3/27/10 How To Open A Door 101

This afternoon, 4 of the 5 PCVs who will lead the Spring Break English Language Immersion Camp here in Morocco’s “Emerald City” arrived on site at the welcome center. After a warm welcome, our gracious hosts showed us into our prepared and freshly cleaned accommodations. We gladly shucked our bags, checked out the gorgeous views from the windows, and tried to figure out the slightly rattle-y lock. I made sure all the knobs turned smoothly and that the lock could be opened with the key before I closed the door. Confident that everything worked, I shut the door gently and tried the lock again.

The bolt slid as smoothly as ever.

Which made it hard to figure out why the door wouldn’t open.

At all.

After a few minutes wherein we each tried the lock a few times, our fearless leader, Sprinks, figured it out: the small slip-latch, that should turn with the doorknob, was caught.

Because there’s no doorknob.

We could overlook the lack of plumbing attached to the toilet, the hopelessly clogged bathroom drain, the bug corpses squished against every wall of the kitchen…but the missing doorknob felt like a dealbreaker.

Sprinks crawled out a window, spidermanned her way around a ledge to the door landing, and hopped down so she stood outside our door.

Turns out there’s no doorknob on the outside, either.

She went in search of our gracious hosts, who brought a variety of tools, sticks, and toys that they tried to use to twist the knob-hole and free us.

None worked.

Oh, some succeeded in twisting the hole, but that didn’t budge the latch.

Nothing did.

After the third day of our lock-in (OK, yes, I’m kidding, it was something less than half an hour), they took a crowbar to the door and used it to shove the doorjam far enough over to free the latch. We promptly taped it down with half a dozen pieces of electrical tape, so it’ll never catch the door again. Inshallah…

3/24/10 Peace Corps Swag/Flair/Loot/Merch

I've gotten a couple of questions about buying Peace Corps stuff.

The government is a little tetchy about who gets to use the official Peace Corps logo (which is why it appears nowhere on my blog... ::sigh::), but apparently they've licensed it to CafePress, who has splashed it on mugs, teeshirts, duffel bags, etc. They also have a few dozen other designs, including baby clothes marked "Future Peace Corps Volunteer" and simple ovals with PCV and RPCV.

Proceeds from sales of this Peace Corps swag/flair/loot/merch (apparently the slang term for "official merchandise featuring your emblem of choice" varies depending on your part of the country) benefit the National Peace Corps Association, a non-profit that offers various services to PCVs and RPCVs.

So if you're looking to flash around the Peace Corps name and/or logo, to show your support for your favorite PCV or to encourage future Volunteers or what have you...happy shopping. :)

3/10/10 Word of the Day: rizzo

As has been the pattern for the past few weeks, I never get to have all three connectivity keys – electricity, internet rizzo, and cell phone rizzo – at the same time. Right now, I have electricity but neither network, so I’m typing this entry into my laptop in hopes that I’ll be able to post it sometime soon. Soonish. Well, whenever, really. =/

So what is this “rizzo”?

It’s actually one of the many words that Tam has borrowed from Darija (Moroccan Arabic), which in turn stole it outright from French.

Originally, the word was réseau, meaning network. But as wireless technology has leapfrogged landline technology out here, as it has in so many third-world countries, rizzo has taken on new shades of meaning. Moroccans will ask if there is rizzo the way an American would ask a friend if they have “signal” or “coverage” – that is, if there are any bars of connectivity visible on their cell phone.

Is illa rizzo? Is there rizzo?

Eyyah, illa shwiya. Yeah, there’s a little. (ie, I have two or three bars out of five)

My internet connection runs through a dialup connection, but I don’t actually have a phone line. I have a small phone that’s not plugged into anything (well, except the wall, for electricity). It has a built-in antenna that sends a signal to the radio tower perched next to the cell phone company’s tower, on the hill just east of town. If the antenna from my “landline” (now there’s a misnomer) can see the radio tower, and if the radio tower itself has electricity, then that tower sends a signal up to a satellite, and just like that, my little lappy can talk to the outside world. I have “internet rizzo”.

Similarly, if my cell phone can talk to the cell tower, and the cell tower has enough electricity to talk to its satellite, my little snickers bar cell phone can talk to the outside world. (Or even to the cell phone of my friends next door.) I have cellphone rizzo.

Both towers have power generators, so sometimes they work even when there’s no electricity. And my phone, laptop, and cell all have their own batteries, so sometimes I can still be in communication when the power is out.

But this past few weeks, possibly because of the incessant wind/snow/wind/rain storms (and yes, I put wind in there twice – the winds have been at least twice as powerful and twice as common as precipitation in any form), none of the three – electricity, cell rizzo, or internet rizzo – have been dependable.

Oh, and the cycling of the powerouts appears to have zapped my laptop’s battery for once and for all. My lappy is now insisting that it doesn’t *have* a battery, which is a worrying sign, to say the least…

Ooh, hey, cell rizzo just came back! OK, I’m off to shoot a message to a buddy… Bye!

2/20/10 COS Timeline

For the past two years, my service has been ticking forwards. Now, everyone has started counting backwards – counting down till we Stamp Out on May 19^th, 2010 (inshallah).

T-90 Days:

• Last chance to change your Home-Of-Record address
• Last chance to request an early COS date
• Last chance to request an extension of service

Within the last 90 Days

• Final Language Proficiency Test
• COS Physical Examination (usually referred to as “COS Meds”)
• Exit Interview with Country Director

T-81 Days

• Description Of Service (DOS) Initial Draft due to Program Manager

T-75 Days

• Last chance to change your Home-Of-Record address

T-50 Days

• Description of Service (DOS) Final Draft due to Program Manager

T-3 Days

72-hour checkout begins

Final Medical Clearance

T-0 …Ignition…Blastoff!

We stamp out. Our service officially ends. Welcome to RPCV status.

T+30 Days

CorpsCare Health Insurance, as provided free by Peace Corps, runs out. If you want health insurance after this, pay up.

T+60 Days or whenever you return to US soil, whichever comes first

Peace Corps Life Insurance expires. (For those folks who signed up for it, and had a few bucks pulled out of each month’s readjustment allowance to pay for it.)

T+90 Days

Peace Corps Passport expires. (Not legally – it’s good for years – but officially, we’re supposed to return them to PC/Washington. I’m not sure why, exactly. What’s wrong with letting RPCVs travel on a perfectly valid passport?)

T+18 months

CorpsCare Health Insurance expires

T+forever

Continue Goal 3 work – sharing Moroccan culture with Americans.

2/17/10 Peace Corps Health Care

While you’re a PCV, all health care costs are fully covered. Medications for pre-existing conditions [as long as you have it documented on your Peace Corps application!], visits to PCMO or any other doctor/dentist in the country (as long as PCMO OK’s it first), even airfare back to the US if you need to be MedEvac’d – whatever. It’s all covered during your service.

The fine print, according to the official paperwork:

A comprehensive immunization, prevention, and health maintenance program. Health support in country, including all necessary care for new conditions and accepted pre-existing conditions that are exacerbated or aggravated by Peace Corps service. [Footnote: Peace Corps provides initial care for all medical cnditions. Trainees or Volunteers with pre-existing conditions not disclosed to Peace Corps as part of medical clearance process are subject to medical or administrative separation. FECA benefits may not be available for these conditions.]

Emergency medical services anywhere in the world at any time.

Short term care for diagnosis and stabilization prior to medical separation when the Volunteer will be unable to return to duty within 45 days of a medevac or when the condition can not be accommodated overseas.

But what happens after you COS?

There’s a two-fold answer.

1) For the first six months after COS (or after you’re MedSep’d or AdSep’d or ET):

Peace Corps Health Benefits Program AKA127c Care AKA Seven Corners AKA Humana Choice Care [because it’s provided through the Humana Choice care Network]

This covers evaluations, testing, and lab work for Peace Corps related injuries/conditions, including dental, optical, counseling… The idea here is that any lingering issues that were caused by your service are covered just as fully as if you were still in-country.

The catch: You really really really should get it diagnosed in-country. PCMO will give you a form – a 209B or 127c form – that says, in effect, “Yup, this happened here, and she needs continuing attention in the US.” Without a 127c, it can be bloody hard to get it paid for. Even crazy things like parasites and diseases that don’t even exist in America, if not diagnosed before your return, can be hard to get covered. The health care money folks whine, “But maybe you caught it after your return!” That’s why Peace Corps gives us a *thorough* medical during our last 90 days in-country, including final screenings for TB and AIDS and a few other nasties on our very last days in-country (aka “72-hour checkout”).

Be sure to bring your 127c form (or 209B) and your Peace Corps Health Benefits Program Insurance Card form. Note to newbies: You get this your very firstest day in-country. DON’T LOSE IT. It’s a little piece of paper, not even laminated, but if you lose it… I keep mine with my passport.

Contact info for PCHBP:

1-800-544-1802

P.O. Box 3370 Carmel, IN 46082-3370

www.peacecorps.sevencorners.com

But this only covers evaluations. The fine print:

PC-127C Authorization: Evaluation only of medical and dental health conditions related to Volunteer service. Must be used within six months of close of service.

But wait, you say, only evaluation? What about, y’know, treatment?

That’s covered under Parts 2 and 3.

Part 2: FECA aka Workers’ Compensation aka Department of Labor Claim aka ACS

FECA = Federal Employee Compensation Act

Treatment and ongoing care for anything diagnosed in-country or at your 127c referral visit is covered by FECA, via the Department of Labor.

(What does Peace Corps have to do with the Department of Labor? Got me. Is this confusing you yet? Yeah, that’s why I’m writing it all out – this is for my reference as much as anything else. When a PCV buddy emails me in six months and says, “Hey, what did they tell us about health care stuff at COS conference?” and I’ll say, “Um, wait, there was the six month thing, the 18 month thing, and, um …” and then I’ll look here.)

Be sure to bring your Case File Number and your Acceptance Letter.

Contact info: Billing & Authorizations: 1-850-558-1818

www.dol.gov

http://owcp.dol.acs-inc.com

This covers ongoing treatment for whatever lingering medical concerns you have, forever…but the fine print says “contact the Post Service Unit for details”. So…maybe forever.

Fine print:

Treatment of most medical and dental conditions related to Volunteer service and conditions incurred or contracted while abroad during service are provided by FECA. Claims must be filed within 3 years of close of service or within 3 years of recognition that a health condition is service-related.

[[Note from me: My RPCV buddies tell me that this is the real sticking point. If it’s not diagnosed in-country, you have a wretched time trying to get them to “recognize” that it’s “service-related”.

Part 3: CorpsCare AKA Clements International AKA First Health [because it’s part of the First Health Network]

This is your post-Peace Corps health insurance, if you want it. Peace Corps will automatically pay for your first month. And that’s by the 30 days, not the calendar month. I COS on May 19^th, inshallah, so Peace Corps has paid my premium through June 19^th. If I want health insurance after that, I either have to find a plan on my own or continue paying for this one. If I stay with this one – as most of us do, at least for a few months – it’s $158/month [[as of February 2010. I’m really sure that this number will change.]] We get up to 18 months of coverage; after that, you’ll need to have a job or be in grad school or COBRA or something.

One neat thing – you can buy coverage before you COS, using your readjustment allowance money. Six months, nine months, whatever. And if you find a job with benefits before that time runs out, Peace Corps will cut you a check for the remaining months. In other words, don’t worry if you don’t have a bank account waiting for you back home. You can still afford your health insurance. :)

CorpsCare covers your pre-existing conditions, your non-service-related injuries/illnesses, regular well-woman / well-man visits, etc. Regular old health insurance.

You’ll get a CorpsCare Insurance card that you’ll need to bring with you to appointments.

Contact info: 1-800-605-2282

P.O. Box 863 Indianapolis, IN 46206

www.clements.com/corpscare

Fine Print: Non-service-related medical problems are covered by CorpsCare. Specifically:

* Most pre-existing conditions not covered by FECA;

* Conditions that arose that are not covered by FECA, e.g., while in the U.S. on vacation, home leave, emergency leave, or medevac;

* Health problems that arose after Volunteer service.

Peace Corps pays one month’s premium for all Volunteers. Volunteers may purchase up to 18 months of additional coverage.

Important Note: Both FECA and CorpsCare are under the general auspices of the “Post-Service Unit”, aka the folks in PC/Washington responsible for taking care of RPCVs. Their contact info: 1111 20^th St, NW 5^th Floor Washington, DC 20526

1-800-424-8580 x 1540 option 7

Fax: 202-692-1541

psu - at - peacecorps - dot - gov

…and that’s a division of the Returned Volunteer Services, Office of Domestic Programs. Same street address,.

Phone: 202-692-1430

rvs - at - peacecorps - dot - gov

www.peacecorps.gov/rpcv

You’d think this info would be on the Peace Corps website, but most of it isn’t. Which is why your friendly wide-eyed innocent is typing it all up for you. :)

* RPCVs = Returned Peace Corps Volunteers. What they call us after we COS. “Peace Corps Veterans” works for me, but the acronym would be confusing. :)

3/2/10 RPCV Info

Feel free to skip this one, folks; it’s straight-up reference information that I want to know I have access to, wherever I am. (Well, assuming I have internet access, which is mostly a given in the US, right?)

The Returned Volunteer Services staff in Washington are all RPCVs and have lots of post-Peace-Corps resources and other stuff I’ll want to have access to:

• Hotline Jobs Bulletin – A semimonthly bulletin of career, educational, and reentry information and opportunities. www.peaceorps.gov/rpcv/hotline
• RPCVnetwork Listserve – A daily listserv for PCVs and RPCVs only, with career, volunteer, and educational opportunities around the world. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rpcvnetwork/
• Career Events – For a calendar of upcoming in-person and virtual career events, visit www.peacecorps.gov/rpcv/events
• Career conferences – Hands-on workshops, employer visits, and a career fair help RPCVs plan their professional development. Held in Washington, DC, 3 times a year.
• Online career workshops – Free web-based sessions offered 3 times a year.
• Employer information sessions – Hosted by organizations interested in hiring RPCVs to promote their missions and opportunities.
• Resource Guides – Publications focused on grad school and professional opportunities. www.peacecorps.gov/rvs/publications
• Job Bulletins – RPCVs can request free online passwords to six job bulletins. For passwords, email rvs - at - peacecorps - dot - gov. Specify which job bulletins you would like to receive and include your name, country, and dates of service.
• International Career Employment Weekly
• Environmental Career Opportunities
• Public Health Jobs Worldwide
• Alliance for Conflict Transformation
• Ethical Jobs
• InterAction
• Self-Assessment Software – Peace Corps-licensed SIGI3, a tool designed to help assess your work-related values, interests, and skills. To request an account, email rvs - at - peacecorps - dot - gov and include your name, country, and dates of service.
• Career Centers – A career center with job postings, resource books, computers, etc are available at the recruiting office in Rosslyn, VA, and in other regional recruiting offices throughout the US. Call 1-800-424-8580, x1, to reach any regional recruiting office. RPCV Career Center 202-692-1433 rpcvcareercenter - at - peacecorps - dot - gov

They can also hook me up with copies of:

• My Description of Service
• My W-2s
• My Peace Corps medical records
• Information about medical coverage
• Career-Development Resources
• Information about Non-Competetitive Eligibility (NCE) for federal employment

How to reach them:

Returned Volunteer Services, Office of Domestic Programs

1111 20^th Street NW

Washington, DC 20526

202-692-130

rvs - at - peacecorps - dot - gov

www.peacecorps.gov/rpcv

2/5/10 Peace Corps Partnership Programs

Some of you have asked me, How can I contribute to your community?

Today, that question gets answered. :)

Some of you have asked more generally, How do you fund your work?

That depends.

As a rule, Peace Corps doesn't provide any funding for its Volunteers' projects. What it does do, though, is keep us informed about various NGOs who are interested in funding the kinds of work we do. Peace Corps also provides us access to two sources of funding not available to any other organizations: SPA grants, the Small Project Assistance funds available to Peace Corps Volunteers from USAID, and Peace Corps Partnership Programs (PCPPs).

Peace Corps Partnership Programs are the official way by which YOU, families and friends of Volunteers, get to directly and tangibly contribute to our work. We write up the grant proposals, in partnership with our community members, and once the proposals have been vetted by various PC staff [a breezy phrase glossing over hundreds of hours of work and multiple revisions], they get posted online, for YOU to read and assess. If you think a project looks worthwhile, you get to make a tax-deductible contribution.

So why haven't you hit us up for money before now, Kauthar?

Because the projects that I've done have been funded either in-country or by other PCVs' grants. Also, because I've been focusing on small-scale, sustainable, on-going projects.

But sometimes PCV projects are large-scale, and require outside help.

Like this one, to build an irrigation system for a village about 40km from me. Started by my friend "Brahim", and now finished by "Jamal", this proposal would make it possible for water to be channeled more efficiently into new fields, opening up more apple tree farming - a cash crop that will make an enormous difference in the lives of many local families.

Please read Jamal's eloquent appeal here, and find his official PCPP request here.

And thank you for all the ways you support us! :)

1/26/10 Running Errands

Running errands.

Such a simple phrase.

And like so much else, here, hides a world of complication.

I sometimes feel like this blog's primary purpose is to help me tease out the tiny interconnected strands of life that weave together in ways that seem so simple on the surface. It's like every phrase, every action, every conversation is just a little periscope, breaching the surface of the ocean, barely hinting at the Typhoon-class submarine hovering just below the water.

Yesterday afternoon, I had four errands to run. (1) Get three photocopies of my carte de sejour, the small plastic document that proves that I'm a legal resident of Morocco. (2) Deliver the photocopies to the gendarmes, the local law enforcement officials. (3) Print out some photographs I took of a friend's wedding. (4) Check my mail.

Seems so simple. Photocopies, gendarmes, pictures, mail. Given how small the "downtown" area of Berberville is - pretty much a single block - you'd think that this would take five minutes.

Ha. Hahahahaha.

I usually run errands when accompanied by another PCV, because it simplifies everything. Unaccompanied women are rarely seen on Berberville's streets, and for a reason.

But I haven't had a PCV friend up here in a week, and none are scheduled to come before I'm heading out on my next trip, so the choice is either ask a local girl to accompany me - and while any one of several friends would, but they'd also then spend the next month rehashing everything I did with all of their friends, and I'd be fielding questions about it for the next two months. Simpler just to go alone.

So I put my carte de sejour in my pocket, my flash drive with the photos in another pocket, made sure I had money with me, grabbed my keys (including my mailbox key, which I don't usually carry around), and headed out.

I'd mapped out the most efficient route. Straight to the photo guy, then to the photocopy place a few doors down, then up the street to the gendarmes, back across the street to the post office, and finally home, with whatever mail and care packages have accumulated there since the last time I checked, last week.

Step one: Straight to the photo guy. Whose steel doors were open, implying that the shop was open for business, but whose glass doors were locked, implying that the photo guy had stepped out. To his house, around the corner? To a nearby cafe? To the post office? He could be anywhere. I knocked a couple times, mostly in hopes that somebody would see me knocking and retrieve him for me. (This has happened before, and is generally the most efficient way of finding any absent shopkeeper.)

No luck.

I headed down to the photocopy place. Steel doors bolted. Wherever he is, he's not interested in doing business today.

I turned to go down to the other two photocopy machines in Berberville. One is owned and run by a friend of mine, the other by a guy who gives me the creeps. My friend's shop is further, but worth the walk.

En route, I ran into my little brother. I gestured back at the photo shop. "Do you know where the photo guy is?" (By the way, for "photo guy" I said buKodak, technically meaning The Owner Of Kodak, but a title that I knew would make instant sense to him.) My brother spends most of his time running into and out of Berberville's various cafes, so he's likely to know where nearly anybody is. Not this time.

He shrugged. "His house is right behind the shop. Did you try there?"

"No, but I will when I get back. Right now, I'm heading down to the copy shops."

He nodded, clearly uninterested, and ran off. (Literally, ran - this kid rarely walks.) I went down to my friend's shop. We chatted for a few minutes, and then I asked about the copy machine.

Broken.

He referred me to the shop of The Creepy Guy. I said - truthfully - that it was closed (steel doors bolted shut). "Did you try the cafe?" he asked. Apparently, Creepy Guy owns a cafe next door to the tourist boutique where he keeps the photocopier.

We exchanged goodbyes, and I headed up to Creepy Guy's cafe. I knew Berberville had about a dozen cafes, but I'd honestly never noticed this one before. It's set back a little ways from the road, and looks more like a warehouse than a coffeeshop.

Not surprisingly, a man leaned against the outer wall, smoking. He greeted me. I returned his wishes of peace, then asked if CG was inside. He didn't seem to find it at all strange that I wouldn't want to go inside to look for myself. He went in, called CG's real name (which, no, does not actually translate to Creepy Guy), and out he came. I explained my needs. He unlocked his boutique and invited me in.

I lingered near the door. With one of the steel doors still shut, it was awfully dark and, well, creepy inside his shop. I turned on the lights. CG asked me about "Fatima", my PCV sitemate who left a few months ago. I gave my stock answers. "Yes, she returned to America. Yes, she's fine. Yes, she finished her work. Yes, she was very nice." Then he began asking me about my own timeline. I gave similarly brief but honest answers. He repeatedly invited me to come to his house; I gave the very-useful-but-very-vague phrase blessing him for his generosity, without answering.

Another customer came in, clutching his own set of documents to copy. (Judging from the thick layer of dust over all his touristy tchochkes and jewelry, I'm willing to bet that CG makes 99% of his income from the cafe and copier, not from the goods.) We repeated most of the same conversation. He asked a few questions about America.

By this time, the machine had finally warmed up, and CG began making my copies. I've spent years in the US as a teacher and temp, so have worked my share of photocopier mojo, but I was grateful for his help with this geriatric machine. He actually had to open the front with every copy, and hit about 8 buttons between jobs. He made my 3 copies one at a time, but that may well have been necessary, to keep the thing from jamming up with multi-page confusion.

A good 10 minutes after I'd found him at his cafe, my copies were in my hot little hands. I asked him the price. "Whatever you want to pay, my dear," he answered. I pulled out what I thought was the right amount and left it on a table for him before slipping out the door. I said goodbye to the other customer in the shop, and a less formal farewell to CG, from outside the door.

Shaking off that encounter, I headed back to the photo place.

One of my cousins was walking a similar path, so when I got to the still-closed door, I asked him if he knew where to find buKodak. "In the cafe," he said, pointing to one of Berberville's larger establishments. "He's watching the game. With Egypt!" he added, as he headed around a corner.

I walked up to the cafe. Again, someone lounged against the doorframe. This guy I'd met before, though I can't remember in what context. He greeted me by name. I shook his hand, wished him peace, and asked if the photoguy (this time I used his name) was in there. He said that he was, and leaned through the door to holler for him. He then offered me tea? Coffee? Milk? His treat, of course! I declined politely, and then buKodak emerged, and we walked towards his shop.

I explained what I wanted, and he said, "Oh, sorry, that'll have to wait till tomorrow."

"Is it not working?"

"No, I've just run out of photo-paper. I should get more tomorrow, though."

I thought about how long it would take him to process the images and print them all, added to the time it would take to find him tomorrow, plus having to go back to pick them up - and find him yet again... "What if we just put the images on your computer now, and then when the paper comes tomorrow, you can print them?"

He agreed, and in we went. He uploaded the images easily enough, and I was soon back out in the increasingly snowy street. As we parted, I told him to enjoy the game. "Who is Egypt playing?" I asked.

"Cameroon."

"Is it a good game?"

"Not really. They don't have great ball-handling skills."

I laughed, and he laughed, and off we went on our separate paths.

Next stop: the gendarmerie.

This was actually the easiest of my errands - I handed them the copies, they thanked me, and off I went - but I'm now wondering if it wasn't too easy. If the guy who accepted them had no idea why I was handing them to him, and will circular-file them, and I'll have to go through this whole charade again. Hopefully, though, that errand is actually now DONE.

Last stop of the day: the post office.

It was only 4:20, but apparently the postmaster had decided that 5pm and 4pm mean pretty much the same thing, because the building was locked. So I'll give that one another run tomorrow.

All-in-all, my errands took only about an hour to accomplish. Which actually makes this one of the easier times I've had.

:-/

1/25/10 Butagas Blunders

I've gotten pretty good, over the last two years, at manipulating butane gas. I can open a buta tank in less than a minute; I cook, bake, and heat my house with butagaz (as it's universally called here - or just buta for short); I've even gotten pretty graceful at lugging the empty and full tanks back and forth to the hanoot (market/shop/store).

This has lulled me into a sense of ... complacency? ... at least confidence, with regard to buta. So my recent bumblings have restored a useful sense of humility. :)

Last night, I found myself dozing off in my warm, buta-heated living room, so I got up, turned off the buta tank (which, by cutting the supply, automatically turns off the heater), and staggered into bed. Just as I've done a hundred (or so) times before.

But this was a new buta tank as of yesterday, and what I hadn't realized is that its nozzle isn't as tight as it should be. So simply tightening it till it feels secure...still leaves a trickle of butane slipping out.

Lhumdullah, it was enough of a trickle to keep the pilot light going, so I didn't just release gallons of poisonous gas into my house - I just kept the heat on all night. So I wasted some energy, but didn't kill myself. Alhumdulillah. Now I know: this tank, I have to not only shut it, I have to crank it until it's so tightly closed that it hurts to crank it back open. Useful knowledge.

Another recent (less life-threatening) buta bumble: I ran out. Both my big tank and little tank ran empty. I used to have a spare little tank, so that I'd never be without heat in my house. (Where the unheated rooms are generally around 35 degrees - sometimes colder, sometimes warmer - and even sitting in front of the heater, I can see my breath. I'm warm, but I can see my breath. Go figure.) But last winter, I tried to open my spare little tank...and failed.

It should be simple. Crack the wax seal, unscrew the wax stopper-plug-thing, and screw in the heater attachment. Badda-bing-badda-boom, heat.

But this time, the wax seal had melted into the screw threads...which I didn't realize until I'd mangled the living daylights out of the seal. Then I tried to just cut out all the wax and strip the threads manually...and got most of it out, but not enough to be able to screw the heater attachmednt in. So I have a small tank of butane gas with waxy screw-threads...and I've been too embarrassed to take it to my hanut guy and show him the still-full-but-unusable tank of butane. So I just keep swapping out the other small tank, which is generally fine...but means I no longer have a spare. So nights like two nights ago, when both big and small tanks run out...my house gets cold. (The hanut is open till late, so I could theoretically have swapped out either my big or small tank...but it takes a lot more than shivering in a 35-degree room to get me to want to go out after dark.) So I wrapped up in blankets and crawled into bed pretty quickly thereafter.

So, yeah, not yet a master of the buta. (And since buta and Buddha are homonyms, that's actually kinda funny.)

On the other hand, I do have *some* buta skillz. I made cookies today, for the first time in a month or two, and they all came out *perfectly*. Despite my crazy oven, which tends to burn the bottoms of things and leave the tops raw. So...I'm not a total buta dunderhead. Even when I occasionally feel like one. :)

1/11/09 Sending Care Packages - Tips

I've been wary of posting anything like this, because I don't want to seem like I'm saying GIMMEGIMMEGIMME, but enough people have asked me how best to ship care packages to Peace Corps Volunteers that I'm going to go ahead and share some tips.

(1) Use the USPS Flat Rate Boxes. This will keep shipping costs to less than half what they'd otherwise be. International shipping is hideously expensive, but at least the US Postal Service is trying to help. I've had more than one care package whose shipping costs were several times the value of the items inside, and that made me feel really bad for the shipper. (Note: they're only "Flat Rate" up to 20 pounds, for international shipping. That said, it's really hard to fit 20 pounds worth of anything into a package about the size of two shoe boxes, unless you're shipping rock samples or freeweights. So **stuff** these things. You're paying for the volume, not the mass; go nuts! Also, the less free space there is, the less your contents will shift (and risk breaking) during shipping).

(2) You'll need to fill out the package label with my (or your PCV's) name, address, etc, plus there's a space for "Detailed Description of Contents". Yes, fill this in, but if the box has lots of different things, it's OK not to enumerate *all* of them. Don't put more items than there are lines for.

(3) Don't list any individual item as having more than $10 in value, if you don't want your Volunteer to have to pay a customs fee to pick it up. If it's pretty obviously worth more than that, write "used" in the description section ("used sweater", "books, used", whatever) and make sure it's not in any of the original packaging. Also, avoid words that imply value to the unscrupulous, like "camera" or "computer". You want your PCV to receive this, right? I've had at least one package go completely astray, and I've had batteries stolen out of a couple packages.

(4) Check the box that says GIFT. Which is actually true for most care packages, anyway. :) Gifts are assessed fees much less often than anything the customs officials suspect you mail-ordered.

(5) Double-bag anything powdery. Sending hot cocoa packets? Cake mix? Instant coffee? Astronaut ice cream? Add an extra ziplock bag around the item's own packaging. Nearly every time I've received anything like the above, at least one of the packages had been cut into, I assume in order to check for drugs. (Do people actually smuggle cocaine by putting it in a Betty Crocker box?) The customs folks are good about rewrapping and retaping the contents of the box, but if there's no extra ziplock, the cut item will scatter its remaining powdery mess all over the contents of the care package. (Until we figured this out, nearly every care package I got from my parents had cocoa powder sprinkled everywhere.) Besides, ziplock bags are handy; your PCV will appreciate having them. :)

In 22 months of care packages (you know who you are, and THANK YOU!!!), I've only been assessed a shipping fee once, but it was a doozy. The item in question was marked as having a value of $65, and was still in the original packaging. I had to pay the equivalent amount of Moroccan dirhams - over 300Dh, which is 15% of my monthly stipend - just to pick it up. The point of the fees, as far as I can tell, is to deter the practice (formerly common) of folks importing goods and reselling them for a profit. Customs officials calculate that if they can double the price of whatever you're getting - by charging you an import fee equal to the item's value - it will take a huge chunk out of any potential profit margin. But when you're living on $225 a month, it hurts to have to pay for your care packages.

OK, that's all I can think of for now. And on behalf of whoever you're planning to ship to: Thank you so much! :D

12/13 Rule of Law

A recent conversation discussing the rule of law in Morocco. A is an American living in America. B is an American living in Morocco.

A: ...this is why Morocco needs the rule of law.

B: Morocco has the rule of law.

A: [skeptical silence]

B: OK, let's say somebody - call him X - commits a crime. He can be arrested, tried, sentenced, just like in America.

A: And how long will he serve?

B: Depends on the crime, of course. The bigger the offense, the more his family will have to pay to get him out. For a really big crime, it'll take a while to amass enough for the bribe. Or, if the family is really influential, it might go more smoothly; the patriarch could just use his influence to protect his son/nephew/whatever.

A: That's not rule of law.

B: [pregnant pause] Oh, my God, you're right. I ... I've been here long enough that ... it just seems normal. But no, paying bribes isn't part of the legal system. It just ... feels like a system of fines. It's so regular and orderly and understood... But... that's... not... [trails off]

A: Yeah. Sentences that get waived for the wealthy and influential? It's not like it never happens in the first world - white collar criminals, anyone? - but criminals should actually serve their terms. Any system that operates under the assumption that sentences are meaningless fails to be a system for long.

B: [in a small voice] That's why violent crimes really never get reported; because the criminal will be back in the community pretty soon, anyway, plus he'll now be angry that you reported him. As will his family, friends...talking to the gendarmes puts you on the wrong side of your community.

A: Yeah.

It shows up in so many ways:

• 
  
• the pollution that fills Moroccan skies because it's cheaper to pay off the car inspector than pay for engine repairs.
• the transits and dump trucks that transport people illegally (and dangerously) on top, because the checkpoint cops will waive you through for a small "fee".
• the medicines and condoms that should be distributed freely to sex workers - provided by NGOs - that the distributors charge for, pocketing the cash and paying a percentage to whoever is supposed to regulate it.
• for that matter, the sex workers themselves; prostitution is illegal in Morocco, but that just means that the cops get to demand bribes (in cash and trade) from the prostitutes, who have no recourse
• the street signs and road lines that serve only as suggestions, because a bribe will get you out of any ticket

...and so many more.

The first time I saw a bribe change hands, I was shocked. Graft exists in every culture, to be sure, but I thought it was generally hidden. This happened in plain sight of at least 20 people. That alone should have indicated to me just how small a role the legal system plays - neither party had any fear that anyone would report them, or that if they did, that anything would be done.

It doesn't shock me anymore. It doesn't startle me anymore. I don't even register it anymore, really. Oh, we all have to climb out of the taxi so the driver can go up to the checkpoint and work out the amount of the bribe without revealing just how many passengers he has? (Since the more he's making off the trip, the more he'll have to pay.) Not only am I not surprised that I have to wait on the side of the road, I'm find myself thinking, during the ten minute wait, that I'm impressed by the bargaining savvy of the taxi driver.

Oh, I can't climb up on top of the transit until we're a kilometer past the checkpoint? OK, sure, I'll crowd inside for now. It's not like the checkpoint cops don't know what it means to see ten people clinging to the back of the truck...but for a nominal fee, they'll pretend that they believe we'll ride like this for the next four hours, not the next four minutes.

When my backpack was stolen off the top of a transit, where it should have been under the watchful eye of the driver's assistant, I complained to the gendarmes. I didn't want anyone to go to jail, but I thought that the threat of the law might get the assistant to pull some strings and get the bag back from whoever he'd given it to / watched take it.

He was indeed scared at the thought of punishment... so he appealed to one of the most respected people in the town, who assured him that no, of course I wouldn't go through with filing a complaint - and then came to talk to me and explain why I couldn't do it.

A good, honorable, kind soul - one of the people I respect most in Berberville, or indeed in Morocco - was using his wisdom and influence to convince me not to file a police report.

And he was right. Having a local son interrogated, beaten, and presumably jailed would have ruined my reputation in the town. I'd be The Tarumit Who Got Our Boy Thrown In Jail.

So I withdrew my complaint, the boy paid a hefty "fine" to get back the ID card that was seized during the initial questioning - and had the temerity to ask me to kick in for the fine! - and the disappearance of my bag just became a benign topic of conversation for the next month. Oh, Kauthar, did you ever find your bag? No? Ah, well, as God wills.

And I smile through fixed teeth and think, God doesn't will this.

But where do you find Principled governance in a system so thoroughly corrupt that the corruption itself is the system?

4/14/09 Strike struggles

As I mentioned in my previous two posts, the Moroccan transportation industry is currently on strike.

Whenever anyone goes on strike, one of the messages is meant to be, "See how awful it is without us? Treat us better, because you NEED us."

It couldn't be more true than in this case.

Moroccans depend on public transportation to a degree hard to imagine in the US. Maybe my New York and DC friends understand, but folks in rural areas and/or California probably don't. Especially out here in the bled, but even in the cities, Moroccans depend on public transportation. Virtually nobody owns cars. Farmers don't own trucks. Families don't own cars. Only a very, very small percentage of people own an automated conveyance of any kind, and the majority of those are motorbikes and motorcycles.

So this strike, dragging into its second week, is inconveniencing EVERYBODY. City people can't get to work. Farmers can't get their produce to market. Buyers can't get themselves to market. Doctors can't get to their offices. Patients can't get to their doctors.

I took The Last Tranzit that ran between Berberville and Souqtown, on Sunday. On a regular week, there would have been 12 tranzit runs between that one and right now. As it was...

Yesterday, I had a great meeting with my counterpart. I felt very grateful to have made it into Souqtown.

But I had no idea how to get back.

As I walked back to town from the Water and Forestry office (a 3km journey), I got beeped at by about 80% of the passing cars. So when S* beeped at me, I ignored it. It wasn't till the car swerved over to the side of the road and rolled down a window that I even looked at it. Inside was a colleague of mine and his friend. If he'd been alone, I probably would have told him I was enjoying the walk, but with two men... I climbed in. S* asked me when I was headed home. I explained about the strike, but that I hoped that the driver of The Last Tranzit would continue to make his once-a-day run. S* laughed at that. Before I could get upset, though, he mentioned that he and his buddy would be driving up to Berberville the next day, and offered me a ride. I accepted.

This morning, I discovered some more side effects of the strike. Camio drivers - the Moroccan equivalent of Mack trucks - are striking, too. Which means no produce into souq. Which means that there *is* no souq. Which means no produce into Berberville. Most families in Berberville grow their own food, but there's a reasonably high percentage who count on souq. That's why there *is* a souq. But not this week.

And the students who live in the dormitory? Their food is supposed to come in by camio as well. The kids are getting leaner and leaner meals.

S* had come to town from Berberville in order to buy food to bring back to the dorm. He hadn't realized that Souqtown's cupboards are as bare as Berberville's.

What produce there is, is already dramatically overpriced. Last week, a kilo of oranges cost 4dh (about 50 cents - take a beat to appreciate how cheap my farmers' market produce is!) . This morning, a kilo of oranges was 10dh. That's a 250% markup in a WEEK. And even so, enough people are buying that the market stands are running empty.

I went to a cafe this morning, to meet S* for our trip home, and tried to order an orange juice. The cafe - the ritziest, classiest cafe in Souqtown - was out of oranges. I got a banana juice and tried not to worry about the starvation of my province. ("Banana juice" = milk + banana + sugar + blender = mmmm)

There are no potatoes to be had in the Souqtown markets. None. Potatoes are nearly the only export *from* my region - we have poor soil, what can I say - and the stalls were *empty*.

I saw one kid delivering eggs on a three-wheeled contraption that looked like the unholy offspring of a motorcycle and a wheelbarrow. The front half was pure motorcycle, but where the back wheel should have been was a flatbed, probably halfway in size between a wheelbarrow and a truck bed, with two widely-spaced wheels. To my surprise, no one mobbed him to seize his high-protein load, but he did deliver over a thousand eggs to one hanut owner. I guess that guy will be keeping his doors open.

After S* rounded up what food he could - including one lonely hunk of meat about the size of a human brain - for THREE HUNDRED HUNGRY TEENAGERS, we hit the road.

We didn't make it far.

Right outside of town we met the mob.

Not the Italian or Russian or Sopranos mob. An actual mob, of angry citizens. At least they weren't carrying pitchforks or bayonets.

OK, I'm exaggerating a little. But in all honesty, a crowd of about 75 men had gathered to block the road. Some arrayed themselves in a human barrier across the road, standing three deep, extending six feet on either side of the pavement. Others closed in on us from the sides.

I wondered if they were transportation-strapped travelers, hoping to beg for a ride.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

These were the striking drivers, and this was the picket line.

And S*, in their eyes, was the scab daring to transport people across it.

He slowed down, since they made it clear they weren't going to move out of our way. They shouted into the car. He got out and showed them the sacks of food he was bringing to the hungry boarding students. They shouted some more. He backed up, executed a one-point turn, and drove away.

I wondered if this was surrender.

Just a few hundred meters away, though, there was a dirt-path turnoff. We took it. It led us into the tiny village next to which the picketline drivers had made their stand.

We drove through the tiny village, down to the next one, never finding a path back to the paved road we'd been so effectively blocked from.

The small sedan averaged 20 km/h on the dirt path. I live 140 km from SouqTown. It was already past noon. I began to wonder if I'd get home before nightfall.

After half an hour of scraping along over dirt and rubble, we came to a place where the targua - irrigation ditch - crossed the road, and had flooded it out. S* didn't trust either his suspension or his engine in driving through the irrigation canal, so we turned around once again.

After a few minutes of backtracking, we found a route that crossed the targua at a place with better engineering, so we made it over. A few minutes later, we found a path back to the pavement, lhumdullah. S* immediately lept from 20kph to 80kph, and I sighed with relief.

We got home about 2.5 hours after that, but without any further drama. Double sigh. I promptly went to our tiny souq, where I found kurjet (zucchini) and limon (oranges) for their usual price, lhumdullah. I bought 2 kilos.

No one has any idea when the strike will let up, but everyone is feeling the pinch. Private drivers (excluding S*, lhumdullah) are no longer willing to give their friends rides, lest angrier mobs than the one I encountered actually *bash* their cars as punishment for daring to transport anyone. It's not an irrational fear - this is happening in some areas.

The only transportation still running are the CTM buses and the trains, both government-owned-and-operated. Unfortunately, SouqTown doesn't rate a CTM bus stop, and the nearest train station is about 100 km away. Also, both CTMs and trains are sold out for the next week.

I don't mind hunkering down in Berberville for the duration. I have enough produce for a week and enough dry goods to last a month, as long as I don't mind redundant meals. But other PCVs have meetings and appointments they need to attend. The 300 school boarders are growing teenagers who need copious quantities of food. Farmers need to sell their produce before it rots in their storage sheds.

I spoke too soon - we're not just feeling the "pinch". We're feeling the strangulation. And I don't know how much longer it will last.

3/2/09 Secret Schedules...

Notes written in my journal during my bus ride back from my friend's party. Like so much travel in a developing country, the journey took several stages, and involved several types of transportation. After climbing out of the second sheep-scented taxi, I waited for a bus to pull in, to drive me south. A bus did show up, 45 minutes ahead of schedule, but the waiter at our cafe assured me that it was going a different direction. Made me a little anxious, though. It waited around for ten or so minutes, then pulled out. Fifteen minutes later, another bus pulled in. This time, I walked over to the bus and asked the guy dropping blocks around the back tire where it was headed...

Manis tdit? Where are you going?
Manis trit at-safrt? Where do you want to go?
S [SouqTown]. To SouqTown.
Yalla, alli. C'mon, climb up.

I'd actually been hoping to find out just how far south this particular bus route extended. And my follow-up question would have been to find out where it comes from. (I travel this stretch of highway frequently enough that I know all the major and minor cities along it, but not often enough to have any idea of the schedules or routes of the buses.)

I could ask these more specific questions, of course, leading off with, "Does this bus leave from [a northern city] or [a touristy town just south of it]?" but I'm afraid of the reception I'd get. A look of suspicion, I expect, questioning the cause of my curiosity. Why does she want to know? Is she expecting someone from [a northern city]? A male someone, perhaps? Does she think buses from [that city] are better? Worse? Is it to my benefit if she thinks it's from [that city]? If she doesn't? I imagine these questions flickering across the face of my jumper (the guy who assists the driver and collects the fares).

Curiosity for the sake of curiosity - wanting more knowledge just because I like knowing stuff, and not because I have any pressing reason to apply that knowledge - confuses people, I've found. And given my tarumit appearance, tends to make folks suspect me - ME! - of being a spy.

Well, that's my fear, anyway. Not so much the spy part as the general suspicion. Maybe I'm crazy. Or paranoid. But the hesitation and confusion on the faces of people when I ask questions, and the above-cited tendency of people to answer questions with another question...well, it'll make a body paranoid after a while.

But neither the jumper's reticence nor my paranoia explains why schedules are so poorly publicized, let alone adhered to. *Large* cities have published schedules posted on the wall...on chalkboards, like a special-of-the-day. And as subject to revision. Smaller cities and towns have nothing; you just have to wait for it enough times to learn when it comes by. So locals and PCVs slowly accumulate this knowledge, but travelers and visitors just have to muddle along as best they can. A PCV friend had told me when to expect this bus - which is why I use the phrase "ahead of schedule", perhaps unjustly, above...

1/14 Water! :D

After nearly a week without it, I had running water today! Lhumdullah!

There’s no light that flashes or any other indicator that tells you when water is flowing through your pipes. All you can do is turn the knob and see if anything comes out of the spigot. During these cold weeks, when the pipes freeze as often as not, I’ve developed the habit of leaving my spigot open whenever I’m home. That way, when the pipes thaw, and water is released, it’ll flow into the banyo (large basin) I’ve set under the tap. The sound of the splashing water can be heard everywhere in my apartment, any time of the day or night, so it’ll never overflow the banyo before I discover it and turn off the tap.

Back in the warm months, water was on every morning for a couple of hours. Sometimes 9-11, sometimes 8-12, sometimes 10:30-1…you never knew, but it was always morning(ish) and always for at least an hour, and usually two or three. During these cold months, the water schedule has gotten more random. One day the water popped on at 3pm, and was on for 24 hours; another time, it came on at 6pm and was on until I fell asleep.

This morning, around 11:00, I heard the delicious sound of fresh, clean, (OK, chemically-treated, pathogen-free) water pouring into my banyo. I immediately stopped what I was doing and ran to fill up every water container in the house. A waterless week, even when interrupted by a trip into SouqTown, meant that I was down to my last 5 bottles (about a liter apiece), the bottom half of the kitchen cistern, and the bottom two inches of the water-to-flush-the-toilet-with banyo. So I’d been getting a little anxious.

Once everything was full of water – all fifteen or so bottles, both 5L teakettles, the whole cistern, and every banyo in the house – I moved on to washing a week’s worth of dishes. That was satisfying. :) Then I poured a gallon or two of water down the bit l-ma (squat toilet), refilled the basins, and scrubbed the bathroom floor. I’ve never been a big fan of cleaning, but when you can’t do it for days at a time, it becomes an indulgent luxury, which makes it a lot more fun. :)

Things that I haven’t done since the water cut off:
* Dishes
* Laundry
* Wash the floor
* Fill my 1L hot-water-bottle before bedtime
* Have more than two cups of cocoa per day
* Cook big meals

Things that I haven’t done in the past few days, when water was getting thin:
* Cook at all (I’ve been living on sandwiches, leftovers, and care-package-snackfood)
* Have more than one cup of cocoa per day (and not always even one)

1/12 Patchy Patchwork

I've talked before about all the renovations being done to the area, as preparation for the king's putative visit. (Which now won't happen before April, rumors agree.) The cement work shows some telltale signs of its haste, though; in one section of the Berberville-SouqTown road, they didn't give it long enough to dry - which is a loooong time when the air is near freezing and snow is common but sunlight is rare - and so now there are deep tiretrack through the pavement. Oops!

In SouqTown proper, the sidewalks and piazza are full of this lovely tiled brick...so when they patched it, they poured cement in and then dragged a stick or a finger through the cement to make a vaguely cross-hatched pattern. All I could do was shake my head and sigh. Do they think the king will be fooled by a slapdash lick-and-a-promise fix like this? Or does it simply give them a scapegoat, in the form of the m3lim (handyman/repair guy) who did the work?

And who are "they," anyway? Who is reponsible for public works in this region? The government has multiple layers of bureaucracy, in both the executive and legislative branches...so where does the buck actually stop? Or does it ever? Is that why nothing is done until the king plans a trip, because everyone has been passing the buck for years?

12/24 Christmas Eve

Many PCVs go back to America for the holidays; others go to London or Amsterdam or other European cities. But some set of us - maybe half, I'd guess? - stay in Morocco. We don't get it as a holiday. We get Moroccan holidays, but not American ones.* So I used my vacation time to gather with Christians for Christmas. :)

I've planned for months to go to the nearby Monastery for Christmas Eve and/or Christmas Day. As I told people about this, lots expressed interest in joining in. Trying to confirm plans with a group of PCVs is a lot like herding cats; many of us don't have dependable cell phone coverage, let alone internet access, so we're a hard gang to be in communication with.

But I did what I could, and ended up making reservations for the monastery's guesthouse for Christmas Eve dinner, guest rooms, and Christmas Day lunch. I had to guess as to the number who would be coming, but it turned out not to matter; only two one-person rooms were available, so the rest of us would be on the floor anyway. The kind people on the phone spoke Spanish and a bit of French, where I speak English and a bit of French; our languages didn't overlap quite enough to work everything out, but when we showed up - including more than had told me they were coming - they went ahead and opened up a bunkhouse for visiting pilgrims. The guesthouse was mostly filled by a French family. They had planned their entire vacation around being at the monastery for midnight mass. Over dinner, the mom and I discussed the difficulties of transportation in and around Morocco, swapping stories.

The monks had set two tables for dinner. Knowing that some brothers spoke French and some Spanish - none spoke much English - we PCVs divided ourselves by those language groups. Fortunately, nearly all of us had studied one or the other, at least a little. The dinner was simple but good, and showcased traditional Moroccan food. In the morning, we discovered that the cook was Berber, and in fact grew up not far from Berberville. :)

Dinner was at 6:45, and lasted probably an hour or so. That left us with a few hours to fill before midnight mass, which actually started at 10:45. Most of us went to visit the memorial to the martyred monks (see my post from August) and then to the church itself. I brought my camera, so that I could take pictures well before the service started. I may be an inveterate shutterbug, but I know better than to disturb a mass! The church is lovely, plus it had a buta heater, so several of us ended up staying in there for the whole time until the service.

The mass was conducted in French, but I found an English missal in the back, and, with help from a Catholic friend who explained what it was, was able to find the directions for the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass and therefore follow along throughout the service.

The service began with psalms, sung in plainchant as they have been for a over a millenium. The psalm numbers were posted, and psalmistries distributed to us all. This lasted until midnight, when the Midnight Mass actually began. The designated passages were read by monks, nuns from the nearby convent, and members of the visiting French family.

Of the five permanent residents of the monastery, four are actually priests; only one is technically a brother. The eucharist section of the mass was therefore a rather crowded affair, with four men jointly invoking the holy rituals over the wafers and wine. Only two of the PCVs there were (are) Catholic; the rest of us did not take communion, but were still welcomed.

At one point, the littlest boy in the large French family was given the task of carrying the small wooden figure of Christ child in, and placing him in the gorgeous nativity scene arranged under the alter. I hadn't even noticed his absence when I'd looked at it earlier, but it does make sense that Jesus isn't there before Christmas technically begins, at midnight. :)

The service continued until about 1:15. (I don't think any of us had expected it to run a full two and a half hours!) Afterwards, there were cocoa and pastries for us all, in the small dining room. We finally went to bed around 2:30am Christmas morning.

I've been trying not to editorialize, because I was a guest and not a critic, but I do want to say that the service was lovely, and that I'm very grateful I got to attend. :D

As we walked back to the bunkhouse, more than one of us said, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!"

* On getting Moroccan holidays instead of American ones: There's actually some discussion starting up within Peace Corps Morocco about that; different Peace Corps countries handle holidays in different ways, and some of us think that it would make more sense to get American holidays off. Most of us choose to spend Moroccan holidays with our host families anyway, so we don't really get them as out-of-site vacation

December 23, 2008 Site Development Day 1

On Monday, I got a call from my awesome Program Manager (the Peace Corps boss of all Environment PCVs in Morocco). He asked me, "Would you like to help develop some sites for new Volunteers?" Site Development is a vital, and too easily shortchanged, aspect of PCV preparation. It's the process whereby communities are selected to get a new Volunteer.

Anyone in the country can ask for a PCV. They contact the Peace Corps / Morocco staff with their information. The request can come from an association who will partner with the Voluneer or from one of our government partners. The PC/M staff does the initial investigation over the phone. If enough checks out, they schedule the site for a Site Development visit from PC/M staff and PCVs. PCVs aren't always included in the Site Development process, but everyone agrees that it's best when they are.

...and that's what my PM was asking of me. To go along with a staff member to a few villages, some of which currently host PCVs who are scheduled to leave in May, and some of which will be new sites.

I said, "Of course, sure, I'd love to do it. When and where?"

"Tomorrow, [staff] is going to [Town 1] and [Town 2]. Those towns currently have PCVs, so they'll be helping out with those. Wednesday, she'll be in [Town 3], and Thursday in [Town 4]. Could you go with her to those?"

"Thursday?"

"Yes, Thursday."

"But...Thursday is Christmas.'

"Yes, Christmas."

I tried again. "But it's Christmas." Surely he'd understand.

"Yes," he answered calmly. The man is unflappable. "Will you be able to help?"

"Is there any way she could go on Friday? I could go on Friday." And now I had to admit my own delinquency in applying for vacation time. "I've been meaning to send in a vacation request for Thursday. Since I don't have a counterpart any more, can I just take it as a personal day?"

Quick logistical background - PC/M has recently changed policy regarding off days. We are allowed a few days to take care of "personal business", in addition to the two days per month of "Annual Leave", usually referred to as vacation days, which we can stockpile or use at will. To get a personal day, all we have to do is notify staff - as long as we don't abuse the privilege. To get a vacation day, we need to fill out a form and have it signed by our counterpart. Since my counterpart recently chose to leave his post, I'm ... between counterparts. And therefore have no one to sign my forms.

Or so I thought. My manager advised me to get it signed by my regional director and fax it in sometime before Thursday.

So Tuesday morning, bright and early, I head down to [Town 1]. I meet up with one of the PCVs living there, who makes us an awesome veggie stew and banana bread. Then the PCVs and staff and I check out the hospital in the town, to verify that they want another Health Volunteer.

Our next stop is the school, because so much of our work is with students. Staff chats with the teachers in Darija while I chat with the students in Tam.

Then we head to the host families of the two current PCVs, to ask if they're interested in hosting other volunteers in the future. One family is cheerfully amenable; the other says, "Well, if he's like the one we have now, sure, but maybe he won't be." I sympathize with their uncertainty; agreeing to share your home with a strange foreigner is a big and somewhat scary commitment. To sweeten the pot, staff points out that the per diem for hosting PCVs has gone up almost 50%. Unfortunately, this opens the door to negotiations. The mom points out how much meat her current Volunteer ate, and that the price of meat is steadily rising, and what if the new Volunteer eats even more...? Staff doesn't budge on the per diem - she can't, it's uniform for all of PC/M - but the mom works all of her best souq negotiating tactics. She even starts to suggest that maybe she doesn't want to host another PCV after all, because it's such a financial burden.

This conversation is all in Tam, since the mom doesn't speak Darija, so I can jump in. I point out that the Volunteer will need to be housed somewhere, so if she doesn't want to take it on, the PCV and his more-than-generous per diem can go to another family instead.

I've spent my share of time in souq, too.

The discussion ends with the family agreeing to host.

Having the same family host back-to-back Volunteers isn't always ideal, largely because of the inevitable comparisons. "Wow, your Tam is awful. The PCV who just left spoke so well. Why don't you speak well?" Sometimes they're flattering. "You're so much more friendly/outgoing/ cheerful/quiet/generous/reserved/whatever than the previous PCV." Either way, it can be a problem.

On the other hand, families with hosting experience know what to expect of the strangers in a strange land. They're accustomed to our odd habits like spending time alone and eating sparingly of delicacies like goat eyeball and sheep marrow. And not least, they're guaranteed to have acceptable houses. (Peace Corps has some strict guidelines for PCV living spaces. We have to have our own room, with a lock. The house has to have a functioning bit l-ma (bathroom). If they're going to host a female PCV, they can't have any unmarried males in the house over the age of 15. These may not seem big stumbling-blocks to Americans living in homes with guest rooms, but in small Moroccan villages, it usually means that only the richest handful of families are even eligible to host. PC does what it can to ameliorate this, and has been known, for example, to help otherwise-eligible families build bathrooms.)

So after we finished our conversation with the potential host families, we headed off to Town 2, where we more or less repeated the process. A few things that stood out: The potential host family we talked to there said that they'd prefer to have a female volunteer, since the father leaves often for work, and they'd be more comfortable with a woman staying alone with the mother and her small children. Also, the hospital staff made it clear that they don't want a Health Volunteer: "Our children are healthy. We don't need any help from your organization."

After we wrapped up there, we headed to Souq Town (only an hour or so past Town 2). We grabbed some dinner and I was able to find my district supervisor and get his signature on my leave form. He didn't understand why I wanted to take vacation time when I wasn't leaving the province, but he signed it for me since I asked him to. :) I'd love to help develop Town 4, but Christmas is Christmas. :)

December 18, 2008 Word of the day: Posh Corps

Joke: There’s a glass of water on a table, filled to 50% of its capacity. A pessimist comes by and says, “That glass is half-empty!” An optimist comes by and says, “That glass is half full!” A Peace Corps Volunteer comes by and says, “Ooh, look, a bath!”

There’s another punchline I like even better: The PCV says, “Ooh, look, potable water!”

So what is “Posh Corps”? It’s when our lifestyles are rather more … posh … than you might expect.

Posh Corps is kind of a standing joke in Peace Corps Morocco. Morocco is a rapidly developing nation, not an undeveloped nation, which means that some of our Volunteers have more amenities than those jokes imply. The more amenities you have, the closer you come to being in “Posh Corps”. I’m getting close; I have cell phone service, electricity, running water in my house (albeit only a few hours a day), and I just got internet access. OK, the internet has worked less than 40% of the time, but I still have it. Sometimes. And OK, the water is dependent on temperature: whenever it gets cold enough, my pipes freeze and I have no water for up to a week at a time. So far, though, the pattern seems to be that if the sun comes out and the temperatures get into the 40s for several afternoons in a row, my pipes thaw and the water comes back.

The real “Posh Corps” Volunteers are the city-dwellers who have hot running water, 24/7, along with electricity, in-home internet access, cell phone service, and every amenity outside their front doors. (Cafes, pastry shops, clothing stores, housewares stores, etc.) There are veeeery few Environment or Health Volunteers who can claim all that. But nearly all Youth Development Volunteers are in cities, and many Small Business Volunteers are, too, so those of us living in the bled (rural areas) continue to tease them. But as the bled continues to develop, more and more of us are taking steps towards Posh Corps. And we’re not complaining… :)

9/27 Day of Power

I woke up to the smell of pancakes and the sound of CNN pundits debriefing the debates. I knew I needed to get back up the mountain to Berberville, but since there are 4 tranzits per day, I wasn’t worried. Some friends left on the 8:30 tranzit, but I was still mostly asleep, so I didn’t join them.

The next tranzit was scheduled to pass by between 11:30 and 11:45. I was outside by 11:25, and waited until 12:00, but never saw it. I figured it had gone by earlier, and resolved to catch the next one.

Tranzit #3 should have come by between 1:30 and 2pm. I was outside by 1:15, and was told that it had gone by 10 minutes earlier.

There was only one more tranzit left, so I was getting nervous. I decided to go into SouqTown, about half an hour up the road, to guarantee myself a seat on it. It should have left town at 2:30pm. I got to town at 2:15pm, and was told that it had left an *hour* before. I must have passed it on the road shortly after leaving.

I did, however, finally get an explanation for why the tranzit schedule had gone haywire. (In general, if you understand the uncertainty built into the system, which leads to things running two to twenty minutes late, the tranzits between Berberville and SouqTown are actually extremely punctual.) Because everyone wanted to be SURE to be home before sunset, so that they could spend the entire Night of Power (aka 27) with their families, they’d adjusted the tranzit departure times so that the last one could leave over an hour early and have the others evenly spaced throughout the day. Of course, they never announced that they were doing this; I don’t know if I should have guessed it, knowing how important the Night of Power is, or whether everyone else was as surprised as I was…but long story short, I was stuck in SouqTown with no way to get to my host family, who had been talking about sharing 27 with me for weeks.
I called home, apologized, explained how I’d managed to miss not one but *three* tranzits…and Ama gracious as always, just said she’d see me tomorrow.

So that then opened the question of where to spend the Night of Power. It’s very much a family holiday, so I really didn’t want to pass the night in the hotel. I have four PCV friends who live within half an hour of SouqTown. Of them, three were planning to spend 27 with their families. One of those three immediately invited me to join her, and overrode my dithering with a brusque, "You’re coming with me. Safi."

I bowed to the inevitable, and within the hour we were crammed into her nokl (sounds exactly like "knuckle", and is identical with a tranzit, it’s just called different things in different places). Rain had come to SouqTown while we were waiting to leave, turning the dirt-covered pavement into a muddy stream, and turning the dirt roads into gack* swamps.

The rain let up somewhat while we drove, but apparently it had been raining for hours – maybe days – up the mountain. The nokl splashed through countless puddles, most no deeper than the ones that my sister, dad and I used to jump in after childhood rainstorms (is mud-puddle-jumping a family tradition for other folks, too, or is that just us?). Every so often, though, the road would be covered by water standing (or running) at least a foot deep. The driver would slow down for those, but we’d still throw splashes that reached higher than the nokl windows.
And then we came to the bridge.

On ordinary days, the bridge runs over a rivulet. Today, that rivulet, swollen into a river, ran over the bridge.

I’d never seen anything like it.

I grew up on the Mississippi River, and lived through the Flood of ’93, as well as smaller floods before and after. I’ve seen the Mighty Muddy reach a couple miles across, spreading over farmlands and through basements and even washing around first-floor furniture.
But this was a muddy torrent, foaming and dashing around trees and bridge guard rails. The water looked like chocolate milk, or else café latte poured from Paul Bunyan’s coffeepot. Moment after moment, then hour after hour, the floodwaters gushed downhill from some unseen point in the mountains.

First, we all piled out of the nokl to see the obstruction. Some of us took pictures and video of it. Then we looked at each other to see what we were going to do about it. And finally, we just watched the time tick onwards towards sunset and the Night of Power.

We waited more than two hours, and the surging waters never abated. I’d predicted that after the first thirty seconds, just based on the volume of water and everything I’ve learned about hydrology on the Earth and the even more dramatic floods on Mars. But optimism trumps knowledge more often than not, and especially on nights where the need to Be On The Other Side reigns paramount. This was apparently the Moroccan Muslim equivalent of being held away from your family on Christmas Eve. Regardless of the evidence, you *really* want to believe that something will work out to let you celebrate with your family.

Finally, however, after a few brave souls attempted to cross on their own, but (lhumdullah) thought better of it before going too far into the meter-deep torrent, the driver surrendered, and we turned around and headed back for SouqTown.

Of the three friends who had planned to spend this night with their host families, two lived in a village on the far side of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Floodwaters. We texted the third, "Kareem", and asked if we could join him and his family for the Night of Power.

While waiting to hear back from him, I spent some time thinking seriously about the situation. It seemed egregiously unfair that so many of us were being kept away from our families, and from sharing with them this sacred evening. As I searched for answers, it occurred to me that I was limiting my definition of "family" to our Peace Corps-assigned host families. As much as we love (or don’t) the families in which we’re placed, we also have a wider family, I realized; the family of fellow PCVs that I’d been so delighted to think about just a week or two ago. (See the blog on "Brotherhood.") True, several of us wouldn’t be with our host families…but we would get to be with each other, now, and that wouldn’t have been possible if we’d been in our separate villages and homes.

The nokl by now was most of the way back to SouqTown, but it suddenly pulled off the road and pulled a giant U-turn. I was curious to see what path we’d be taking now. Back to the washed-out (washed-over?) bridge? An alternate route to my friends’ village? Somewhere entirely new?
We stopped at a fork in the road. Three paths stretched away from us: one to my friends’ village, another to Kareem’s village, and the third to SouqTown. The driver said that he was giving us the option of getting out here, where we could take transportation (in the form of flagging down any passing vehicle) anywhere we wanted to go. I called Kareem, who had never responded to my text, and got an invitation for us all to join him and his host family for the night.
We three PCVs decided to try to get rides to Kareem’s village, so we piled out of the nokl, grabbed our bags, and headed to the northbound side of the road. Hitchhiking is strictly forbidden by Peace Corps, but there aren’t a lot of options when you’re abandoned on the side of the road.

Not a *lot* of options…but that doesn’t mean *none.* And sure enough, an empty grand taxi came by only a minute or two later. We’d already flagged down a small car, which stopped for us even though it was crowded with six passengers and an egg-filled trunk, where the generous-hearted driver was urging us to put our heavy packs. Lhumdullah, we didn’t have to crush his eggs or his other passengers (or violate Peace Corps policy); we rented out the grand taxi and had a spacious ride down to Kareem’s village.

As we rode, our driver informed us that there is a back route into my friends’ village. In fact, we soon overtook the nokl—which had driven off while we were piling into the grand taxi—which was headed for this back way. Apparently, *everyone* on the nokl was going to get home tonight, albeit by a circuitous route.

My friends & I discussed whether we wanted to follow the nokl (or flag it down and jump on) or else continue on the road to Kareem’s home. The driver told us that the back way was a piste, the local term for a dirt/gravel road winding up or down the side of a mountain. Given the still-heavy rainfall, we suspected that a dirt road would be a dangerous path, and thanks to the hours we’d spent at flooded bridge, we were already approaching sunset. Peace Corps also forbids traveling in the dark, but we had an even more urgent reason to get to Kareem’s village quickly: the Night of Power begins with the sunset call to prayer, and we wanted to be with Kareem’s family when that call came, plus we wanted to allow our driver to be with his family for it, too.
We decided that, as much as my friend wanted to get to her own village for the Night, there were too many factors making it a bad idea (rain, piste, approaching darkness, the total lack of 4x4 driving ability in this Mercedes Benz sedan or the nokl van, etc), so we pushed past the steep, gravelly piste trailhead and continued down to Kareem’s home.

We got there almost half an hour before sunset, so there’s a good chance that our driver was back in SouqTown (his hometown) in time for sunset prayers. We also got to be with Kareem’s family from sunset until about midnight, at which point we came back to Kareem’s own house and spent the remainder of the Night hanging out with each other. (It’s 4:55am now; the others fell asleep about an hour ago, shortly before the dawn call to prayer. Now that the new day’s prayers have begun, even though the sun isn’t yet risen, I think we’re free to sleep. Or maybe I’m supposed to wait till sunrise…but I think I’ll go ahead and call it a night. A Night, that is. A Night of Family, Friendship, and Love. Those are powers I’m happy to believe in. :)

* I don’t know if "gack" appears in any dictionary; I learned the term when working in the Florida swamps/estuaries. It refers to the stickiest, goopiest, sludgiest mud that coats your feet and legs when you walk (wade!) through it.