Operation New Dawn

“Operation Iraqi Freedom is over, and the Iraqi people now have lead responsibility for the security of their country.” - President Obama

Yesterday, President Obama spoke from the Oval Office to the American people, informing us that the combat mission, which has lasted for the last seven years in Iraq, is now over. After 20 months in office, the President has begun to follow through on his campaign promise. With Operation Iraqi Freedom now complete and the remainder of troops due to return by December 2011, his attention will now focus on the domestic economy and the ongoing war in Afghanistan. As of today, the majority of troops have been pulled out of Iraq, leaving nearly 50,000 in-country to help rebuild and reorganize as part of Operation New Dawn.

Source: Centcom via http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-11147300

"We have sent our young men and women to make enormous sacrifices in Iraq, and spent vast resources abroad at a time of tight budgets at home... Through this remarkable chapter in the history of the US and Iraq, we have met our responsibility. Now, it is time to turn the page." - President Obama

Joining rank with those still stationed, my brother will be deployed next week, exactly one year to the day after my own departure to Morocco. Despite any apprehension or anxiety about my brother's deployment, this seems as good a time as any to be there. Combat having, in theory, come to a close, his role will now be to train, advise and support those of a war-torn country. It seems we may not be so far apart in job description as we once thought.

My mom always says she doesn't know what her or my dad did wrong to drive both of their kids so far away from home. I, for one, think it speaks more to what they did right.

State of the Hair Address.

I'll refer you to my favourite The Roots song in order to best appreciate this post.

So, remember that one time I've been in Africa for a year? Well, in addition to losing my ability to speak English properly and developing questionable showering patterns, I've also let my hair do as it pleases. Which means getting really effing long and returning to its natural darker blonde state. Resulting in this:

An obviously flattering picture of me giving Pete a thick-cut Mohawk

Which I was originally disappointed in letting happen. Until, wouldn't you know it, I realized my progressively darkening locks were hippest of trends back in the good old US of A. Please turn your attention to exhibit A + B:

Lauren Conrad & Kristen Cavallari of Laguna Beach & The Hills

Two fellow Orange County-ans recently sporting intentionally darker roots & lighter ends. Though this is hardly remarkable I suppose, as Southern California beach hair has almost always resembled this. But I stand by my case due to the following examples:

On set Blake Lively and Drew Barrymore

Both these celebrities are working this trend hard. And not only is Blake Lively sporting it, this photo was taken during a shoot for the upcoming season of Gossip Girl. Serena Vanderwoodsen is embracing it all the way in Manhattan, far away from the beach bum excuse in California.

So whether or not it looks good - and let's be honest, it doesn't - I, apparently, am schwiya in-fashion all the way out here in Morocco. Boo-ya.

Alli & I flashing some pearly whites.

Sur La Table

"I write. I travel. I eat. And I'm hungry for more." - Anthony Bourdain

I can't believe it took me this long to tap into the secret foodie society within Peace Corps Morocco. Within the last few weeks I've found others, like myself, who are volunteers by day - food aficionados by night. Sharing a common bond of all things Food Network, Top Chef, and Food & Wine Magazine, I've been able to let my gastronomic geek side of me run free for a bit.

For the last few nights my friend Kathryn has been staying with me and after a few dropped cues - her Marrakech article in Food & Wine, my Anthony Bourdain t-shirt, and a mutual decision to have huevos rancheros for brunch - we realized we had much more in common than we originally thought. Thus, our morning quickly turned into a Top Chef season 7 download session and a heated debate on whether Angelo, Ed, or Tiffanie was going to win.

Debate then turned to discussed frustration on the inability to cook pretty much anything seen on the aforementioned Bravo program. Any given dish on this series requires at least one key ingredient that is nowhere to be found in this village, this province, this country, let alone region of the world. If it doesn't consist of a base of onion, potato, carrot, or green bell pepper, I can pretty much guarantee you it can't be done. Don't get me wrong, I'll experiment and substitute until almost no stretch of the imagination can get you back to it's original identity, but I'll still make damn sure it tastes good.

Between Kat and another few foodies at camp, I've gotten my momentary fill of Paula Dean, Two Fat Ladies, and Tom Colicchio, followed by marathon viewing sessions of No Reservations and a late night screening of Julie & Julia.

I think I'm going to bake today.

Wet Hot Moroccan Summer! ... ish.

So after successfully hibernating in my house for 48 hours now, I have mustered the courage to combat this here blog and rejoin the land of the living. Huzzah! The need to hide out for a wee while in my humble abode was due to being on the road for just over three weeks - a little vaca, a little camp action, a little visit up to PC headquarters. The month of August had treated me pretty well, up until the start of Ramadan. With the help of some seriously sub-par food served towards the end of our camp extravaganza, my bowels and I were at war and decided to take cover once back in Sedona-miz, much to the chagrin of my host family, who has tried baiting me out of my fox hole for many a day now. Tomorrow, insha'allah, tomorrow.

Despite any gastrointestinal pyrotechnics I may have been dealing with, this last month has been one of my favourites here in country. I got to spend a lovely couple of days with some of my best friends in country down in Agadir just before camp started. We ate, we drank, we burned. Us white folks will never quite learn our lesson when it comes to pacing ourselves in the sun. Nevertheless, ice cream, cheeseburgers, and beer healed our summertime wounds and refueled our group morale just before the start of the last session of camp.

Now, I can't speak for anyone else, but I was a-feared going into session 4, Ramadan session, of camp. I'd heard some horror stories from previous sessions about inter-staff tension, inter-pcv tension, crap food, bratty city kids picking on our bled kids, the sub-par living conditions we had to look forward to. I may not have emitted it, but going in as co-coordinator of this session, I was definitely glass half empty. Hamdullah, was I wrong or what.

I don't think our camp could have gone smoother if we tried. Though there were a few minor things out of anyone's control - the barracks we were sleeping in, the humidity, and some inter-moroccan-staff issues - I can safely say all PCVs involved had a freaking blast. I couldn't believe how great the kids were during our session. With just over 80 total, half bled, half city, they got on like a house on fire and treated all of us counselors with respect and like friends. We had no issues between the most urban Casa kids and the most backwater rural kids. Everyone intensely bonded with their country teams and camp played out like we all hoped it would.

I was also pleased to find out how much I really enjoyed the company of the second year volunteers working with us. I had heard great things about all of them previous to arriving in El Jadida, but I didn't expect to bond with them as much as I did. It's a shame that within Peace Corps Morocco, we are all so separated from each other within the country. This was my first time meeting a few of them, and unfortunately, probably my last before they COS in November. A truly great group of people though, whose company I enjoyed very much - air guitar sessions, halloween dress-up, that's-what-she-said-ing, and 4am ftur-ing all included.

If you want to be in the correct mind set for picture viewing, I will refer you to these tunes as the happenstance soundtrack of summer camp:

Stromae - Alors on Dance, or what we PCVs commonly referred to as ' I LOVE DANCE ' complete with Night at the Roxbury head tilts.

Shakira - Waka Waka, this is like dance party GOOOOOLD in Morocco. This was played at least a handful of times any place I've been before, during, and after the World Cup. After learning the dance that goes along with it, us PCVs are an African force to be reckoned with.

The Isley Brothers - Shout!, us PCVs definitely performed this during the final show at camp, Duncan holding down the fort with lead vocals and us ladies working the ever present 'wooooooo' and 'shoobie doowa dowa wa wa wa'-s. Good times.

Ali, Audrey, me and Alli in Agadir

Shakira's 'Waka waka' in action

David, Alli, and myself in Essaouira at sundown

Beach time in Agadir

Beach time continued

A little Bohemian Rhapsody air guitar session never hurt anybody

Kid's lining up for announcements

United Arab Emirates Club in action

Legit boy band status during 'spectac' our last night at camp

Most of the PCV staff involved in session four

Rrose Selavy

Prepare yourself for a totally un-related to PC rant.

I had an unfortunate run-in with this yesterday. At an exhibition entitled 'Inside/Out' held by SHOP at SHOWstudio.com, Lady Gaga decided it was her place to contribute an original piece to an exhibition that focused on 'the idea of seeing inside ourselves, using body parts and internal organs as visual imagery'. By simple description of this show's expectations, it seemed appropriate enough Gaga could contribute some wack-a-doodle something-or-other with enough shock value to satisfy the press. However, she decided to tread on dangerous territory, one close to my heart.

Gaga took it upon herself to mimic and/or mock my favourite artist of the 20th century, a one Marcel Duchamp. Duchamp was a driving force behind the Dada movement, which thrived around the time of the first World War, roughly 1916-1922. An artistic, social, and cultural phenomena which was mostly labelled as irrational, illogical, and anti-art, was in my opinion, largely underestimated in it's intelligence and wit, Duchamp displaying both these qualities at their finest.

Though The Fountain of 1917 was never my favourite Duchamp piece ('The Bride Stripped Bare of Her Bachelors, Even' of 1915-23 (one which he wrote an extraordinary book analyzing) and 'Etant Donnes' of 1946-66 would hold that honour), the role it played in identifying what made art art, was crucial to what would come after it. By taking an everyday urinal, turning it on it's side and choosing to have it serve a different purpose, gave it it's freedom to become something else entirely. In his own words:

"Whether Mr Mutt made the fountain with his own hands or not has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view – created a new thought for that object." - Marcel Duchamp, 1917

The historical importance of it's creation was the most significant definition of art qualification until Brancusi's 'Golden Bird' of 1926. In short, Brancusi's sculpture had been sent to a buyer in America and was highly taxed due to it being deemed an import of raw material rather than a tax-free import of art. Thus, igniting a further dialogue of what qualifies art as being art. A mission Duchamp fought for the duration of his career.

So, as long winded as my point may be, for Lady Gaga to have the self-righteous arrogance to write 'I'm not fucking Duchamp but I love pissing with you' on the side of rotated urinal is just ridiculous. What's more frustrating is to think that if it had been someone else, anyone else really, Duchamp may have gotten a kick out of it himself. He was a fan of manipulating other's work after all -L.H.O.O.Q of 1919 - but this dumb pop-star I'm sure knows nothing of his career besides this single shocker, which I'm sure she's only seen on a postcard in a gift shop somewhere. I'll refer you to a few posts back when I displayed another one of her 'inspired' references.

Anyway, listen here Gaga, stick to your music. Keep dancing around in malleable pvc, making out with Alexander Skarsgard, and dying your hair until most of it seeps into your brain. I'm down with that. Just leave physical art out of it. It's not your forte. Leave my Marcel alone. Thank you.

Gaga's poor interpretation

Duchamp's The Fountain - 1917

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

I don't know how to pin-point it exactly, but I am one happy camper today. Could have something to do with this spectactular iced latte I've made myself (thank you Miss Allison Moss for the fantabulous suggestion), or maybe the couple of beers I had poolside yesterday? Fresh laundry on the roof drying? Hot but breezy weather whooshing in my bedroom window? Whatever the cause, it is a welcome change from the gloomsville mood I was in last week. Mrhaba crazy grin.

One thing that has put in me in this joyous mood is the state of all of my close friends' relationships. As a bit of background, starting around February, it seemed as if everyone I knew was getting engaged. Mind you, this is not an exaggeration. Literally all but one of my flatmates from University had rings on their fingers within weeks of each other. Then others slowly followed the trend, and before I knew it, as of today... nine of my uni friends are engaged. Not to mentioned the few that are already married, a couple that have kids, and some who've been together as long as I've known them. Just recently a friend shared with me she's picking up and moving country, making the good old grand gesture to be with her fella. Others just returning from a Filipino engagement extravaganza. And even though I live as far away as Africa, they continue to make the effort to keep me in the loop and involved in all of their romantic life-changing bliss. Which, by the way, this girl needs when her closest male companion is a dumbass, albeit goodlooking, kitten named Jeter. I'm so genuinely happy for all of you. Despite the initial questioning of my life choices (what the balls am I doing in a rural village in Africa? My friends have real jobs and fiances! I need to shower more...) I couldn't be more grateful to have what little involvement I do in my friends' happiness.

Another endorphin stimulator can be attributed to the brewing vacation plans I have for the rest of my service. Given I've only taken one out of country trip (6 days in London) and one in-country stint (3 days at Gnaoua), that leaves me with... 15 days for this year and all 24 for next. That's 39 days of awesome to look forward to. 20 of those are going to my Christmas trip home. Well, technically 13 will as I'm spending a few days before and a few days after (through New Year) in London. Yay! I had contemplated not going home, and then only going for a short while. But as it's recently been decided my folks won't be heading out here next year, I decided to spend more time with them now. Plus, the brother will be in Iraq starting September, so I think a good dose of their daughter will do them good.

As for next Spring, I'll be heading to East Africa! After almost being wooed into a West Africa trip with Felicie (which I would have loved to do) an old friend from London told me he got a placement doing economic development work in Ethiopia starting this September. Ding, ding! We have a winner. So slowly but surely, I'll be convincing Ravi to not only let me visit (luckily the invitation was there as soon as he found out), but to accompany me through Kenya to Uganda and Rwanda, ending up in Burundi where his friend also has a placement. Let the plotting begin. I couldn't be more excited to cross some of my 'top 10 countries to visit' qualifiers off my list. Long has this little girl dreamed of going to Uganda and Rwanda, so if any of you have contacts, friends, or know other PCVs there, let me know! I'd be more than grateful.

The last bit of my vaca time will be a week at the end of July in Scotland for my best friend's wedding. I couldn't be more ecstatic for something that is, well, almost exactly a year from today. I could get all gushy about how much I love them and how I'll be able to see all my uni friends as this will be a reunion of sorts, and what I'll be wearing and... but I'll save that as I'm sure they'll be many future posts including those details and emotions as the time gets closer. And though it is a whole year away, I've been in Morocco for almost a year now and that time has seriously flown, so I'm sure it'll be here before I know it.

So as thrilled as I am to be in this oven of a country right now, times do get tough, so I'm happy to have these check points to look forward to. It makes the isolation seem less lonely and the time here less infinite. Now all I have to do is get my friends to cement their plans to come out here. Though as of last night, my good friend Heather will be coming at the end of October, so three cheers to that!

Wedding Season

I'll have you know that while sitting on my bed typing this, I have sweat dripping from the back of knees down my thighs, from my neck down my what passes as cleavage, and from the small of my back down, well, just down. I have two frozen water bottles at my sides and a fan about 12 inches from my face. Hello 110 degree late afternoons in Sedona-miz. Which to be honest, isn't all that bad, I just need to wash my clothes (and sheets) way more often. However, it's the nights that are the real killer, it only gets down to about 90, mid-80s if we're lucky. Though, unfortunately, I don't have the worst of it. Those volunteers further south than I, over the Atlas, are at least 10 to 15 degrees hotter than we sort-of-south folks. Tip of the hat to their survival techniques.

Anyway this past roasting mid-July weekend was a whirlwind of activity that has now, alhamdulilah, come to an end and will be followed by about three weeks of pretty much nothing before camp begins. Las week I was invited along to my host-cousins wedding in a tiny, like 10 house village east of Marrakech. We arrived Friday morning welcomed buy numerous Aunts and small children all lounging around the house chatting and catching up on the latest gossip. After copious amounts of (mostly bread) eating the Henna application began, done by a special lady hired in for specifically 'Mrrakshi' henna - a more angular, detailed pattern than the traditional flowery, curvy design you typically see. We then napped, ate, and food prepped through the super toasty afternoon before heading out on a walk around the village.

A few of the children, my host brother, host aunt, and host cousin walked me around the property and to the various wells and water sources. It was a perfectly beautiful evening in the middle of nowhere and I thoroughly enjoyed the company. When we returned to the house I was hoping for a quick dinner and maybe sleepy-time as we'd woken up at 6am that morning in preparation to leave. No such luck as more arrivals would be coming through the night and dinner was to be had at midnight... or only 11pm old-time as that's what this particular village runs on. As you would expect, being tired, hungry, and sweaty, I had my grumpy pants on that evening and was slowly losing my ability to keep my game face on. As midnight approached the kind women were beckoning me to sleep on their laps outside on the floor as we waited, I politely declined and attempted the perma-smile until sleep.

Once the food was consumed and I was allowed to retire to the salon and a welcoming ponj, I realized I was not alone... not only was there a frog attempting to share my room with me, a black massive bug/scorpion/beetle thing was attempting to share my bra. I'm well aware there's room down there for the little guy, but a 1am freak out as I'm squealing and shoving my hand down my mumu isn't the kind of goal 3 cultural exchange I was planning on. Bleurgh.

As the sun rose on wedding day I awoke to 40 chickens being gutted and cleaned outside the window, assembly line style by the women of the family. I nudged my host brother, asleep at my feet, and we stumbled out of the sauna-esque room towards the coffee. Once awake and dressed I had the honour of accompanying the bride to be with a couple other lady family members to the coiffeurs to get their hair and makeup done. After a two-hour set back (another wedding party was already in there) and a quick nap at her aunts, we returned to the glory of Moroccan nuptial preparation.

Now here might come a controversial statement: I can't stand the traditional Moroccan wedding get-up. The Korean drag queen make-up, the alien bee-hive, the gold-painted (note: not gold-plated) plastic tiaras... it kills me. Moroccan women are some of the most beautiful women on the entire planet, my host cousin seriously one of the most beautiful among them, so to have her be slathered over with layers of whitening foundation and cheap tranny eyeshadow? Breaks my heart. This day should be about looking your most beautiful in front of all of your family and new husband to be, not looking like a paint-by-number sheet filled in by one of those 'talented' Asian painting elephants.

Anyway, after finishing up at the salon, we returned to the house to find at least a hundred more people there than when we left, and lots of getting ready happening every where. After a minor freak-wind-storm accident (orange-mocha-frappaccinos!), we got dressed, ate some deliiiiiiiiicious food (I LOVE Moroccan wedding food) and then we pretty much danced until dawn. Amidst at least five costume changes from the new couple (love that tradition), the family dragged my butt up to the dance floor, and much to the surprise of the locals, white girl has got some moves! After being mostly ignored for the first hour by the 300 some-ought guests there, this girl busted out some butt moving and shoulder shimmying and was swiftly passed around like the neighbourhood bicycle. Everyone wanted a piece. So, thus, by 5am I was ready to kill myself due to exhaustion and dehydration and was happy for the hour and a bit direct car ride home. A car that actually had seatbelts! Which I ignored so I could lay down and get some much needed shut-eye before arrival back in Sedona-miz. As, wouldn't you know, we had a soccer camp to hold that afternoon... Stay tuned for an update on that.

Official moment as he slips the ring on her finger

Host cousin, host sister, happy couple, myself, and host aunt during celebrations

Host brother strolling through the family land

Brother and I amongst the (not-so) wildlife

Hanging out around the house courtyard