That Spark of Adventure

Disclaimer: The views expressed in the following are of mine alone and do not reflect those of the U.S. government or Peace Corps.

Last week was spent in one of the most beautiful cities in the world: Paris. It was my first time to France and I have to say, I've fallen in love with French culture. The food was amazing, the architecture was breathtaking, and the people were friendly and helpful. Of all the places I've been to in the world, I have to say Paris is, by far, my favorite.

I spent six full days in this lovely city with my friend Alex where we experienced everything from the Eiffel Tower to Notre Dame to the Catecombs (and that was just day one).

What surprised me the most, however, was how easy it was to return to Morocco. With less than six months left of my service, I've been eager to return to a place where I don't get stared at everywhere I go. A place where I feel I fit in and don't get called "Foreigner" all the time. Paris was such a place for me. Not a moment went by where I felt I didn't belong. It was a nice break from Morocco. And to be honest, I wasn't looking forward to coming back.

I'm not sure how or why, but upon returning, I felt like I was home. It was probably the first time in my service where Morocco has felt like home to me. I don't speak French at all and although most people I met in Paris spoke at least a little English, it was a relief to be able to speak Darija (Moroccan Arabic) again. I guess I'd forgotten what it's like to not understand anything that's being said. Not that I'm fluent in Darija, by any means (or even that good), but it was nice to hear a foreign language that I could understand.

But it wasn't just communicating that made Morocco feel like home. It was everything. I've gotten used to people staring at me, of the methods of travel, arguing with taxi drivers, the long waits at the bus stops/train stations/taxi stands. I feel integrated. I know this culture in sort of the same ways I know my own culture. I can go to a restaurant and order food in Darija without being self-conscious about my pronunciation (as much as I've tried, there are some sounds in French that I simply can't make). I know what to expect here (which is the unexpected). I know how to get from point A to point B. I know how to greet Moroccans in their native language. This country and culture has become familiar to me. It's to the point where I feel comfortable with my discomfort (if that makes any sense at all).

And, of course, there's that sense of adventure that comes with living here. In Paris (and even in America over Christmas), everything felt safe and reliable, like I didn't need to always be on-guard. Granted, it is exhausting at times, but that sense of adventure is what makes life here interesting. Every time I leave my house, I never know what to expect, who I might run into, if my favorite hanut will be closed, if my classes will be canceled because of something else going on at my youth center/women's center or if I'll even have work at all. I expect things here to be unreliable. I've come to expect the unexpected. Because in the end, for whatever reason, everything just seems to work out.

As strange as it may seem, to live in an environment where you can rely on transportation to be on time or expect things to get done in a timely manner just seems boring to me. Part of me likes not knowing if I'll be able to catch a taxi to Oujda or buy simple things like milk or baking powder.

I often wonder how long it'll take for me to get bored with life when I go back to America in November. Compared to Morocco, life in America is easy. And to me, easy is boring. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely looking forward to starting a life in America, but I know myself well enough to know I'll soon be looking for another adventure in some new and exciting culture.