I believe it is obvious to all that I am not so great at this blog thing. There is no real reason why I don't update as often as I should. However, the more time passes, the less motivation I have to actually write about my life in Morocco. Atlas, the time has come when I've downed 2 cups of coffee, and have forced myself to sit and update my friends and family. It's been months since my last post, so let me try to break it down for you.
My grant for my woman’s' center was approved. It took a few months to hear back, but I finally received the funds to make the project a possibility. Starting things from scratch is not always easy, and this has been proven to me over and over again. Ever since I told my association our grant was approved, MANY problems have arose. First, they told me it wasn't enough money. The frustrating part about this is that they think I can just call up the Peace Corps and ask for more. It's difficult to explain to anybody about the grant writing process. The hours I spent writing up the proposal, the days it took to get an accurate budget using this strange foreign language, and talking to community members about an action plan. After withholding my sudden urge to throw rocks at their children and taking MANY deep breathes, I did my best to explain that was not possible. I am certain that $5000 is enough to build a 1 room center, and told them this is all we have and must work with it. The second issue was finding a space to build. The only land available is literally a rock cliff where they have to bulldoze the land to flatten it. However, the bulldozer isn't cheap, and wasn't included in the budget, so we had to figure an alternative, which I think was decided last week. Third is that now it is summer. It is time for the harvest, and Ramadan is only a few weeks away. Therefore most of the men who will be building this center are too busy to begin at the moment. That and the fact that my counterpart is gone for the summer, I highly doubt we will begin building until September. At first I was disappointed and exceedingly frustrated. However, I accepted the fate of my project, told myself it was out of my hands and I literally did everything I could have possibly done, and haven't let it bother me since. Such is life.
In addition to this project, I started a girls club that I LOVE! We meet 4-5 days a week. I teach them English, talk about empowerment issues, and they also color. Every day right on schedule the girls bang on my door, with their notebooks and motivation to learn, and tell me the classroom is ready. The other day all the classrooms were locked so I held class in my tiny house. After we finished I turned on some Daddy Yankee and started dancing, mainly moving in a way that a girl shouldn't in a Muslim society. They mocked everything I did, so I started to booty pop. It was by far the funniest thing I've seen in my site. Thirteen young girls in their scarves and long skirts, booty popping to reggaeton. I'm certain it is something they will never forget, nor will I. It's moments like these in a Peace Corps service one has to cherish.
At the end of May began my summer of fun. Part one: One of my best friends from college, Brian, and his lovely girlfriend, Lauren, came to visit me. The visit was only a few days, but it was absolutely wonderful to see them. I think the funniest part for them was to watch me speak Tashlheet. They even took a video of me bargaining. It was amazing to show people I love from home around Morocco. Part two: Visiting Spain with my dad and little brother, Matthew. We stayed in an apartment with a washing machine, ate ridiculous amounts of cheese and pork, and just sat around together while drinking beer and wine. Matthew and I went out on the town with some people I met on the airplane as well. We drank beer in the center, and went to clubs where we shook our booties until 3am. Words cannot describe how refreshing it was to be around my family. It was heavenly. The only regret I have is that I didn't hug my dad enough. Part three: This will be happening next week. Something I'd like to call my dream vacation. My wonderful friend Sara, who lives in Abu Dhabi, is getting married in the Maldives in 2 weeks. She asked me to be her maid of honor. I will be flying to Abu Dhabi for a few days to hang with her, then we fly to the Maldives for a week for her wedding. I will be staying on an island resort where I'll lay on the beach, drink mimosas before noon, and my biggest worry for the day will be whether I want to go diving in the morning of afternoon.(for those interested I will be staying here: kuredu.com)  After this I am meeting my friend Hanna, who I volunteered with in Honduras, and we will explore India for a little over a week. For as long as I can remember, India has been my top travel destination. I couldn't be more excited that my dream is becoming a reality and I get to share it with Hanna. So yea, lots of good things ahead!
May 25th marked my 1 year anniversary as an official Peace Corps Volunteer. Now the countdown to coming home begins. Only 10 months left, and I know they will go by quickly. I remember 2nd year volunteers telling me many months ago that you just have to get through the first year, survive through all the BS, and your 2nd year is your gift. Now that I am at this point of my service, it makes sense. Through all the tears, overwhelming feelings of self doubt, frustration, homesickness, coupled with Veronica Mars TV marathons and devouring way too many candies sent to me in care packages, life here has suddenly become easier. I'm not saying every day is rainbows and puppies, but Morocco has become familiar, and the anxiety of stepping out my front door has slowly faded.
I often like to reflect on how much I've learned since arriving to Morocco in March 2011. I think that the most important thing I've learned thus far is patience. Sitting and waiting for hours for a bus to arrive does not faze me. There are times where I just stare at my wall, and am completely content. I've also learned to not feel so guilty. One thing Peace Corps drills in your head during training is to be as social as possible. I used to feel like the worst volunteer if instead of having tea with my community, I would sit in my house all day and watch an entire season of Dexter while eating ungodly amounts of popcorn. However, now that I am completely comfortable in my tiny village, and have developed strong relationships with much of my community, I allow myself to stay inside every now and then, guilt free. Another thing I have noticed is that I am no longer the strange foreign girl living by herself. I am just Leila (my Moroccan name). This, I believe, to be a great achievement. Two of the three Peace Corps goals are to help promote a better understanding of the American people AND to help promote a better understanding of others to American people. It took me a while to believe that having tea and going to the fields with my community was actually work. As Americans, we often need something tangible to measure our levels of success. This is one reason why the first year for many volunteers is so challenging. There is nothing we can actually touch to show us our job well done. However, these past few months I've noticed people that I've never spoken to greeting me by my first name, children stand on the hills in my village as I'm walking home yelling for me to come have tea with their families, and whenever somebody cooks cous cous, I'm always invited, as everybody knows it's my favorite. So, maybe my woman’s center project isn't going as smooth as I hoped thus far, however, whenever I feel frustrated and wish my mom was here to rub my head and tell me it's going to be alright, I step outside, revel in the serenity of my village, and enjoy the moment. Because before I know it, 10 months will have passed, I will be back in America the beautiful, and my life will never be as simple as it is now.

February, Morocco, emotions, grants, and animal slaughters

            It’s hard to believe that it’s almost been a year since I arrived in Morocco. I remember the beginning months of my service and not being able to see the end. Thinking that May 2013 would never come and that the next 2 years would literally be spent not being able to communicate and drinking too much tea (while accumulating a few more cavities). However, I am finally starting to feel comfortable here, and, dare I say, it feels like home. Sure, I still get frustrated when the kids in my village ‘bon jour’ me even though they know damn well I’m not French, or those days that I wait hours for transportation, and I’m especially exhausted from being so cold I can see my breath in my house. I am also getting tired of this rollercoaster of emotions I’d like to call ‘My life as a PCV’ but overall, I feel that I am at a very good point in my service.

A few weeks back I went up north to a training to speak to the newer volunteers. I know I say this a lot, and I’ll keep saying this, but I HATE traveling in this country. The waiting, the inconsistency, the harassment, it’s exhausting. To get home I stop off the main road, take a 45 minute taxi ride to the center of my site, then I either walk an hour or if I’m lucky, I catch a ride to my village. On my journey back to my site from the training, I was exhausted, smelly, and irritated from spending hours on a bus and train when I finally stopped off the main road. Immediately my feelings of frustration faded when the cute butcher gave me a chair to sit at his shop while I waited for a taxi. Once I caught a taxi and made it to the center of my site, I ran to the vegetable man who lives in my village to see if he was still around. When I saw him cleaning up, I yelled his name in excitement, and asked him if he would take me home, as that walk in the dark would most likely result in me getting bit by a rabid dog. He laughed and took me home minutes later. It felt so good to be home. It’s nice I am finally feeling this way about my site.

 Yet, there continue to be days where feelings of homesickness are overwhelming, and I stay inside to eat tootsie rolls or an entire box of Mac and Cheese mixed with bacon bits (thank god for care packages) and watch ‘Breaking Bad’ or whatever TV obsession I have that week. The other day, I was on Facebook and I was looking at a page my friends from college started for events and such. As I was looking at this, and realizing all the times I was going to continue to miss out on, I cried. Now, I can probably name very few times since being here that I’ve cried, but there is no denying how much it pains me that I will miss out on being with my loved ones back home. No need to worry, this cry was short lived. And yes, this was one moment where I ate 15 tootsie rolls in the matter of 5 minutes. Don’t judge.

            Last week I finally submitted my first grant proposal to build a women’s center in my village. I am fortunate enough to have found English speaking counterparts to work with, however, the most challenging part of this whole process was getting a legit budget. Since my counterpart is a teacher, he left for 2 weeks for vacation. During this time I was left all by my lonesome to meet with people and get a price list for all materials that are to be needed. Getting this budget took me about a week, usually of me going out everyday and finding Mohamed, or Hamid, or Mostafa, or Rashid, or some other Moroccan name to get an answer. This, mind you, was all done in Tashlheet. I would walk around with my Tash dictionary and all my papers just to find the right person who could give me an answer. The majority of the time I would ask somebody where the person was I was looking for that day, then they would write the name down in Arabic, and I would continue walking around showing this piece of paper to whomever I passed until I was successful in my mission. After getting a budget, I spent about a week writing up the grant. I should hear back from the organization in a few weeks if my grant has been accepted. Fingers crossed.

            About 2 weeks ago I went to another festival with animal slaughtering where Angelica and I witnessed the massacre of 6 cows. Then we went to a friend’s house and ate delicious tajine and pasta with tea and nuts. I know this is going to sound absurd, but I love me any Moroccan holiday where an animal is slaughtered because whatever I am going to be fed is going to be DA BOMB! Pictures are posted on Facebook, with a warning in case you’re not in the mood to see dead and bloody cows. I have a video of the slaughtering as well, but I didn’t think too many people would appreciate that.

            Now that my grant has been submitted and my weeks of being consistently busy have faded, I am trying to find ways to entertain myself. That’s the thing about life as a PCV, there are days when you are so busy you barely have time to fit in one episode of Dexter, and then there are days when you go through an entire season way too quickly. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming a lot. Most of these thoughts are spent on FOOD! What I would give for Ben and Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, my moms’ lasagna, my Magrandes’ tacos, BACON, loaded nachos, thin mints, sushi, a killer breakfast made by my older brother, greasy happy hour food, oh and a Blue Moon. I would kick a small Moroccan child in the face for a tall glass of Blue Moon. Until that fateful day when I step foot on beautiful US soil, I’ll have to continue life as I do, not eating these foods. Is it May 2013 yet because I’m starving????

Madrid and post Madrid reflections

            After 11 days of debauchery in Spain for the holidays, I have returned home to my quiet little village. Spain (aside from the robbery) was fantastic. The minute we landed we all felt free and giddy, away from Muslim norms, and back to the comforts of the Western world. We ate tons of pork, delicious cheeses, and of course, drank decent amounts of beer and vodka. It felt amazing to go to a bar, not be the only women there who weren’t prostitutes, and to not get harassed by perverted men. It’s been 10 months since I arrived to Morocco, and I easily forgot what the world outside was like. I wore whatever clothes I wanted, put on make-up, and spoke a language I easily understood. There were times where I felt I could skip through the streets of Madrid, enjoying the fact that I was in a country where drinking at noon was a norm and that I wasn’t getting harassed by every man who walked by. Christmas day was spent lounging around our beautiful apartment, eating (lots of bacon and cheese of course), and then ending the night watching ‘Love Actually.’ Our apartment didn’t have wifi, however, I thought it was probably better to not talk to my family on Christmas day, as I figured it would depress me. New Years Eve was pure insanity, as most everybody went out to the center, wore crazy wigs, ate grapes at the stroke of midnight (a Spanish tradition), then stayed out until all hours of the night bar hopping. It wasn’t the same as going to Prescott with my Wildcat crew, but I still had an incredible time. Although it was sad to leave Madrid, I felt that by the end of the vacation, it was time to get back to Morocco.

            Being in Madrid has made me reflect on my life here in Morocco. The truth of it is that as a country, Morocco is not fun. There really isn’t much to do, and when volunteers get together, it’s usually a group of us sitting in a hotel room, drinking crappy vodka or wine (or both), and maybe venturing out to the closest prostitution bar where we boogie to really bad music. There are other times when we just sit with each other in our houses, and talk for hours on end. As a result, we may know each other too well and we have to make our own fun. This has been an obvious challenge for me, because, as most of you know, I really like to have fun. However, I have come to the realization that being here, in a Muslim country, is probably the best thing for me. I have a lot of time to think, reflect, and learn about things I would otherwise never learn, and have even began to think of this as my own personal rehab. I have realized how lucky I am, being an American woman, and having opportunities like attending college, traveling, and marrying whomever I want (if I so choose to even get married). I am also lucky enough to have some of my closest friends only a few kilometers away from me, so if I do need an American outlet, it’s only a short walk away. There will be no other point in my life where I will have this much time for myself, and instead of dwelling on the fact that I have a year and a half until I am back home with my loved once, I instead am going to embrace this experience and enjoy all it’s quirks. I still have a lot to learn about life, and what better way to do it than with this once in a life time experience?            

            Although I am here to help the people in my village, I have also realized that I have a lot to learn from them. Life is much slower here, which has therefore forced me to develop more patience. Sitting and waiting has become an every day part of my life, and I am surprisingly okay with it. Also, the kindness of the people in my village continues to astound me. I can barely communicate with them, yet they still care about me. If I say I’m sick, an hour later somebody is knocking at my door with soup they made for me. If I need help carrying something to my house, nobody hesitates to stop what they are doing to help me. I often think that if this were the US, and a strange foreigner arrived and did not speak an ounce of English, hardly anybody I know would give them the time of day. So yes, I often get annoyed with the backwards mentality of the people here, and still don’t understand how they can eat and do the same thing every single day. However, there is a lot to be said about a group of people who fight for me to go to their houses for tea or lunch, even if I can barely have a conversation with them.

            On a side note, I have a funny story. I went to my neighbors’ house yesterday for couscous (couscous every single Friday. It’s delicious) and when I tried to leave, she told me I had to stay for something. Moments later, a large group of women came over and laid out a mat. Next to the mat was a pot of cooked corn kernels. I had no idea what was going on, but was intrigued and decided to stay. Then they took about 3 or 4 children, set them on the mat, and placed a silver bracelet and a block of sugar on top of their heads. After that they took a large heaping spoon of corn, and poured it all over them. They told me that this was supposed to give the kids healthy teeth. Never mind the massive amounts of sugar they put in their tea, or the fact that they give babies sugar cubes to suck on, but a shower of corn will do the trick.

            Although it’s good to be back, I can’t help but wonder when my next get away will be. There are some volunteers who are planning on doing St. Patty’s day in Ireland, but I doubt my liver and lack of funds can handle it. Radiohead will be in Berlin the beginning of July, but I have a feeling I’m going to need something sooner than that. My closest planned vacation will be in July, when I go to the Maldives to attend my beautiful friend Sara’s wedding, as her maid of honor (sooooo excited!). July can not come soon enough, so if anybody feels the need for a European vacation, holler at your girl J

           

Hope you all had a fantastic holiday. Sending my love all the way from Morocco. 

Leigh Anne