Disclaimer: The views expressed in the following are mine alone and do not reflect that of the U.S. government or Peace Corps.
Most Moroccans love to dance. This is not something I discovered recently, but knew since attending my first traditional Moroccan wedding back in September. When it comes to dancing, it doesn’t matter if you’re male, female, young, or old; I have yet to meet a Moroccan who doesn’t like to dance. This was the inspiration for my Women’s Day activity last week. We did an hour of art, an hour of yoga, and an hour of American dance. The turn-out was WAY more than I expected (about 30 women between the ages of 4 and 50) and it was probably the most fun I’ve had since coming here.
Believe me, I'm no expert on dance. In fact, of everyone in my training group I probably have the least experience in dance. But I wanted to offer something that women would be interested in and aside from teaching yoga I decided to try teaching the only two dances that I happen know: "The Hustle" and "The Electric Slide." And considering I learned these dances from a friend on New Year’s Eve a few years back, it’s only by chance that I even remember them, let alone teach them! But after downloading the necessary music and refreshing my memory with a series of Youtube videos, I was ready to go!
Here I need to insert a little side-note about Moroccan time. The majority of Moroccans will inevitably show up late to any event. That’s just how Moroccan time works. If you have something scheduled, don’t expect people to start showing up until at least a half hour after it starts. This can be frustrating at times, but you learn to live with it.
Now, the exception to this little rule is if you’re offering a yoga and dance class for women. The schedule at my Dar Chebab clearly listed art from 3:00 to 4:00, yoga from 4:00 to 5:00 and American dance from 5:00 to 6:00. The reason I even had the art class was to make sure women were there for the yoga and dance. But most women actually started showing up for yoga before 3:30! I had at least 15 women sitting in my yoga/dance classroom nearly a half-hour before it was even supposed to start! By the time 4:00 rolled around, about 30 women were waiting to start yoga!
Before last Saturday, I had never taught yoga or dance before in my entire life and yet before I knew it, the time had come and I was teaching it in my broken and heavily accented Arabic to 30 Moroccan women. I only wish I could have video-taped those 30 Moroccan women doing “the Hustle” in nearly perfect unison. They absolutely loved it. We had such a great time they talked me into doing it again this past Saturday. Not as many women showed up, but we still had an awesome time learning the Cha Cha Slide and dancing to Linkin’ Park.
I still consider last Saturday one of the best work days I've had here. The level of motivation those women had was amazing. They really wanted to learn complex yoga poses and dance steps and be able to do them right. They even had me watch them a few times just to make sure they were getting it. With as many bad days as I've had here and as many times I've considered early terminating my service, the good days like last Saturday make it all worth it.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Living as an Outsider
Disclaimer: The views expressed in the following are mine alone and do not reflect that of the U.S. government or Peace Corps.
Ok, so I didn't actually plan on creating a blog during my two years of service in Morocco, mostly because I'd prefer to keep a written journal of my experience. But if you're in any way associated with Peace Corps, you'd know that goal number three of the Peace Corps mission involves teaching Americans about other cultures. Ever since stepping into that conference room in Philadelphia with 62 other nervous soon-to-be volunteers I've been bombarded with the Three Goals of Peace Corps. Aside from taking advantage of social networks like FB and Myspace, I guess you could say my work with goal three has been sort of slacking. So this is my way of contributing to goal three or at least attempting to share this rewarding and yet painfully arduous experience with Americans back home.
I guess I'll start with the obvious. I'm an outsider. Hard to believe, but it's true. As a 5'7" white girl, in a town that rarely (if ever) sees tourists, I tend to get stared at pretty much everywhere I go. They tell me part of my job is to integrate, but how is that possible if I'm constantly seen as an outsider? Each time I leave my house, I'm confronted with the usual assortment of greetings: "Hola!" "Bonjour!" "Hello!" "Gutenmagen!" The truth is, people don't really know what to think of me. Sure, my town has a history of Peace Corps volunteers, which is probably why I'm confronted with "Hello" more often than the ever popular "Bonjour!" But I'm starting to wonder if people will ever really see me as part of the community and not just another foreigner passing through. And if they do, what then? My two years will be up and I'll never see these people again. Will it have all been for nothing?
I know why I joined Peace Corps, I know why I'm here. I'm here to make a difference. And if my being here somehow encourages one student to pursue a higher education, then it'll have been worth it. But I guess that can't happen unless I'm fully integrated and trusted in my community. Right? It's a long and slow process, but in the end (in-sha-allah) I'll have accomplished what I set out to do all those months ago when I clicked that "submit" button on my Peace Corps application. Yes, my life is a lot harder here than it would be in the states and yes, I have doubts about whether I'll make it for two years. But in the end, I'll have experienced something that so few Americans get to experience: integration in a foreign culture, no matter how incomplete that integration is.
The very first hint of my integration progress came about a week ago. It was one of those things that happened so quickly that I probably wouldn't have caught it had I not thought about it afterwards. I was home one afternoon, cleaning mold off my walls (long story...) when I decided I needed some bleach. As a habit, I popped on over to my neighborhood hanut (store) wearing only my PJ pants, stained sweatshirt, and house-slippers and asked Mohammed, the store-owner for bleach. While he was fetching my item, there was a woman standing there, chatting with a friend and snacking on an assortment of olives and bread. She immediately offered me a generous portion of her snack and I soon found myself engaged in a conversation with the two women. When Mohammed returned with my product, he too joined in and I ended up standing there in the shade of the hanut, leisurely chatting in Darija with three Moroccans, two of whom I had just met. We talked about everything from where I'd been for the past two weeks (I'd just returned from PPST) to the weather in Morocco. Eventually the conversation broke up and as I paid Mohammed 12drhm for the bleach, I walked back around the corner to my mold-infested house.
As I returned to laboriously scrubbing the vile green fuzz from my walls, it suddenly hit me. Only moments ago, I'd been on the "inside". For perhaps the first time since coming here, I'd felt a sense of belonging, like I was seen as part of the community and not some socially awkward white foreigner imposing American values on Moroccans. And as I pondered this further, I realized the level of harassment had gone down significantly since November, when I first arrived. Not only are people getting used to seeing me out and about, but Moroccans have this thing about adopting people they see as "mskin" (poor). And apparently living thousands of miles away from family and friends and everything you know and love constitutes as "mskin." They know I'm giving up two years of my life to be here and whether they're aware of my reasons or not, they seem to appreciate the fact that I could be living in my own culture, speaking my own language, spending time with my own family and friends, but have chosen this life of hardship in a place I still know almost nothing about.
Even though I feel that I'll never fully integrate in my community, it's good to know there are moments like these where I'll "feel" like I'm integrating. I know people will always see me as an outsider, but maybe with time I'll come to accept the fact that I can be part of the community. I'll admit things have not been easy for me. But then, Peace Corps isn't meant to be easy. Life isn't meant to be easy. I guess you could say that's another reason why I joined Peace Corps, for the challenge. After all, how boring would life be if it were easy?
Ok, so I didn't actually plan on creating a blog during my two years of service in Morocco, mostly because I'd prefer to keep a written journal of my experience. But if you're in any way associated with Peace Corps, you'd know that goal number three of the Peace Corps mission involves teaching Americans about other cultures. Ever since stepping into that conference room in Philadelphia with 62 other nervous soon-to-be volunteers I've been bombarded with the Three Goals of Peace Corps. Aside from taking advantage of social networks like FB and Myspace, I guess you could say my work with goal three has been sort of slacking. So this is my way of contributing to goal three or at least attempting to share this rewarding and yet painfully arduous experience with Americans back home.
I guess I'll start with the obvious. I'm an outsider. Hard to believe, but it's true. As a 5'7" white girl, in a town that rarely (if ever) sees tourists, I tend to get stared at pretty much everywhere I go. They tell me part of my job is to integrate, but how is that possible if I'm constantly seen as an outsider? Each time I leave my house, I'm confronted with the usual assortment of greetings: "Hola!" "Bonjour!" "Hello!" "Gutenmagen!" The truth is, people don't really know what to think of me. Sure, my town has a history of Peace Corps volunteers, which is probably why I'm confronted with "Hello" more often than the ever popular "Bonjour!" But I'm starting to wonder if people will ever really see me as part of the community and not just another foreigner passing through. And if they do, what then? My two years will be up and I'll never see these people again. Will it have all been for nothing?
I know why I joined Peace Corps, I know why I'm here. I'm here to make a difference. And if my being here somehow encourages one student to pursue a higher education, then it'll have been worth it. But I guess that can't happen unless I'm fully integrated and trusted in my community. Right? It's a long and slow process, but in the end (in-sha-allah) I'll have accomplished what I set out to do all those months ago when I clicked that "submit" button on my Peace Corps application. Yes, my life is a lot harder here than it would be in the states and yes, I have doubts about whether I'll make it for two years. But in the end, I'll have experienced something that so few Americans get to experience: integration in a foreign culture, no matter how incomplete that integration is.
The very first hint of my integration progress came about a week ago. It was one of those things that happened so quickly that I probably wouldn't have caught it had I not thought about it afterwards. I was home one afternoon, cleaning mold off my walls (long story...) when I decided I needed some bleach. As a habit, I popped on over to my neighborhood hanut (store) wearing only my PJ pants, stained sweatshirt, and house-slippers and asked Mohammed, the store-owner for bleach. While he was fetching my item, there was a woman standing there, chatting with a friend and snacking on an assortment of olives and bread. She immediately offered me a generous portion of her snack and I soon found myself engaged in a conversation with the two women. When Mohammed returned with my product, he too joined in and I ended up standing there in the shade of the hanut, leisurely chatting in Darija with three Moroccans, two of whom I had just met. We talked about everything from where I'd been for the past two weeks (I'd just returned from PPST) to the weather in Morocco. Eventually the conversation broke up and as I paid Mohammed 12drhm for the bleach, I walked back around the corner to my mold-infested house.
As I returned to laboriously scrubbing the vile green fuzz from my walls, it suddenly hit me. Only moments ago, I'd been on the "inside". For perhaps the first time since coming here, I'd felt a sense of belonging, like I was seen as part of the community and not some socially awkward white foreigner imposing American values on Moroccans. And as I pondered this further, I realized the level of harassment had gone down significantly since November, when I first arrived. Not only are people getting used to seeing me out and about, but Moroccans have this thing about adopting people they see as "mskin" (poor). And apparently living thousands of miles away from family and friends and everything you know and love constitutes as "mskin." They know I'm giving up two years of my life to be here and whether they're aware of my reasons or not, they seem to appreciate the fact that I could be living in my own culture, speaking my own language, spending time with my own family and friends, but have chosen this life of hardship in a place I still know almost nothing about.
Even though I feel that I'll never fully integrate in my community, it's good to know there are moments like these where I'll "feel" like I'm integrating. I know people will always see me as an outsider, but maybe with time I'll come to accept the fact that I can be part of the community. I'll admit things have not been easy for me. But then, Peace Corps isn't meant to be easy. Life isn't meant to be easy. I guess you could say that's another reason why I joined Peace Corps, for the challenge. After all, how boring would life be if it were easy?
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