10.19.2007

July 7, 1994

Rabat

I would like to say that this whole experience could be written down, that this Peace Corps experience is documented, but I know always pieces and parts will pass in my memory, pass over these pages unwritten.

Our second day we left this safe haven compound to go into the city and I haven’t wanted to leave since, afraid of the culture and language I will face. Today in our cross cultural training we were sent on a scavenger hunt out into Rabat and given a certain task in groups of four. My group was to check out the fruits and vegetables in the market.

We went all through the medina. We couldn’t find any fruit or vegetable stands so Rhonda said she heard we should walk down one of the urban alleyways just to experience it. It was a winding maze of three story buildings. You can stand in the middle of the alley and touch both walls on either side. I was claustrophobic and exhilarated at the same time.

We walked through a maze of cobblestone alleys and girls peeking from inside cracked doors that led to empty rooms with beautifully colored and patterned tiled walls and floors.

Children played with balls. There was a huge dead rat off to the side and two scooters passed by us. I saw huge wooden and metal doors with little small square slots as windows. The street signs are plaques on the corners of the buildings. In the inner medina are so many shops: clothing stores, jewelry shops, spices, dishes, shoes, leather bags and wallets. There were stores upon stores of spools and thread. There were men with turbans, no shoes, and fancy shoes. Women were fully veiled, or in shorts, blind and begging, or in business suits with a purpose. Small girls held small girls on their backs, strapped in by a cloth wrapped around them. Old women walked with large bags of grain balanced perfectly on the tops of their heads.

As we walked out of the narrow street the chanter was chanting his prayer over all of Rabat, his Arabic prayer, and people were going about as if ignoring. I wondered if they were supposed to stop and pray or anything, because it didn’t appear that they were listening. As we walked about down this larger street, Maya stopped me to look at a building with large open doors. Men and women were hurriedly walking up to the doors, taking off their shoes, smoothly and effortlessly picking them up and walking in. I was seeing a mosque at prayer time and realized I was not allowed in.

There is so much going on around this compound. We live at a teacher university, not like one we’re used to. There are about 100 people living on campus: 40 staff and 72 trainees. There are seven rooms and one bathroom on each wing and two people per room. Our rooms have four beds, two mattresses, a desk and a chair. We have a window without glass. Looking through the iron bars, I see the courtyard with an empty fountain in the middle.

Laundry is done by local women using a washboard and hung to dry. We have a cook that cooks our meals. There are basketball, volleyball, and soccer courts. There is no air conditioning anywhere and god knows how much money the United States government is paying to send us here and have us live. We got paid 100 dirhams ($11) Monday and get 200 dirhams for the next week.

The Arabs answer for everything is “if God wills it.” Everything happens if God wills it and nothing can be expected until it happens. That is why they have time for everything. I have never seen so many men sitting outside of cafes at all times of the day and doing nothing. I wonder how all the women feel and picture them tired and sweating, cleaning, cooking, taking care of children, while these men, sipping their mint teas, whistle as I walk by.

Do all people honk their horns in Morocco? I was told that they don’t, but when we women walk the streets, the horns honk, the men whistle and click, making their sexual comments. Even the little boys have picked up on it. It is harassment and I’m not flattered.

Two weeks ago on the streets of Austin, with an ego from hell, I strutted past a group of bums on the drag. I wore a black tank top showing my tan arms. As I walked by them without looking, they stared and whistled. I heard a deep voice say, “That’s a job and a half there.”

I smiled. I smile now. Men are the same.

I had my first trip Tuesday to a Moroccan bar. We were the only women. Sitting on the patio and on the inside, the men with beers in hand watched intently the TV. in the corner. At one point they all jumped up screaming and dancing around because Nigeria had just played well in the World Cup. Sports and men are the same everywhere.

I will end tonight on this note. I am listening to Counting Crows and the air is cool outside near this dim light in the courtyard. The stars are out and once, on a porch in Austin, Texas, the air was cool and the stars were out. “Anna Begins” was playing then as it is now. Andrew and I were not falling in love because we were not ready for this sort of thing and I am not worried and I am not overly concerned.

I'm going where?

July 6, 1994 Rabat training

I’m fine and healthy now. I still have some snot but no shits. I’ve even used the water to brush my teeth. Pretty soon I’ll be able to drink it.

I had two shots today and two yesterday. We get Hepatitis A and B, Typhoid, MMR, Rabies, Gamigoblin, any maybe more. I don’t know, about 13 shots altogether over the next week. Then we get them every three months.

I haven’t had jetlag too bad, but I did have a hangover from the New York flight to Brussels. It was our first bonding experience, which we all regretted later. Brian was tipped $7 from these Europeans because he took over the stewards’ jobs as bartender. The stewards even gave him his wings.

Arabic classes started today. The teachers are wonderful. It starts at 8 am sharp, lasting until 12:30. I have no problems waking up, for the sun rises around five and the roosters are crowing even before that. Every morning around 4 I hear the first call to prayer that shouts over the city.

Rabat is very modern, though there’s rarely air conditioning. I went into the city with 3 girls and I was surprised how little harassment we got. I only got harassed when I accidentally left my sunglasses up when walking out of a store. My beaux yeux can get me into trouble.

We went to the King’s father’s tomb. There’s a huge garden on the inside with every color flower you can imagine. I saw my first oranges on trees. There was a wonderful cafe there, too, overlooking the bay of the ocean.

I will be sent to one of two remote villages outside of a medium size city, where they’ve never had foreigners live before. I’ll be in the way-way boonies, more remote than I even thought. I will be speaking the Tashlheit dialect of Berber and can expect six months before I feel any comfort.

Yes, I’m scared. I have hives and am afraid to leave this safe, walled-in compound even to walk across the street. But soon enough, I will have to. Tomorrow we have a scavenger hunt that forces us to go into the city. Also, this weekend we have a small group trip to some other part of Morocco. Our Arabic teachers are taking us until Monday.

Pimpin' bus

July 4th, 12:52pm Rabat

We’re on a pimpin' bus with red velvet seats and a white draped cloth with Arabic phrases hangs between us and the driver. Ace of Base's "I saw the sign" is blaring out of the speakers, and roses upon roses of red and yellow are outside the window in the courtyard of this airport.

As we drive from Casablanca to Rabat, the land is flat and dry. The road is paved blacktop. There are rectangular mud houses along the road and more people on donkeys than in vehicles.

July 3, 1994

After a 15 page application and a three hour interview with scare tactics...after all six of my references have completed their many pages about me and sent them in...after the medical exam, the dental exam, the many more papers and pages sent and received to try and weed out the weak...after nine long months during my senior year at the university, waiting and waiting for an answer for the process to be done, I finally receive my invitation to join the United States Peace Corps and serve for two years in Morocco. I call my mother exhilirated and dumbfounded, hardly able to breathe.

"I'm going to Morocco!"
"Monaco?"
"No, Morocco. Where is Morocco?"

New York

We are checking out of our room in an hour and meeting in the lobby to head out for the airport. One woman in her thirties, I hear, is going back home. She met a man a couple months ago and won‘t leave him.

I could have done this. I could have attached on to someone and done the same thing, but by damn I will be on that plane out of here. I want to tell this woman that she’s going to regret it. All the “what if I would have gones” will linger for the rest of her life.

There is nothing to be afraid of here; seventy-two people all in the same clueless boat. I was talking to a girl Erica last night as we walked down restaurant row on Hampton Beach. It is amazing that there are so many of us and that we’re all hanging out like this not knowing anything about the next person except that we will all look back on this shared experience two years from now. Though we don’t know each other, we will inevitably know each other, and there’s no way around it.

American Airlines Flight 98 departs at 7:00 pm for Brussels onto Casablanca, Morocco.
The adventure is beginning. Through all of this waiting I am finally here.

8:30 pm

Perhaps I have a little buzz now as I sit on this plane. I know that I’m here and I know where I’m going but the reality of the absence of all the people I have ever known and make up who I am? The absence of them is slowly sinking in as I cross this ocean. The reality of the time period that I will be overseas is overwhelming me now, though most of my nervousness, I thought, was a couple of weeks ago. Maya said it well: I feel like a deer right in headlights.

Here starts the roller coaster. We’re creeping up the first hill.
Training starts Wednesday. We have four and a half hours of language classes six days a week.