Disclaimer

The views, opinions, and observations expressed in this journal are my own and in no way reflect the views, opinions, or policy of the Peace Corps, Peace Corps Morocco, nor any other governmental or non-governmental organization.

Nor is anything written here necessarily drawn from my own views, opinions, and observations. Please consider all postings and pictures complete fabrications with absolutely no bearing on reality. For legal purposes, please additionally regard the author as utterly imaginary.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

kharbaq

Our regional meeting has been postponed indefinitely.  On account of the king visiting.  In Oujda, the large city nearby, all the Dar Shababs have been taken over by the police, so there's no work there are all for the volunteers for the next two weeks.  We received an email with this, at the top of the attachment:




This seems fairly typical.  It is unclear what we will be doing.  As usual. Ma'alish ('who cares/whatever/no problem/there is no why'). 

I'm excited to be moving into an apartment with Krista and out of the host family house.  After two and a half months with other families, it's time to cut the cord.  We are treated like babies- led everywhere and practically forbidden from doing anything on our own.  Given that I have no separate room, I am constantly fair game to poke and slap and hold hands with.  My host brother is 21 and has an important role with one of the associations, teaching younger students, but he sometimes seems like a six year old younger brother: attention-craving, which can be more than tiring. 

Last night I lost it for a minute, perhaps for the first time in Morocco.  After the whole day with my brother, we were sitting at home and he was telling me about how the tea from Morocco is so famous and it's only in Morocco (a conversation I've participated in at least 50 times), and the United States is only famous for the military.  A little irate, I said what about democracy?  And he started talking about Iraq and Afghanistan, and I interrupted him and said something along the lines of "oh yes, the Taliban, everybody is happy with the Taliban.  People are so free with the friendly Taliban, all the girls go to school and are free to do things they want, yaaaay".  Soaking in sarcasm.  Probably not something we're supposed to do. But losing it for one minute in the first two and a half months ain't bad, as far as I'm concerned.

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Several days ago my host mother gave me a note, written in English, which she does not speak, asking for help transporting her children and helping them find jobs in the US so that they can help her, because there's no future in Morocco, etc. This presented a new challenge, and one that will no doubt repeatedly arise over the next two years. 

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I met somebody who speaks English today, or some English anyway.  Almost immediately he asked about converting to Islam.  The highlight of the conversation was probably

him: in order to learn about the religion, you must have operation on your penis
me: I don't want to

the end

1 comment:

Disclaimer

The views, opinions, and observations expressed in this journal are my own and in no way reflect the views, opinions, or policy of the Peace Corps, Peace Corps Morocco, governmental or non-governmental organizations.

Nor is anything written here necessarily my own views, opinions, or observations. Please consider all pictures and texts here to be complete fabrications with absolutely no bearing on reality, this one or any other. For legal purposes, please additionally consider the author to be utterly imaginary.