I really adored, and six of them happened to be from Sedona-miz, so that was a pleasant surprise.

Highlights include:

Singing songs on the bus to and from the water treatment plant fieldtrip. Edit: singing songs always.

Muriel, the oldest serving PCV in the entire world at 85, calling Brendan a 'pain in the ass' and following it with the fact she's never told anybody that before. In 85 years.

Teaching kids how to Ceilidh in the dance club.

Having a couple lessons on poetry and haikus and having them desperately want to share them with the class.

Learning more Moroccan camp songs than I think we taught them in English.

All in all - success.

*The term being 'Brendaned' relates to the fact that Brendan was a few hours late in arriving to camp the first day, so thus got stuck with the stuff nobody else wanted to do. Thus, the rest of the week, whenever someone got last pick or stuck in a shitty situation, they were therefore 'Brendaned'. Ex: Aw man, I was just using the bathroom and I totally got Brendaned. Now I have to supervise movie night.