Summer Saunterings

Saunter (v) – To walk or stroll; walk at a leisurely pace

Think of this post as a slow semi-sedentary stream, braided and wandering through the wooded wonderland of oaks and ceders, whispering to the animals on it’s way to the inevitable sea.

I will likely post (hopefully I keep to this) a number of times this week. I want to spread out like ivy and grab the little bits of life here and there. There are a number of things on my mind, and the period currently is one for reflecting upon my experiences, but also the world around me, both where I exist, and where I do not.

Things to tackle:
- Cafe life in my town… my favorite cafe, and the awesome folks that frequent.
- Book review, and argument… foreign policy… Subject- Food Aid vs. Development Aid.
- Music of 2010, with my favorite albums so far
- Playlist of old tunes that stick in my head

In my first post (this one,) I will just ramble. It may be semi-coherent, and it may leave you wondering what the heck has been going on recently.

To answer that question, I look to one event really… and that is the Islamic month of Ramadan. A truly remarkable thing to experience living in an Islamic Kingdom.

Time seems to slow down, people work less, tempers flare (as a result of no chemicals during the day, AKA. Caffeine and Nicotine), and people seem to disappear.

Typically (according to the Koran, the Islamic equivalent of the Christian Bible) Muslims fast from sun-up to sun-down, not only from food, but from water. This may seem ridiculous to many folks…but many traditions, and religious rituals can be viewed as such, especially when you are an outsider.

Last year I fasted… completely… for 30 days. I don’t claim to be special, or want special recognition, or even a pat on the back. I just wanted to know what it was like, the proverbial “walk a mile in their shoes” gig. It was hard on many levels. I was tired, dehydrated, body trying its best to keep up. Brain function seemed slower, headaches were frequent, irritability was upped, and most of all, no work really was accomplished (in my defense I did not have much at that time as well.)

The experience was rewarding. Certainly I felt no “spiritual awakening” even in my own oftentimes distorted spiritual views, and certainly not according to Islam or Christianity. The sense of being a part of something, that everyone around me was doing this as well… the sense of team… was exhilarating and intoxicating. Team Ramadan was in full force, and the effects were something like the US World Cup soccer team beating Algeria (chills in my spine just thinking of it again.) I fasted, they fasted, and we survived. We won, and even though insanity and hope and energy was low near the end of injury time, we got the win. Hopefully by now you get the point.

This year, I did not fast. I feel guilty for this, not a part of the team sort of feeling. While I know that some Moroccans will say they fast, but just eat/drink out of the public eye (in the public’s view is illegal for Moroccans, and will get you arrested.) As everyone else is fasting, I have had a half-month of reflection, boredom, lack of work, and trying to figure out what/where I belong. Daytimes are spent working inside on college and job applications (PS…anyone want to hire me? I am dynamic, and adapt quickly… and i will pretty much do anything, so long as it is not against my morals. I am also sincere about hoping someone can offer me a decent job.)

I listen to music a lot, play some games (Football Manager 2010 (Soccer… duh) is a recent favorite,) watch TV and movies in the evenings, and read. I also ACTUALLY get work done, and have thus far met most of my goals, or am on track for meeting my goals for the Ramadan month. There will be a post soon about music of 2010, so tune in or out accordingly.

I also had a ridiculous incident…yesterday. Some Ass-hole, with a capital “A” (sorry mom) tried to snatch my freaking change purse out of my pocket… AGAIN. But, I was on the ball, and grab dude’s wrist and yelled thief. Everyone turned, the guy dropped my change purse on the ground (15DH I think… 2 effing dollars…ridiculous) and I let go and he bolted. It was a short 40-minute taxi ride from my town, and people there know me. I got complimented afterward about how I stood up and caught the guy in the act. That was not enough. Deep down, some dark part of me, I am not sure what, wanted justice served…fresh…by me. I really wish I would have ran after the guy this time (Marrakech a little different) and AT LEAST turned him into the authorities. It was another volunteer’s village, and to me, I didn’t want to stand for it. I wanted to catch this guy and pummel him, even if it was wrong for me to want to retaliate like this (of course it is…) but I still, even to this minute, wish I could have thrown the jar of tomato paste I was carrying at his head as he ran down the street, or taken off after him like a street chase scene.

A note to people…Please do not prey on foreigners, especially those that are there to help you and not loaded with money themselves. It makes you, and your town, and your people look bad. Luckily I live here so I know completely it is just one complete jerk… but anyway.

While this happened just yesterday, I am waiting a few days to see if the story makes it back to my village. It might, and the little bit of “street-cred” gained works for me. But there would have been more street-cred had I actually caught the guy.

Eric-2
Moroccan Pick-Pockets-0

PS. My adrenaline is pumping just thinking of the occurrence again.

Recently I went to Rabat, for a quick check-up on some allergy type issues. While I was there, I had the chance to indulge, socialize with other Americans, and suffer in the extreme heat.

Most every country has a number of US nationals working in it in various area. Embassy, USAID, military, blah, blah, blah, you get the picture.

Well one of our countries fine marine servicemen was being transferred, and ending his time in Morocco (as diplomatic/embassy security… which is what the 6 marines in Morocco do) and moving on. Naturally, the house where the marines live, on a corner of Embassy compound property, threw a going away party. They invite all the US Gov. workers, volunteers, and some other friends. Being in Rabat, I went, along with some friends. It was an odd mix, as some of the Marines played a little beer pong, but families were there and little ones were romping around, playing X-Box on the large flat-screen. Darts and Pool were played. It was like a Frat-Party mixed with a July-4th family get-together. Somewhere in between the two. I also left early, so who knows what happened as the night got old.

Things that occurred:

- Socializing with Americans that are not PCVs is strange, and maybe awkward. What this means for my social skills upon my return to the US, I will find out. It is nice though to actually be able to have conversation though, and in some ways feel completely comfortable talking to anyone now.
- Many conversations were “talking shop.” This is natural I suppose, but it yielded many different views on the matter of work we (and the gov of US) do.
- I got to drink good beer. Newcastle, and Yuengling. I wanted to try many others, but stuck to my favorites. Since I had a dream a few weeks ago about Newcastle Brown Ale, I figured I should stay with it.
- I made some good contacts, and met some great people. I hope to see some of them again soon.

I also survived what is likely the hottest weather I have experienced yet in country. It was 110 F in Rabat the other day, and the wind, when it blew, was from the Sahara, so it was like a hair dryer. However, during the trip to Rabat I passed through Meknes. At which point at 11am in the morning, it was 47! celcius. That is 117 Fahrenheit. This was according to the radio and likely airport readings. The bank temperature gauges (which are pretty wrong) said 53-54. I was super-dehydrated, and it took me the entire next-day to really stay hydrated (remember, it is Ramadan, so NO ONE drinks or eats in public, so public travel is dehydrating and tiring.)

BUT, in the south I heard it was much worse. One PCV told the doctors that in her site, her thermometer read 56C. 132… I cannot imagine that temperature. Woof!

I love you all, and if you have questions, or want me to discuss something on this blog, I will give my best attempt. Hope that you are doing well, and I miss you all dearly. Love-Me.