In the interest of not going an entire month without updating (a la April… or whichever one it was that I skipped), I’m making an effort to write a general update about many small things, rather than some significant event…

Over the course of a week at the end of June, I was privileged to participate in the Gnaoua Music Festival Health Education Outreach designed by several of my close friends from training, which took place in the beautiful Atlantic coastal town of Essaouira. By partnering with the Moroccan Ministry of Health, a non-governmental organization called Association de Lutte Contre le Sida (or ALCS, a group working to confront the transmission of HIV/AIDS and other STIs in Morocco) and Peace Corps, the organizing volunteers did an INCREDIBLE job of facilitating a three-day outreach program, with two main goals:  An STI and HIV/AIDS prevention tent and table, with nearby free and confidential HIV testing and counseling as well as a separate Ministry of Health-backed anti-smoking and anti-drugs setup where people could discuss the dangers of smoking and drug use with volunteers, pick up health information from th Ministry of Health and have their blood pressures measured by the several EMTs in our group of Volunteers.

Our tables and resources were set up along a concrete boardwalk that ran parallel to the beautiful beach, allowing for not only an ideal work environment, but also a steady flow of people visiting our various educational booths. Two out of my three days working, I was behind the anti-smoking/anti-drug table, discussing methods of quitting and dangers of use with a wide variety of Moroccan nationals and international festival-goers, but my last morning was spent out on the boardwalk, approaching passersby and informing them about the health education we were doing back at the table. I have to admit that this last assignment worried me, as witnessing canvassers and the like back home has always been a painful experience (and my one experience with it in college was definitely a test of boldness and thick skinnedness). BUT… it turns out that the Moroccan masses are uncommonly polite and considerate of random people approaching them with brochures and encouragement to visit an informational booth! Who knew?

Now, granted, I wasn’t requesting money or signatures from any of them, so that might be part of the reason this entire experience was so pleasant, but people were definitely more amenable to being approached randomly than their American counterparts would be, for SURE. Part of this might stem from the fact that outreach of this kind is not common in Morocco, so people aren’t conditioned to fend off an approaching person with a name tag to the same extent we Americans are (myself, admittedly, included). Either way, it made for a ridiculously positive experience, and by the end of the project that weekend, the collective feeling in the work group was that it had been a very successful health outreach experience. The numbers, over a span of three 8-hour work days, broke down as follows:

• 1,350 people had free blood pressure screenings

• 839 people recieved anti-smoking/anti-drug use information and counseling

• 2, 639 people recieved STI and HIV/AIDS prevention education and information

• 768 people were tested for HIV

• ALCS volunteers (Moroccan nationals, NOT peace corps volunteers) distributed 9,000 condoms with proper use instructions

I have to point out that the organization and facilitation of this event was excellently done by the volunteers in charge, people I am proud to call fellow volunteers and was equally proud to work for that weekend. It was definitely the most fun I’ve had working in a long time, and their dedication to laid-back professionalism was directly responsible for that. Nice work Adam, Nina, Dianna, Mary and Gerry!

Anyway, following the high of finishing the festival work in such a glow, I returned back to site to be met with the wedding of a close friend. Hessna has been engaged for about a year, and her wedding weekend had finally arrived. Now, rural weddings are a tricky subject for the non-native guest. Although they are colorful, lively, full of delicious (albeit very greasy) food, and joyous… the are also LONG. Like, 12 hours long. And three straight days of 12 hours long. Add to that about 6 hours of dancing to thumping drum beats, inevitable staring-at by unfamiliar relatives and questions to the tune of “where did the white girl come from?”, as well as 12 hours of rapid-fire language immersion and the result is a very overwhelming prospect. I only highlight this “dark” side of weddings to point out how different Hessna’s was for me. Having been in site just over a year now, and being that wedding season is traditionally in the mid-summer months, a majority of the weddings I have attended so far were last summer. For all intents and purposes, in that I was brand new in site and barely able to communicate, the bride and groom were inevitably complete strangers to me every time. THIS TIME, however, it was not only not a complete stranger, but a good friend. It served as a reminder of how much my life has changed here from this time last year, as I walked into the party, was escorted directly to the bride’s room where her sisters and girl friends were doing her makeup, styling her hair, COVERING her with glitter and fussing over her various, beautiful wedding Kaftans. Within minutes I was seated and henna was being applied to my right palm, as my host sisters and closest female friends danced around and reveled in the unbridled girly-ness of it all.

Now, don’t get me wrong, in this culture of hospitality, I had always received some derivation of such welcome gestures at any wedding, but it had never felt completely comfortable before. I had never felt like I was at an event that I was emotionally invested in, nor one where I felt surrounded by people I had significant personal relationships with. At Hessna’s wedding I was surrounded by my entire extended host family, as well as almost every family I am friendly with in town. It was just really, really nice.

It must be admitted, however, that the fact that I was comfortable and very happy didn’t change the fact that I have relatively little endurance for Moroccan festivities. Discussing the wedding beforehand with my friend and fellow volunteer, Molly, she said that knowing the bride or groom well, “makes ALL the difference”. This was true…. but as I later reported back to Molly, “it makes ALL the difference for the first 5 hours, then exhaustion still set in”. As a consequence of my abysmal festivity endurance and my comfort with all in attendance, I made it until after the second course of dinner was served at 1:45am before requesting from my unfailingly sympathetic host mother that I be allowed to sleep in the kid’s room. After a chorus of “ohhh, miskina!” (roughly translated: “poor and unfortunate girl!”) from the older ladies nearby, who I must add did NOT need naps because they are BAMFs, I was led to a dark, quiet room and quickly passed out alongside the two-year-olds strewn about like bodies on a battlefield. I was woken up for photos at 3am, to finally get home by 3:30, only to re-awaken at 5:30 to catch transport out on my way to picking up grant money three hours south. Sleep deprivation at its most severe, especially considering I’m very accustomed to my regular 10-hour nights of sleep.

In conclusion, however, among the beautiful henna in a flower pattern (or “nqsh” as the women call it), the delicious wedding dishes of fried chicken with olives and lamb with raisins and prunes, the lovely company of young girls and hilarious older women and the sweet, sweet nap time in the middle of it all, it was BY FAR the best wedding I have attended. The only sad part is that Hessna now lives about two hours away and I will only see her when she returns to visit. Such is life as a girl in the “bled”, you go where your husband’s family lives. The perpetual smile on Hessna’s face all weekend makes me think that she is happy about it all, though. At least I hope so!

And finally, Ramadan approaches. What a complex month it was last year, and is shaping up to be again. While many of my fellow volunteers have planned to get out for Ramadan, planning vacations to Europe or back to the states, I’ve decided to stick another one out. It is yet to be clear whether this was an ill-advised choice. I feel like I have an interesting relationship with Ramadan. Fasting is hard. Really hard. And the fact that practically the entire town shuts down makes it even harder. You can’t really get away from fasting, heat, lack of daytime food or beverage, etc. BUT… there’s something kind of nice in the collective experience. Additionally, it’s a month-long family holiday, and sons and daughters from the far reaches often return to their family hubs in the “bled” (“countryside”) and pass the holy month together. Sure… after abstaining from water, food, and anything else consume-able for 12 hours, in the month of August, things get edgy by around 6pm (2ish hours before daily fast-breaking)…. but how quickly short fuses and nerves are forgotten when fast is broken all together. And every night sees a jovial, holiday atmosphere into the wee hours.

And we can’t forget the food. Harira (or Moroccan tomato soup) is a daily must, and fast is broken with a few bowls each in every household (literally, without exception) and the accompanying dates and shebekkia (honey-slathered pastry sprinkled with sesame seeds). Also, the most delicious of the Moroccan fare is brought out every night, including staples such as Couscous, Tajine, myriad forms of fried bread, and Harsha (delicious flat bread or cake made from semolina).

And so, I have constructed a Ramadan game plan. It has two main goals: Pass the daylight hours in a tolerable way and learn as much as possible about delicious Moroccan food in the evening and night hours.

Therefore, I have challenged myself to read The Hobbit and the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in the month of Ramadan, thus giving purpose to the long, hot, water-less days (and in-so-doing also finally catch up with the rest of my family, who have read them). Additionally, I have asked various friends in town to let me shadow them in the kitchen each evening as they make the aforementioned delicious Moroccan fare. I plan on emerging from this holy month with a book full of recipes, four fantasy novels under my belt (nerd-alert), and the ability to re-create a Moroccan feast for loved ones over Christmas, as it seems that will be the most elaborate present my PCV budget will allow. I’m actually kind of excited about all of this, though I’ll probably be whistling a bit of a different tune come the first week of August…..

But first…. holy crap do I need to clean house. “Spring cleaning” got postponed…. to mid-summer… but now it really has to happen before Ramadan or it might never get done. Allah give me strength… uh, or…. motivation. That’s it.

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